“Apparently not,” I said. “Odds are he was killed by the original traitor, the Drood who first brought the Loathly Ones through into our world. Presumably Sebastian knew something, or the traitor thought he did . . .”

“And you’re not worried the bastard is still here?”

I had to smile. “If I could believe there was only one traitor left in this family, I’d be a happy man. Sooner or later, he or she will give him-or herself away. Traitors always do. But that . . . is a matter for another day.”

The Matriarch came over to join us, stiff-backed and regal as always, and everyone else hurried to get out of her way.

“Well-done,” she said, brisk as ever. “One crisis averted, so many more to go.”

“Business as usual, for the family,” I said.

“Quite.” She considered me thoughtfully. “If you’re willing, I’m quite prepared to continue running the day-to-day business of the family, while leaving you to set policy and make operational decisions. You would still be in charge . . . but there’s a lot I could do for the family.”

“Of course there is,” I said. “I can use your experience. But I don’t plan to run things forever. I have no wish to be Patriarch. The sooner I can set up some kind of democratic system in the family, to choose our leaders, the sooner I can get back to being a field agent, where I belong.”

The Matriarch shrugged. “The family has tried pretty much every way there is of running things, at one time or another, but we always come back to a Matriarch. Because that’s what works. But you’ve earned the right to your little experiment with democracy.”

“Thank you, Grandmother,” I said dryly. “You do realise I’ll have people watching you like a hawk all the time, just in case?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’d expect nothing less.” She paused, looking out over the great throng of dancing couples filling the ballroom floor. “I do miss Cyril. He was always such a good dancer, as a boy.”

“Him?” I said. “The Sarjeant-at-Arms? The man was a thug and a bully!”

“That was just his job,” said the Matriarch. “Cyril was always so much more than that. He was such a promising student . . . Tell me he died well, Edwin.”

“Yes,” I said. “He died well. He stood his ground against overwhelming odds, so that the rest of us could get away. He was a credit to the family.”

“Of course,” said the Matriarch. “I’d expect nothing less. We’ll have to appoint a new Sarjeant-at-Arms as soon as possible. He represents discipline, and dedication to the family.” She looked at me sternly. “But what in the good God’s name were you thinking of, Edwin, in bringing a half-elf into the Hall? Now the Fae Court have their very own golden torc! You have to get it back, Edwin!”