I failed him," he continued faintly. "I failed your father. I failed to protect him. I failed to see the rot in our halls."
I nearly laughed from the force of my relief. He was taking it.
He was taking it!
Elowen recoiled as if he had struck her. "No. No, Barnaby, that's not—you can't say that. Tell everyone you didn't poison my father."
Barnaby's gaze never left hers. There was something almost peaceful in it.
"The Moon sees all," he whispered. "And the Moon will protect you, child. Even from what you cannot see."
That was it. That was all.
No denial. No confession of innocence. No naming of me. No naming of Gideon. Just that cryptic, infuriating blessing.
The axe had not yet fallen, but in that moment, I felt like I had been dragged back from the edge of a cliff by the collar of my dress.
Elowen stared at him in disbelief. "No," she breathed. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to talk like you're—like you're guilty. You didn't do this."
