Page 169 of House of Roots and Ruin
“What do you mean?” he continued.
“That’s not possible,” I said, speaking over him. “I was with her…just hours ago. She was fine.”
Not fine.
Not exactly.
But not…
Dead.
My mind reeled, trying to remember the last moment I saw her. Everything was so hazy. She’d drank more than I had—had she slipped going up the stairs, as Alex had as a boy?
Frederick started to say something but then shook his head, mind changed. “Lord Laurent needs to see you.”
Alex nodded, his face unreadable, even to me. “There must be some sort of mistake. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Thank you, Frederick.”
“I think…,” the giant murmured, grief etched sharply into his face, “I think the duke would prefer if it were only you, sir.”
Our eyes met and fear spiked through my middle. I didn’t want Alex facing Gerard by himself. What if Dauphine had told him of my questions at the tavern before she’d…
I could see it playing out with painful clarity.
The wine would have loosened her inhibitions, freeing the thoughts she normally kept in check. What if she’d told him she’d poisoned all those women?
The glint of gardening shears stabbed into Constance’s chest flickered in my mind.
Had he killed Dauphine too?
She’s not dead,hope insisted fiercely within me.It’s a mistake. It must be.
Alex shook his head. “Verity is part of this family now. He will see us both.”
The hallways felt longer than usual, the floorboards sprawling out over miles as we made our way to the north wing. We seemed to pass by a thousand windows. Each sparkled so brightly I knew Frederick was wrong. Chauntilalie couldn’t continue in such splendor without the lady of the house here, orchestrating it all.
Dauphine was not dead.
But every footman we passed had red-rimmed eyes. They bowed their heads respectfully as we raced by. Some had already changed into darker versions of their uniform. Seeing the inky wool brought back visceral memories I’d long forgotten, growing up as a little girl in black bombazine dresses and jet jewelry, mourning a mother I never knew and sisters who had died far too young.
“Alex,” I said, reaching out to touch his shoulder, trying to stop him, trying to stall him before this awful moment came crashing down.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, taking on the role of comforter, as if it weren’t his own mother in questionable peril.
I tried to see that as a good sign.
If Dauphine really was dead, Alex would have to feel it somehow.
His disbelief spurred my heart toward optimism.
Alex came to a stop, facing the door of Gerard’s study. He glanced at me, his expression apprehensive.
“It’s going to be all right,” I murmured, trying to offer solace against the unknown. “She can’t be…” I trailed off, never wanting to finish that sentence.
“Do you think he knows?” Alex asked, his voice measured and hushed. “That we know? Do you think…”
I heard the words he did not say.
Do you think he killed her?
