Page 22 of The Brightest Fell

“Because I wanted you to come willingly,” I said. “August is your daughter. I thought you’d want her back.”

Simon went still, all the false arrogance draining from his face, leaving only a sad, lonely man behind. “Want her back?” he asked. “Everything I’ve done has been in the name of getting her back. Every line I’ve crossed, every crime I’ve committed, every atrocity I have allowed to unfold, has been in the name of bringing my August home. Don’t question, even for a second, how much I want her brought back to me.”

“So you’ll help me,” I said.

“I have conditions,” Simon replied.

Raj hissed. Quentin tightened his grip.

“I’m not sure you’re in a position to set conditions,” I said.

“Perhaps not, and yet here I am, setting them,” said Simon.

I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. He was right. Damn his eyes, but he was right. Sylvester hadn’t compelled Simon to help me, because I had asked him not to. I wanted Simon to come willingly, to give me the kind of help that only happened when it was unforced.

He had a better self in there. He had to. I wanted him to find it again.

“What do you want?” demanded Sylvester.

Simon smiled. “First, I stay awake. I’m not going on some mad quest with your darling protégé only to return here and be put back to bed for a century. I don’t know how you woke me early, and I don’t entirely care, so long as you understand that when the first of you comes near me with an arrow, I’ll stop playing nicely.”

“Done,” said Sylvester.

“Your lovely lady wife no doubt wants my head on a platter, and while I can’t say I blame her, I need my head where it is, especially if we’re bringing my daughter home. August will want her father close at hand to help her adjust to the way the world has changed. So that, then, is my second demand: that you not allow the lovely Luna to seek revenge against me.”

“You, who have never once been able to control your wife’s actions, would tell me to control mine?” Sylvester asked.

Simon shrugged. “A demand’s a demand.”

“I promise to try.”

“Swear it. On our sister’s name.”

Sylvester narrowed his eyes. “In September’s name, I swear.”

“That will be good enough for me. I trust the mercy of our courts much more than I ever could have trusted hers.” Simon turned to me. “My third demand is simpler than it seems. If I am going to help you—if we are going to undertake a ludicrous quest for the most precious of prizes—you must try to forgive me. I did what I did in the name of saving you, however it may have looked at the time, and your bad opinion of me smarts. I won’t ask you to promise that you will. I try never to deal in the impossible when there’s another choice. But I will ask you to try.”

“I will,” I said.

“Then we have an accord.” Simon slid off the bed, to his feet. May flinched. He looked at her and sighed. “The Fetch. You are lovely, lady, and I am grateful for your existence.”

May frowned, wary and confused. “Why is that?”

“Because on the day Oleander came to me and told me Amandine had got herself a changeling girl to ease the sting of what we’d lost, I knew that one day, that girl would cease to be. Changelings always do, and a changeling of Amy’s descent, well. For such a child, the Choice would be a real one. But you wear the face October was born to, and you wear it with undying grace, that one changeling in all of Faerie should not be forgotten.”

May stared at him. I stared at him. Sylvester rolled his eyes.

“Your silver tongue does you no favors here,” he said.

“My tongue is golden, as befits a man of my standing,” said Simon. He turned his attention to me. “I am at your service, Sir Daye, and I hope that by the time we find what we seek, I will have earned that forgiveness from your lips.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” I said.

“Then, if I may be so bold as to offer suggestions, start by assessing your resources,” said Simon.

“Whatever you need is yours,” said Sylvester.

“I know. I know. I just . . . hang on.” I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. Too often, I rush into things half-cocked, not planning for what I might face along the way. In my defense, that’s usually because everything falls apart so fast that I don’t have a choice. When the ground is crumbling beneath your feet, you don’t look for the right path. You just jump and hope you land safely.