“Wh-what?”

I lowered my voice so the guard across the room wouldn’t hear. “You conspired with Tristan to kill James and frame Gabriel.”

It took her a moment to say, “I don’t know what you mean,” and that moment’s hesitation answered any remaining question I had.

“Gabriel was your best shot at freedom,” I said, struggling against the rage that swirled through me. “He would have gotten you out. We would have—Gabriel and I, together. You screwed yourself over. You get that, don’t you?”

She shook her head, and I understood then. I understood that it didn’t matter. That her hatred of fae was pathological, and it wasn’t so much because Gabriel was part fae—so was she—but that his role, as Gwynn, was to bring me to the Tylwyth Teg, and she could not allow that. As for freeing her, she didn’t believe that would happen, not really. After all, she was guilty. I suspected she’d only rehired him to keep him close enough to watch and to have some control over him, as leverage to separate him from me, which had failed. Step two, then, was more permanent.

“Why James?” I said, forcing as much calm into my voice as I could muster. “What did he do?”

“He was obsessed with you. I saw that when he came to speak to me. I didn’t mean for that spriggan to kill him. I only wanted him hurt enough to scare him off.”

“And then frame Gabriel for the assault.”

“Yes. Assault, not murder.”

“Then Tristan did kill James. You were horrified. You confessed to me what happened, told me he planned to frame Gabriel and you couldn’t let that happen because it went too far, much too far. Oh, wait. No. That’s not how it happened.”

“I . . .”

“I don’t know if you planned for James to die or not, but you knew it was a possibility, and when he did, you continued as planned. One innocent man died and another was due to spend his life in prison for the crime.”

“Gabriel is not an innocent man, Olivia. Far from it. The sooner you realize that, the better off you will be.” She leaned in. “He wouldn’t have gone to prison anyway. He’s too good a lawyer for that.”

“James is still dead.”

“Yes, and that is a tragedy, but I had nothing—”

“James is still dead!” I spat, leaning across the table, Pamela falling back, the guard across the room shooting forward. I moved back and the guard stopped.

“James was innocent,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper now, the pain too great. “And he is dead, and as far as I am concerned, you are responsible for that, as much as if you’d put your hands around his neck yourself.”