Queen of Nothing

25. Queen of Fools

"How did they die?" I asked breathlessly, my eyes still glued on the pair of headstones before me.

It had to have been a coincidence, right? No, these had to be two completely separate people named Andre and Daphne. For all I knew, those were common names back then. Also, Andre had been a soldier judging from the uniform he wore in his picture. He must have died in the Civil War, which I recall being several years after 1859.

Yet telltale snippets of everything Daphne had told me over the past few weeks echoed in my mind.

'Andre is buried here.'

Tristan shot me a wary glance, which turned to worry at the sight of my bewildered expression. "My uncle told me it was highway robbery gone bad. They were supposed to get married soon, too. Tragedy runs in the family, I guess."

'He died before we could be married.'

My thoughts were a hurricane of every bit of information Daphne had fed to me ever since I've known her. No, this couldn't be her. I was looking at a grave, and the Daphne I knew was quite clearly alive. And even though her being a Sinclair would certainly explain her encyclopedic knowledge of that godforsaken family, she made her hatred of them plain. There was just no way!

'His Majesty would like to know whether this is some sort of joke.'

If it was a joke, it wasn't a good one. I'd put so much trust in Daphne, I don't know how I could live with the possibility that she'd been playing me for a fool the whole time. I needed this to be some kind of weird cosmic coincidence.

"You don't think that..." Tristan said, echoing my troubled thoughts.

That Daphne Marie Sinclair, Sheridan's long dead sister was alive and a witch and lived right under the king's nose at 1859 Esplanade Ave? My head throbbed with pain. 1859. The year this ill fated couple buried before me both died. As much as I hated the idea, the evidence was not stacking up in Daphne's favor.

Now that I allowed myself to entertain the possibility, I realized that Daphne certainly looked like the king. Not enough for it to be obvious, but I could see the resemblance once pointed out. They had the same brown hair, same dark eyes, the same thin, straight nose. I was sure that if I saw the two of them in the same room, the idea of them being brother and sister would become quite clear.

But I couldn't rely on circumstantial clues. I needed to find out the truth. Because if Daphne lied about who she is, about her connection to Sheridan – hell, the whole Sinclair family – what else could she be hiding? I had to see for myself. And that meant — my stomach roiled — exhuming the body to make sure there was a body.

Magic sparked from my fingertips. I held my arms out, willing my power into the earth. The ground began to tremble beneath my feet. This wasn't any spell I'd learned; I was running on pure instinct. Power surged, cleaving the ground before me in half, leaving a hole large enough to fit a coffin through. My knees wobbled and my magic fizzled out, all power drained.

Holy shit, I thought as I stepped forward to examine my handiwork. I just parted the freaking earth.

"You sure are full of surprises, aren't you?" Tristan said nervously.

At the bottom of the gash I'd created lay a weathered wooden casket. From what little light the moon and a far off light post provided, I saw that the lid was rather ominously cracked and caved in, with dirt having seeped through. But that could have just been from the centuries of dirt weighing down upon it, right? It didn't necessarily mean anything sinister or ominous. At least, that's what I hoped.