Page 27 of The King’s Queen

When the Paragon opened the cabinet, the bald cat climbed into the wooden structure, nosing through the shelves and shelves that were lined with little metal canisters covered in gauzy blue fabric.

“You’re braver than I am,” Leila told me before she took a sip from one of her cups, then a swig from the second. “My general rule is to never consume anything the Paragon gives me.”

I shrugged. “The last three years have stress-tested my immunity to magic,” I said. “I’ve had just about every fae magic in existence thrown at me. The tracker that harmed my family has had his fair share of throwing weird magic at me, too.”

“Ahh, yes. Him.” The Paragon—in a move that looked far too young for his elderly appearance—folded his arms across his chest. He glanced at Leila, who had paused with one of her Karuba cups raised halfway to her lips. “I’m afraid I have some…shocking news regarding him.”

I tensed up.Did they find him? Is he registered with the Cloisters somehow? What has both of them acting like this?

The Paragon moved a tin of tea that Aphrodite almost knocked over as she climbed onto the next shelf. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but I suspect that your tracker…is an elf.”

I paused for a moment at the non-revelation.And…? I’ve known this all summer—OH. I’m not supposed to know elves are still alive!

“It must be a shock,” Leila said.

“Yes,” I slowly said. It was easy enough to act like the Paragon’s words gave me anxiety—I mean, nearly everything gave me anxiety. In fact, I was anxious about having to act anxious now that I thought of it. “I mean…based on what little information I’ve been able to find, elves wiped the shadows out.”

“They did,” the Paragon grimly said.

“Mmert,” Aphrodite pawed at a tin.

“This one is for our guest?” he asked.

Aphrodite purred, then jumped down to a lower level of the cabinet as the Paragon scooped the dried, loose leaf tea leaves into a metal basket in his glass teapot.

“It would be easy to assume he is stalking you solely to continue the hunt his forefathers began,” the Paragon continued. “Based on the tattoos around his neck, his elf ancestry is from the Auron family—the royals of that family specialized in summoning, as did the elves who chose to settle in their lands.” He plugged the base in and pressed a few buttons, causing the tea maker to beep, then stepped back.

I bit the inside of my cheek. I remembered Noctus and the others had said as much when I’d first described the tracker to them. “The Auron family survived, then?”

“No. The Auron lands were wiped out,” the Paragon said. “It’s possible one or two survived, but for the most part, the elves really are gone. I saw a photo of your tracker from a security camera taken during your recent tussle with him, and I suspect he’s only half elf—there are a few specific features elves have that he lacks, unless he’s covering it up with a glamour, which is unlikely given the presence of his tattoos. But, half elf or otherwise, he is still dangerous.” The Paragon retreated to the cabinet, where Aphrodite was digging around.

I carefully replayed the Paragon’s words in my mind, trying to pick apart what he was dancing around without giving away that I already knew all of this. “Earlier you said it would be easy to assume he’s coming after me just because I’m a shadow…does that mean you think there’s another reason he might be chasing me?”

“Sort of.” Leila pressed her lips together. “It’s possible he is a part of an organization the Paragon has identified. Although the organization seems to exist at a national level in the USA, it’s been particularly active in Magiford. Members of the organization have manipulated fae and wizard politics, and are behind the largest incidents that have rocked our city.”

Ahhh yes, the Paragon briefly mentioned this the last time I saw him, when he introduced me to Aphrodite. Though he said specifically they’ve tried killing Queen Leila. But! I’m not supposed to know any of this.

I didn’t even have to act anxious, my heartbeat jumped from the stress of the situation, and I hunched my shoulders. “Why would they want to mess with fae and wizards?”

“We don’t know,” the Paragon grimly said. “I haven’t been able to find a pattern to their behavior, or discern any kind of motive. It seems they particularly enjoy chaos and destruction, but I’m of a mind to suspect they seem mostly intent on tearing our society apart.”

“Do you think they’re all elves?” I asked. “And they want to get back at supernaturals? Is that why you believe the tracker might be working with them?”

“No, as the Paragon said earlier, the war did wipe out the elves, with a few exceptions,” Leila said.

There are way more exceptions than you think.

“The organization has members of supernatural races—werewolves, fae, vampires—though it seems like they target the outsiders, who either don’t want to join Packs, Families, or Courts, or who cannot,” Leila explained. “Last summer, an illegal artifact manufacturing ring was discovered. One of the fae who belonged to it, I had personally banned from joining any Courts as they had made an attempt on the life of Consort Flora of the Summer Court. I’d hoped that would bring about reformation, but apparently it only drove them off the deep end.”

“You won’t change them all.” The Paragon selected an elegant, clay cup glazed a dark blue and painted with pink Sakura flowers for me. “Some fae—as it is with all supernaturals—will not choose the better path. Their choice is not your responsibility.” The tea maker beeped, and the Paragon poured the tea into the mug, then rinsed his machine.

“I know,” Leila said. “But it’s still disappointing.” She stared at her coffee cups for a moment, her posture sagging. When she straightened up, I briefly spotted a necklace—a tiny white feather secured into a gold base and hanging from a delicate gold chain—peeking through the collar of her flannel shirt.

“Returning to the organization, they seem to have access to elven magic, but it would only take the existence of one half elf or two to be able to cast spells for them,” Leila continued. “And that is why we suspect your tracker might be attached to the group.”

“That, and the conversation you reported hearing as he fled, before you passed out.” The Paragon, holding the stem-less clay cup—carefully approached me. “Here, your tea.”

“Thank you.” I carefully took the warm cup, inhaling the puffs of steam that wafted from the tea. I wasn’t a big tea drinker—especially since I’d discovered the wonders of milk steamers—but the slightly bitter scent and olive hue of the tea made me suspect this was a green tea.

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