She made a small face, but stepped into the willow room when Robin opened the door, and didn’t protest when he closed it. He was almost certain she wasn’t going to press her ear to the door—they trusted each other more than that—but he let Edwin beckon him a little farther down the corridor anyway.
“Looks like she’d have swallowed it if you said state secrets,” said Edwin.
“I don’t lie to the people I care about,” said Robin. “What is it?”
“Reggie’s dead.” Edwin’s hand tightened on the letter. The paper made a small, dry sound. “They found his body two days ago.”
It wasn’t a surprise, after everything. Robin said “I’m sorry” anyway. Edwin didn’t meet his eyes, but gave him the letter. Robin read quickly. “Handed over to the Coopers? What does that mean?”
“Investigative branch of the Assembly,” said Edwin. “Perhaps the rest of the bloody Gatlings did decide to take his disappearance seriously. The Coopers will make sure the usual police don’t push too far, and they’ll pick up the case themselves, if there’s something to pick up.”
Edwin didn’t sound encouraged by this, nor did he suggest they could return to London and shove this entire mess into the hands of these magical police, who were surely far more qualified. Of course. Robin was still having visions, and Edwin was trying to keep him out of their sight for as long as possible.
Honestly, Robin gave it another two days before he found himself demanding that they take the risk if there was the slightest chance these Coopers could get the curse off him. But he trusted Edwin’s judgement.
The rest of Miss Morrissey’s note was a dry assurance that if they were making headway then they might as well stay out of London, as there was no pressing need for Robin’s presence. The PM had left for Cardiff and wouldn’t be back within the week, so wouldn’t be needing his usual briefing.
A few more days in the library, with an extra set of books this time. It might make the difference to Edwin’s attempts. Though now Robin had his sister to worry about on top of everything else.
“Edwin,” he said. “What did Belinda mean, kinder than the alternative?”
Edwin’s face set into the coolness that meant he was trying not to react, or was worried about someone else’s reaction.
Robin said, “Don’t lie to me. Please.”
“Lethe-mint.” Edwin swallowed. “That’s what would have been in the lemonade. It’s what Charlie and Bel drank after they set the traps in the lake, so that they could play the game. So that they wouldn’t remember where any of it was.”
“And giving it to Maud was another of their games.”
A long pause. “Not really,” said Edwin. “It’s what ends up being used, most often, after an accidental unbusheling. There’s a time limit on lethe-mint’s use. After a while, the only option is casting a spell directly on the mind, and those can be—difficult. Or else letting the person keep the memory but binding their tongue to protect it. Lethe-mint is the kindest option.”
Robin was surprised at how personal his anger felt, how close to betrayal. He’d tear apart anyone who harmed his sister, of course he would, but the fact that it was Edwin defending Belinda’s actions . . . that hurt. For the past week it had been the two of them against the world. And now it was clearly Edwin’s world against Robin’s.
“So they were going to just—take her memory of all this? Let her think, what, she’d been drugged?”
“Tell her she’d been offered Champagne and drank too much of it,” said Edwin.
“And you’d be perfectly fine with that?”
“I stopped them,” Edwin snapped. “As you’ll recall.”
Robin forced himself to breathe. Some of the steam left his head. He rubbed at his face. “Yes.” He managed an ungracious “Thank you.”
“Talk to your sister,” said Edwin. “I’ll talk to mine.”
Robin had no idea, even when he opened the door to the sight of Maud sitting in the room’s single upholstered chair, how he was going to start said talk.
Then he tasted pepper, and realised the decision had been made for him in a spectacularly inconvenient fashion.
“Oh, blast,” he said weakly. He managed to stagger in the direction of the bed and—possibly—even sit down on its edge, although the vision swooped in and claimed him before he could register the sensation of sitting.