Galen, Rhys, and Abeloec had had their turn at the questioning in the conference room. They hadn't been able to do much but deny the charges. Abe had stood there with his perfectly striped hair: black, shades of gray, white, all perfectly even and artificial like some artful modern Goth, but it wasn't a good dye job, it was real. His pale skin and gray eyes matched the look. He looked odd in his charcoal-gray suit. No amount of tailoring could make it look like the clothes he would have chosen himself. He had been a party guy for centuries, and his clothes usually reflected that. Abe had no alibi because he'd been trying to crawl into a bottle with a drug chaser at the time of the accused attack. He'd been clean and sober only about two days. But the sidhe can't truly be addicted to anything, just as they can't truly drink or drug themselves into oblivion. It was an upside downside.
The fey couldn't get addicted, but they couldn't use liquor, or drugs, to hide from their problems either. You could get us drunk, but only up to a point.
Galen looked cool and boyishly elegant in his brown suit. They wouldn't let him wear his signature green because it brought out the green undertones in his white skin. What they hadn't seemed to understand was that brown made the green undertone darker still, and much more noticeable. His green curls were cut short, with only one thin braid to remind me that his hair had once fallen in a glorious sheet to his ankles. He had the best alibi of the three, because he'd been ha**ng s*x with me when the alleged attack took place.
Once I would have described Rhys as boyishly handsome, but not today. Today he seemed every inch the grown-up, all 5'6" of him. He was the only one of the guards with me today who was less than six feet. Rhys was still handsome, but he'd lost some boyish quality, or gained something else. A man who was more than a thousand years old, and had once been the god Cromm Cruach, couldn't grow up, could he? If he'd been human, that's what I would have said, that the events of the last few days had helped him grow up at last. But it seemed arrogant to think that my little adventures could affect a being who had once been worshipped as a god.
His white hair curled over his shoulders, and down the broad plane of his back. He was the shortest of my sidhe guards, but I knew that the body under the suit was the most muscled. He took his workouts very seriously. He wore an eye patch to cover the main scars from an injury he'd received centuries ago. The one eye he had left was lovely, three circles of blue like lines of sky from different days of the year. His mouth was soft and rich, and one of the most pouting of the men, as if his lips begged to be kissed. I didn't know what had wrought this new seriousness in him, but it gave him a new depth, as if there was more to him than there had been only a few days ago.
He was the only one of the three who had been outside the faerie mound, our sithen, when the attack was supposed to have happened. He had actually been attacked by Seelie warriors, and accused to his face of the crime. They had come out into the winter snow hunting my men with steel and cold iron, two of the only things that can truly injure a sidhe warrior. Most of the time even duels between the courts are fought with weapons that can't bring true injury, true death, to us. It's like one of those action movies where the men beat the hell out of each other but keep coming back for more. Steel and cold iron were killing weapons. That alone had been a breach of the peace between the two courts.
The lawyers were arguing. "Lady Caitrin alleges that the attack took place on a day that my clients were actually in Los Angeles," Biggs said. "My clients can't have done something in Illinois when they were in California all day. On the day in question, one of the accused was working for the Grey Detective Agency and was in view of witnesses all day."
That would have been Rhys. He loved being detective for real. He loved undercover work, and had enough glamour to be even better at it than a human detective. Galen had enough glamour to do it, too, but he couldn't play the part. Undercover, or decoy, work was only partly looking right. You also had to "feel" right to the person you were trying to catch. I'd done my share of decoy work in years past. Now, no one would allow me near the dangerous stuff.
So how had Lady Caitrin's attack taken place before we got to faerie? Time had started running differently in faerie again. Time had started running very differently in the Unseelie sithen, around me. Doyle had said, "Time is running oddly in all of faerie for the first time in centuries, but it was running even more oddly around you, Meredith. Now that you have left, faerie time is running oddly, but no more oddly for one court than another."
It was both interesting and disturbing that time had run not exactly backward for me, but it had stretched out. It was January for us and the courts, but the date still wasn't the same. The post-Yule ball that my uncle Taranis had been so insistent on me attending was finally safely past. We'd all decided it was too dangerous for me to attend. The accusation against my guards confirmed that Taranis was up to something, but what? Taranis had a plan, and whatever it was, it would be dangerous to everyone but him.
"King Taranis has explained that time runs differently in faerie than it does in the real world," Shelby said.
I knew that Taranis hadn't said "the real world," because to him the Seelie Court was the real world.
"May I ask your clients a question?" Veducci asked. He'd stayed out of the squabbling. In fact, this was one of the first times he'd spoken since we had changed rooms. It made me nervous.
"You can ask it," Biggs said, "but I'll decide if they answer it."
Veducci gave a nod, and pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. He smiled at us all. Only a hardness to his eyes let me know that the smile was a lie. "Sergeant Rhys, were you in the lands of faerie on the date that Lady Caitrin accuses you of attacking her?"