Page 63 of A Divided Duty

“So why didn’t you ever say anything when she was playing normal countess and mucking everything up from the inside?”

He shrugged. “In truth, I did not know. The illusions she used to make herself over into one of her own descendants were too powerful, and I drew no connection between her and the woman I had known in other times, in other places.”

“She really hid herself well enough to fool absolutely everybody, huh?” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “And now we’re back to the Firstborn all being ridiculously powerful, and me starting to wonder why we ever go up against them all.”

To my surprise, he laughed. I sat up, twisting to eye him.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, of all people, implying that the Firstborn are too much for their descendants to handle.” He sobered. “October, you have beaten them, tricked them, seen them sent into endless slumber, and even killed one among their number. You have no cause to fear the First. If anything, the First should be reckoning with their fear of you. They are terrible and powerful, yes, but they think themselves to be gods, and any resistance sees them all too quickly undone. You are their bane, my beloved, and there is no reason you should dread their power.”

“Unless I want to be turned into something nasty and left to work through it on my own,” I said—but it was hard not to feel pleased by his faith in me, his endless belief that I could find a path through anything Faerie had to throw my way. With him beside me, I thought he might be right. I might be able to change the world.

Then the tree that had been increasingly taking on the shape of a woman shifted, two limbs becoming branches and then arms as it stretched languidly and Acacia stepped out of the trunk. Her injuries were gone, replaced by healthy skin and unmarred flesh; not even bruises remained. Her hair was longer and looked healthier, twisting and twining around her shoulders in its endless self-motivated styling.

She turned, then jumped, surprised to find us there to watch her emergence.

“Oh,” she said. “Hello.”

“Hi, Acacia,” I said. “We were just waiting for you to wake up so you could send us home. If you wouldn’t mind?”

“We will return,” added Tybalt. “Your daughter is well, and still in the house where she was left. Her wounds are healed sufficient that she will live, although my lady could not remove her bruises.”

“So tell her to take it easy until we’re back, okay?” I stood, flashing Acacia a quick smile. “The Luidaeg got us here, and we should have sufficient candle for another trip after we’ve managed to locate Raysel, but we don’t have a good way of getting back to the Summerlands on our own.”

“Of course,” said Acacia, still sounding lightly bewildered. She raised her hands, and the forest to her side wasn’t a forest at all; it was a painting on a sheet of canvas, like the back wall of a stage. She pulled it aside, and on the other side of it was the Luidaeg’s living room, currently empty, which was a good thing; I did not want to walk in and find Oberon just getting out of the shower, or the Luidaeg doing whatever it was the sea witch did when she wanted her privacy.

“I can’t hold this forever,” said Acacia, and I realized I’d been staring when I should have been moving.

“Back soon,” I said brightly, and stepped through the curtain, Tybalt close behind me.

My candle extinguished itself as soon as I was in the Luidaeg’s living room again, leaving me with a cold taper and the smell of hot wax wafting through the air. Tybalt’s did the same. He sagged where he stood, looking suddenly exhausted.

I frowned at him. “You need some sleep. What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock in the fucking morning, and you’re lucky I know my sister’s magic the way I do, or you’d be rabbits right now,” said the Luidaeg peevishly. I turned toward the sound of her voice.

Then I shouted, pain flooding my senses. When it faded, I was on my knees on the living room floor, fingers knotted through the fibers of the carpet, the candle no longer in my hand.

“Here, little hero, follow my voice,” said the Luidaeg. Then her hands were on my shoulders, tugging me gently upright and guiding me to the couch, where I sank deep into the cushions. “Sorry about that. I knew Acacia would probably send you back this way, and I should have been prepared, but I was sleeping when she opened the door, and I guess I forgot to put my face back on before I came out of my room.”

I tried to ask her what she was talking about, and all that came out was a squeaky moan.

“It’s all right. Don’t try to talk yet. You’ve had quite a shock, and it may take a few minutes for your nervous system to let it go. Just relax, and focus on breathing.”

Breathing, right. That was something my body was supposed to do without me needing to think about it. I tried to do as I was told and focus on the slow action of pulling air into my lungs and pushing it out again, until gradually the act became easier, requiring less and less of my focus.

Unseen but close by, Tybalt groaned. I leaned toward the sound, groping around until I found his hand, then held on fast. This would be easier to handle if I knew I couldn’t lose track of him.

Again, I tried to speak. This time, my tongue responded, if only sluggishly, and I managed to form the words I was reaching for, although they came out slightly slurred, like I’d been drinking. Drinking would have been nice, if it still did anything for me. Thanks to the rate at which I healed, I could down a pint of vodka and be walking straight thirty seconds later. Sounds great, makes chemical relaxation hard.

Digressions aside, I spoke, and the words were comprehensible, at least to my own ears: “Luidaeg what … the hell?”

“You can’t normally surprise me. Even when I don’t know you’re coming over, even when you take the shadows or whatever, my wards tell me before you actually get here. You’re like children thundering around the house during playtime, and I always hear you coming. When my sister opened a door for you, it was quiet. Clean. I didn’t know you were going to be here, and so you saw me without any of my filters on. You’re not supposed to do that.”

I moaned, then asked, “Why … not?”

“Why aren’t you supposed to look directly at the sun, little candle? Why are you supposed to shy away from fires brighter than your own? The Firstborn look like we do because we’re trying to protect our descendants. Our true faces are … difficult for you.”