Raj brought me a cup of coffee, casting a sheepish look at the towels on the floor. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s fine. Just clean it up, and all will be forgiven. Unless you broke the coffee maker.” I paused. “You didn’t break the coffee maker, did you?”

Raj and May shook their heads in mute unison.

I relaxed marginally. “In that case, we’re cool.”

“Good,” said May. “Now, what did you find?”

“Nothing good,” I said, and sipped my coffee before launching into an explanation of what I’d seen in Saltmist. Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the sound of Walther rummaging through the cabinets and filling the sink with water. Raj looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be revolted by the idea of that much wet, or fascinated by the thought of a part of Faerie he’d never seen.

When I was done, May sat heavily in the other chair and said, “Raysel killed someone.”

“That, or she elf-shot a Selkie, stole the skin, and managed to hide the sleeping body somewhere.” I didn’t have to point out that something like that would be a lot of work—and Raysel was never a fan of work. “She couldn’t have made it past the wards without the skin.”

Walther looked up. “If she elf-shot a Selkie and removed his or her skin, the Selkie is dead.”

I blinked. “What?”

“A Selkie without a skin is essentially human. Elf-shot is fatal to humans.” He shrugged. “If she used elf-shot, the Selkie is dead.”

A cold knot was forming in my stomach. I’d been trying to tell myself that maybe—just maybe—Raysel had been smart, and left the Selkie alive. And there was no way that could have happened. She would have needed the Selkie to stay asleep indefinitely in order to be sure her plan wouldn’t be discovered; elf-shot would be the easiest, surest way to accomplish her goal. There was no way she would have used anything else.

May’s expression was horrified as she turned to me. “Toby, Oberon’s Law—”

“I know.” Murder is the only unforgivable crime in Faerie. Kidnapping, treason, and theft can be forgiven. Take a life, and your own life is forfeit. This wasn’t the first time Raysel had killed someone, but no one was going to take her to trial over Oleander. Dianda would take her to trial over this, and she would win, and Raysel would burn. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell her parents.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell, lasting until Walther cleared his throat and asked, “Did you want to hear what I found out about the things you sent me?”

“Please.” I sipped my coffee, trying to relax. I was in my bathrobe, I needed to rinse the salt out of my hair, the whole Kingdom was teetering on the brink of war, and I had to tell Sylvester his daughter might have broken Oberon’s Law—but for now, I had to focus. If we had a chance to stop things from getting worse, it began right here.

“Well, for a start, your elf-shot is, and isn’t, normal. The recipe works like your basic elf-shot. Get hit, go to sleep for a hundred years.” Walther poured vinegar into the sink, stirring the water with his hand. “Sort of.”

“I love ‘sort of,’ ”I said dryly. “It’s such a beautifully useless phrase. What else does this super-special elf-shot do?”

“I’ve heard of this mixture but never seen it used, so I can’t be completely sure without sticking somebody with the arrow and watching them for a few decades. But I think it would eventually be fatal.” Walther picked up a dish sponge, dunking it in the sink before starting to wipe down my jacket. “There are some herbal compounds in the mix that aren’t used for elf-shot, but are used for slow-acting poison.”

“Slow assassination,” I whispered. Most purebloods view elf-shot as more of an inconvenience than anything else. Get shot, fall down, and take a nice long nap. If you could make elf-shot that actually killed, it might be decades before anyone realized what you’d done. Plenty of time to get away.

“Exactly,” said Walther. “Now, this mix takes a lot of mercury, and buying mercury is tricky. I’m hoping I can use that to find out who made the charm, but it’ll take time. And before you ask, no, I don’t think Raysel could have done it. She’s never studied alchemy. She would have poisoned herself trying to mix the tincture.”

So Raysel wasn’t working alone. Swell. “Don’t take too much time,” I cautioned. “We don’t have it.”

“I know.” Walther put down the sponge, giving my jacket a good shake before submerging it in the vinegar-and-water mixture filling the sink.

“I thought you were supposed to keep leather dry,” said Raj dubiously.

I gave him a sidelong look. “Why do you know how you’re supposed to take care of leather?”

“Lots of knights wear leather armor.” He shrugged. “You do. I never see you without your jacket.”

I decided not to argue. He was right, in a sideways sort of way. “Normally, you keep leather dry. In this case, I’m going to trust that Walther knows what he’s doing.”

At the moment, what he was doing involved chanting to himself in Welsh. The air in the kitchen chilled, the smell of frozen yarrow wafting around us. Everyone quieted, looking toward Walther with varying degrees of interest.

He chuckled, pulling my clean, dry jacket from the sink and giving it a final shake before lobbing it in my direction. I caught it easily, and blinked at him. “Hearth magic?”

“It’s a form of alchemy,” he said, looking unconscionably pleased with himself. “I’ve learned a few tricks. Anyway, can I keep the arrow a little longer? I want to run some further tests, and see if I can get you a more precise origin.”

“Please do,” I replied, slipping the jacket on over my bathrobe. The leather smelled like yarrow and salt and, very faintly, vinegar. “What did you learn about the other things we found? The needles, and whatever was in that vial?”

“The needles are just needles. As for the contents of the vial—it’s a sleeping charm, with enough of a memory eraser worked in that if you drank it, you’d probably forget the last hour or so of your life. Not fatal, but not friendly.” He shook his head, expression turning almost admiring. “Whoever mixed it knew their stuff. This would put a person out for about a day.”