Page 72 of Night and Silence

Dianda nodded, accepting my words at face value, and shot a venomous look at the false Queen. Patrick was kneeling next to the woman, one hand extended as he presumably took her pulse. It was nice to see him being thorough.

“I could overpower you,” she said. “She’s allowed crimes to be committed against my people. I could have her halfway to the Undersea before you had a chance to stop me. If you think Queen Windermere is going to be lenient . . . ”

“I don’t,” I said. “This woman took her father’s throne. She left Arden as an exile in her own kingdom for a century, and she had Nolan elf-shot. I think the false Queen will end up wishing she’d stayed asleep up in Silences.” Which raised the question of where we could find Dugan Harrow, and how many times I was going to punch him before he stopped fighting back. I glanced to Jocelyn, who was still slumped, unconscious, in Tybalt’s grasp. We were going to have a long conversation after she woke up, and she wasn’t going to enjoy it.

Etienne’s scent of limes and cedar smoke drifted through the air. I whirled in time to see a glowing portal appear behind me. My liege, Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, stepped through. I didn’t think. I dropped my sword and broke into a run, flinging myself into the comforting familiarity of his embrace. He didn’t hesitate before folding his arms around me, surrounding me with the scent of daffodils and dogwood flowers that permeated his skin. I inhaled deeply. His magic had meant home and safety to me for as long as I could remember.

“October,” he said, resting his chin against the top of my head and holding me closer still. I started to shake, all the fear and trauma of the day bubbling to the top. “Calm, my dear, calm. I’m here. It will be all right.”

I didn’t look at Tybalt. He was the only one who knew whether my liege was lying. I couldn’t look at him. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pressing my face against Sylvester’s chest. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it without you.”

“Nor should you have to. I’m your liege. That means something, October. Even when you feel you can do things on your own, you shouldn’t have to. I’m always here when you need me. Always.” Sylvester lifted his head, and I knew he was looking at the dais, at Tybalt, waiting there for me to be ready for whatever terrible thing was coming next.

I was almost prepared when Sylvester pushed me out to arm’s-length, his golden eyes grave as he searched my face.

“October,” he said, “where is your daughter?”

“With the Luidaeg,” I said, voice small.

“You should go to her. Duchess Lorden and I will see that Queen Windermere takes custody of these ruffians.”

I nodded, unable to speak. Then I knelt, retrieving my sword from the floor. “Tybalt will be back with the elf-shot cure,” I said, finally finding the words now that they weren’t about me. “Please don’t let any harm come to Quentin or May.”

“I would never,” Sylvester assured me.

Dianda looked at me sympathetically, but didn’t speak, as I walked back to where Tybalt waited. He shoved Jocelyn at her. She caught the changeling easily, locking her trident across the smaller woman’s body, so that there was no chance she could wake up and break away.

“I’ll be back for them,” I said, and stepped into Tybalt’s embrace. He drew me close as he stepped into the shadows, and we were gone.

NINETEEN

THE SHADOW ROADS WERE as dark and cold as ever, and somehow no less terrifying for the lack of a Baobhan Sith lurking somewhere in the blackness. Tybalt swung me into a bridal carry, a move that was sweetly, painfully reminiscent of the way we always used to run together, back before I had a prayer of keeping up with him. I closed my eyes and did my best to relax against him, feeling the blood that covered my clothing freeze and flake away.

I didn’t know what we were running toward. It was by my own choosing, and I understood that, I accepted that, but it didn’t change the fact that I didn’t know. Were we running toward a consequence or a miracle? I didn’t know. What had seemed easier in the pale light of the false Queen’s knowe seemed like a dire mistake now, as we ran through the dark and the consequences of my choices loomed ahead of me.

Gillian. My Gilly. I didn’t know her as an adult, had barely known her as a child, but I knew her so well as a baby, and those were the images my heart raced for. The first smile, the first word, the first time she’d tried to grasp a pixie in one pudgy fist and I had known, for sure, that she was fae enough to see the magical world around us, not safely insulated from it like her father. The way she’d scowled when she didn’t want to do something, whether it was eating her broccoli or going to bed. The way she’d laughed every time I crossed my eyes. She had been the most magical thing in my world, and if she was gone, she was gone forever. I didn’t know how I was ever going to move past the reality of her absence.

But I’d been moving toward that reality for years, hadn’t I? Since the moment I’d kissed her forehead and pulled eternity from her veins, I had known that one day she would die and leave me. There had been a chance before that—a slim chance, given how thin her fae blood had been, but a chance all the same. When I had asked her to choose which world she belonged to, I had kept my word. I’d listened. I’d given her what she asked for, and in the process, I had taken away her chance at forever.

Maybe things would have gone differently if I’d been able to explain what it meant to be fae, what it meant to be mortal . . . or if Janet hadn’t already been burrowed into Gillian’s life, quietly poisoning her against Faerie. I shuddered, nestling more tightly against Tybalt. So much of this came back to Janet. She had been there all along, and somehow I had failed to see her. Because she was human, and humans didn’t matter in Faerie.

I was becoming as prejudiced as any pureblood, assuming I hadn’t been already.

Tybalt tensed and leapt and the shadows fell away, brightness lancing at my closed eyes. I cracked them cautiously open and blinked when I saw we were in the Luidaeg’s actual living room, rather than in the alley outside.

“She modified the wards for you?” The question sounded stupid even to my own ears. Of course, she’d modified the wards. How else could we have been where we were? Tybalt was a King of Cats, but no King apart from their Firstborn could possibly have the power to tear through the Luidaeg’s defenses.

“She volunteered it; I did not ask,” he said gravely, lowering me to my feet. “I would not waste her favors on such a petty privilege.”

“Which is why you get to have it, kitty,” said the Luidaeg. I turned. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping something thick and black off her hands. The washcloth’s original color was unknowable, thanks to the muck. She smiled wanly as she looked at me. “Covered in blood again, I see. I suppose it’s your signature look. Maybe think about getting a hat or something instead.”

I opened my mouth, intending to make a snide comment. Nothing came out. My lips moved soundlessly, my voice trying to find purchase on the air. The ice on my lashes was still melting, gluing them together, filling the world with a prismatic gleam.

The Luidaeg sighed. “Breathe, Toby. You need to breathe. She’s alive. But we need to talk about what that means.”

I barely heard her final words. “Alive” echoed in my ears, drowning everything else out. I took a step forward, staggered, and collapsed, saved from impact with the floor by Tybalt, who wrapped his arms around my chest and hoisted me back to my feet.