Lord Willowvale had conscripted two of his servants to continue his surveillance of Oliver that night while he snatched a few hours’ sleep on the wide seat of a nearby carriage. The servants were sworn to wake him if Oliver did anything at all.
He woke to the grey light of dawn, having slept nearly the whole night through, and stormed up the oak tree from whose branches his lackey had been watching the Hathaway front entrance.
“You didn’t wake me? Why not? Has he done nothing at all?”
“No, my lord. Nothing.” The fairy gestured at the door. “I’ve heard nothing from Hemlock, either.”
Lord Willowvale, fuming, walked around the block to find the other fairy perched comfortably in an old maple tree with a view of the rear of the house and the small, enclosed garden.
“Nothing?” he asked in disbelief.
“Nothing, my lord.”
At that moment, Oliver emerged from the rear door. He proceeded to spend the next two hours pacing the garden.
Lord Willowvale climbed the tree and settled in to the crook of a branch. Over the following hours, he became increasingly frustrated and irritable at the young man’s apparently impotent distress.
In recent months, Lord Willowvale had accused nearly everyone in the Valestrian court of being in league with the Rose, albeit always in the form of a question to skirt that pesky inability to lie. He had spent a great deal of time studying human facial expressions and trying to understand those alien creatures. Miss Hathaway’s reaction to his accusation had been the most interesting, indicating not only fear but some level of shocked, unhappy assent, though she had not exactly said as much. This had supported Lord Willowvale’s vague but growing suspicion of her brother Oliver.
The fairy who had been surveilling the front of the house came to the bottom of the tree in which they sat. When Lord Willowvale jumped down to meet him, he informed the Special Envoy that there had been a confirmed Rose incident the night before in the Fair Lands some distance from the palace. Four children had been taken by the Rose to the new, unknown refuge.
Lord Willowvale sighed, frustrated to the depths of his soul, and growled to himself.
“Keep following him, in case anything interesting happens,” he said finally. “I’m going to the Fair Lands to investigate.”
Lord Willowvale’s clever theory that Oliver Hathaway was the Rose was unraveling before his eyes. The Fair lord was entirely focused on his goal of catching the Rose and not unwilling to reconsider his conclusion based on new information. But he had precious little other information to work with. Perhaps the interrogations of the fairies tasked with guarding the children would yield something useful.