Free The Sword-Edged blonde by Alex Bledsoe Page B

him to resist the idea. “That’s the only possible explanation. Like you said, that’s the picture inside the frame.”
    We replaced the coffin and the cover, then resealed it with some cement from my bag. I stood and stretched my back, then put my hand on the wall for balance while I pulled on my hamstring. My eyes fell on the name chiseled into the capstone next to Pridiri’s, and suddenly a razor sliced out my heart. “Shit,” I whispered.
    Phil turned. “What? Oh . . . damn, Eddie, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it. I was so far into my own problems, I didn’t—”
    “It’s all right.” I turned away, shaking like I’d been drunk for weeks, and seriously considered smashing my head into the other wall just to banish the unbidden images of her laugh, her touch and, worst of all, her screams.
    Phil didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally he said, “It’s weird to think she’d be thirty-five now.”
    “Yeah.” He was her brother, after all, he had the right to talk about her.
    He put a strong hand on my shoulder. It reminded me of the way my dad’s hand had felt there. “If you need to—”
    I cut him off. “Can we go now? I need to talk to your wife.”
    He tilted his head back against the wall and let out a long breath. “Okay, but . . . I don’t know how much help she’ll be.”
    “Why not?”
    “There’s something about her that isn’t widely known.”
    “What’s that?”
    “She doesn’t—
claims
she doesn’t—remember anything from before the day we met.”

 
     

NINE

     
     
    G etting discreetly into the prison tower took some finesse. I had to dress as a guard and go through the motions with the shift change; hopefully no one watching noticed the second shift had six men instead of the usual five. Once inside and divested of my helmet and armor, I was led up the stairs and frisked very thoroughly by the matron entrusted with the imprisoned queen’s care. Since she outweighed me by a good thirty pounds, I didn’t complain.
    Then she snapped out the rules. “Sit in the chair by the door and keep its back against the wall. Don’t pass anything to the prisoner or accept anything from her. If she reaches through the bars for any reason, pull the cord by the chair. It drops an iron barrier between you and her. If you violate any of these rules, you’ll be arrested.” Despite my friendship with Phil, I had no doubt she meant it.
    Finally, weapon-bare and winded from the climb, I was let into the cell that took up the entire top of the tower. The visitor’s area was a narrow section blocked off by bars. On the other side of them, staring out the window, stood Queen Rhiannon of Arentia.
    She wore a prison tunic that was too big for her and didn’t do a damn thing to make her unattractive. Her golden hair was tied back in a ponytail, and of course she wore no make-up. Three small, shimmery birds sat on the sill as if they expected her to feed them.
    She had her back to me when I entered, then turned and gazed at me with calm eyes so blue it was like looking directly into the sea. And it was a look I
knew
.
    I just stared. If she’d had two heads and bat wings, I don’t think I could’ve been more surprised. The door slammed shut behind me, and the noise snapped me out of my moment of shock. The shiny birds, startled, flew away. “
Eppie
,” I said, my voice flat with shock.
    She frowned. “Eppie,” she repeated, as if it were some strange greeting. “Do I know you, sir?”
    “Epona Gray,” I said in the same blank, astounded tone.
    Her eyes looked around the room, as if to make sure I was speaking to her. “Is that a color? Are you here to paint?”
    I dropped heavily into the chair. All my careful theories and concepts vanished. “No,” I said.
    After a long moment she pushed self-consciously at the tunic’s hem and said, “You’re staring at me, sir.”
    “Yes, I am,” I agreed.
    “It’s rather rude, don’t you think?”
    I continued to