Dagger wounds. Small dagger wounds. That’s why the man had died, according to the knights. That ruled out the murderer being a Reaper. The Reaper would have just sucked out the man’s soul. And she would have sensed a Reaper anyway.
But now she’d best leave this up to Elon and the knights. It was their mystery to solve, not hers. She had to focus on her training before the darkness hit.
One of the ladies, Lady Sybil, plopped a sugar cube into her cider. “I think he was stabbed before he drowned.”
Lady Dara waved her fan faster, cooling her plump flushed cheeks. “I say he was drowned before he was stabbed. After all, there was no blood on the cobblestone.”
It seemed the story of the gardener’s death was already well-circulated among the gossip mongers.
Lady Wylma cleared her throat. “Queen Carissa, it’s said you were there soon after it happened. You saw.”
All eyes turned towards her, and heat surged beneath her skin. Carissa shrugged. “Honestly, I was too dazed to really observe much. But it doesn’t matter. I’m sure the King has everything under control.”
Lady Sybil spluttered, her red cider dripping down her porcelain chin. “But–But surely you must be able to tease some details from the King.”
Carissa stirred in more spice into her drink. “The King said it’s best for me not to be involved.”
Lady Wylma crinkled her nose, making her freckles cluster together. “Ah, men. They think we women aren’t good for anything but—”
Lady Dara cleared her throat and jutted her double chin towards the youngest members of their group—the blond Lady Cylia and the brunette Lady Fern, the two who’d first seen Carissa in trousers.
Lady Wylma continued, “—for anything but cooking.”
Lady Cylia plucked one of her curls until it bounced, a slight smile on her face. “Ladies don’t cook, Wylma. I don’t think that’s what you were going to say.”
Lady Wylma rolled her eyes. “Well, my point still stands. They think we’re all hollow-headed princesses who are too afraid of getting their slippers wet to go outside.
The girls stared at each other, and Lady Fern said, “We aren’t?”
Wylma launched to her feet, nearly upsetting the little table with the cakes and cider. “No! We most certainly are not.” Her auburn hair fluttered with the movement, as if it’d been set aflame. “And we’re going to prove it.”
Lady Sybil snorted. “How, exactly, do you propose that?”
Lady Wylma’s blue eyes flared with excitement. “Tonight, we’re going to sneak into the gardens and find the murderer ourselves.”