An Artificial Night - BK 3 (27 page)

“Oh, Toby, what have you done?” She sounded like she was somewhere between choking and crying. Not taking her eyes from the rose, she said, “Sylvester?”

“It was bound to happen one day, Luna,” he said wearily. “I’m honestly amazed that it’s taken this long. Maybe if Amandine hadn’t stood aside—”

“But she did,” said Luna. Her tails were lashing, stirring her skirt into a wild tangle. “Please, Sylvester.”

He sighed. “What would you have me do?”

“Take Quentin and his . . . his friend . . . to the Children’s Hall and get them settled comfortably. Bring them drinks and go down to collect the others.” She glanced at him, then away, as if the sight of him hurt her eyes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“This is your garden as much as any other, Luna. You planted it. I love you. But don’t you dare try to deny the need to harvest.” Sylvester gave Luna a disgusted look, helping Katie to her feet. She stood without protesting, moving easily on legs that now bent the wrong way and tapered into dainty, fully formed hooves. Her glossy smile didn’t change as Quentin slid his arm through hers; I wasn’t even sure she knew he was there.

Luna closed her eyes, standing silent as the three of them made their way out of the hall. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, flowing freely by the time she sighed and said, eyes still closed, “So you’ve met my mother.”

“You could’ve warned me.”

“No, I couldn’t. I might have tried, if I thought you’d reach her forest alive, but I didn’t think you’d make it that far.” She made the admission without flinching. When I left for Blind Michael’s lands, she didn’t expect me to come back. Opening her eyes, she looked at me sadly, and asked, “She gave that to you?”

“She asked me to bring it to you.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“Because she misses you and remembers that you like roses? I don’t know. Luna, what the
hell
is going on here?” I glared at her, not bothering to hide my frustration. “I’m a kid, Katie’s turning into a horse, my Fetch is waiting with the car, you sent me off to die, and I’m pretty sure Blind Michael’s your—”

“He’s my father.” Her voice was calm now; resigned. “I said to be careful of all his children, you know. You never listen. I watched you walk out of here, and I knew you wouldn’t be back, and I didn’t tell my husband, because he wouldn’t have let you go. I love you, Toby. I always have. But I hate my father more, and when you offered the choice of your life or my own, I took the one that kept me safe. You should have listened when I said to be careful. He has you now, whether you know it or not, and I don’t know if you can be saved.”

I froze. “What?”

“How many times do you need me to say it? Yes, he’s my father, and yes, I sent you to die. At least Mother’s always said he was my father, and I believe her. She’s never broken free of him.” She smiled bitterly. “They recreated Faerie more accurately than they dreamed; she doesn’t love him and hasn’t loved him in centuries, but she orbits him like the moon orbits the earth. He knows it and hates her, and they’ll never leave each other. Habit holds them.”

“But . . .”

“But what? I was the last of their children, born when they still thought they could love each other. When he still allowed the sun to rise.” Her smile faltered, fading. “There was sunshine then, and rainbows. We lived in his halls once; I remember that. But things changed. They fell out of love. The sun stopped rising. It was too late for us to leave his lands—my siblings were gone, scattered, and they couldn’t hide us—so Mother and I ran to the forest. The trees were strong because Mother was strong, and the roses were strong because I was there. I used to watch the Hunt sweep the moors searching for children . . . for me.” She shook her head. “I’m part of what he’s looking for. His lost little girl. And I will
not
go back.”

“How did you get away?”

“I escaped. Isn’t that how one always gets away? One escapes. One takes whatever route is open and gets out. The methods don’t matter.”

“Sometimes they do.”

“No, they don’t.” Her expression hadn’t changed, but her voice . . . she was begging, and I didn’t know what she was begging
for.
“Please, October, believe me. They don’t matter.”

I looked at her. There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask, and years of history telling me I shouldn’t. Why should I care where she’d come from? She was my friend and my liege, and Sylvester loved her. And she sent me to my death.

There were reasons to ask. There were reasons to keep my peace. Answers are bitter things, and once you get them, they’re yours and you can’t give them back. Did I want to know badly enough that I was willing to live with whatever answer she gave me?

No. I didn’t. Swallowing hard, I said the first thing that came to mind: “Well, I guess that explains Raysel.”

“Yes, it does. Blood will tell. I tried to pretend it wouldn’t, that we could change, but blood always tells. We carry the burdens of our parents.” She sighed, holding out her hand in an easy, imperious gesture. “My rose, if you would?”

I considered arguing. Then I saw the look in her eyes, all bitter sorrow and broken resignation, and handed it to her without a word. She curled her fingers around the stem and heaved a deep, bone-weary sigh, closing her eyes as she whispered, “Hello, Mother.”

The rose began gleaming like a star, getting brighter and brighter until everything was obscured save for Luna and the rose. There was a flash of black and silver light, burning pink around the edges like a sunset, and Luna was gone, replaced by someone I didn’t know.

She was taller than Luna, with marble white skin and hair that darkened from pale pink at the roots to red-black at the tips. It fell past her knees, tangling in the rope of briars that belted her grass green gown. She looked like nothing I’d ever seen, and it hurt my heart until I stepped away from her, holding out my hands in the mute hope that I could push her away. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t mine.

“Mother, please . . .” she whispered. The voice was still Luna’s.

I bit my lip. “Luna?”

The rose woman opened her eyes. They were pale yellow, like pollen. And then she was gone, leaving Luna standing in her place. Luna’s ears were pressed flat, and her tails were wildly waving. Blood ran between her fingers where the barbed thorns of the rose had broken her skin. They were long and wickedly sharp; I couldn’t see how I’d managed to avoid them.

That was easy to answer: the thorns weren’t there when I held the rose, because it wasn’t intended for me. “Luna—”

“She wasn’t trying to hurt me.” She walked to the nearest vase, tucking the bloody rose among the more mundane flowers with exquisite care. “She just forgets what I am these days.”

“What are you?” I could taste her blood on the air, but it didn’t tell me anything that I could understand. Her heritage wasn’t Kitsune. It was nothing that I knew at all.

She looked to me and smiled, sadly. “Who I’ve always been: Luna Torquill, Duchess of Shadowed Hills. I’m Kitsune, for all that I have a few more . . . unusual traits than most. I’m also my mother’s daughter, but I’m not as strong as she remembers me. Much of my strength is spent in staying as I am.”

“What
were
you?”

“Something else, when the world was younger and had more room for roses.”

“Oh,” I said. What else was there? It made sense the same way everything in Faerie does: sideways and upside down, like looking in an underwater mirror.

Luna lifted her wounded hand, studying it. “I paid for the right to bleed when something cuts me. Mother won’t understand that, and I can’t expect her to. It’s not in her nature.”

“What isn’t in her nature?”

“Bleeding.” She closed her hand.

I looked at her, shivering, and said, “Now what?”

“Now you take the rest of your children home.” She smiled wanly. “Sylvester and I will . . . we’ll make our peace. We’ll do what we can for the children staying here, and for Quentin’s lady love. There must be a way around what Father did to her. Spells can always be broken.”

“All right,” I said, nodding. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Are you sure?” Her smile faded. “My father knows your name, and you’ve chosen Death for your driver. I’m sure she’s a sweet death, and one who wears your face most prettily, but she’s Death all the same. I’m sorry to be part of the reason that she’s here, but if you come back, it will be a miracle.”

“I’ll be back.”

“As you say.” She looked down, watching the blood trickling down her fingers. “You should go. The day is waning.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I bowed and turned toward the door, shivering despite the warmth in the hall. Nothing was what it was supposed to be; I wasn’t sure I even knew who Luna was anymore. I certainly didn’t know who I was, and now I was going to die. The week just kept getting better.

I stepped back into the mortal world, closing my eyes as the door swung shut behind me, trying to reorient myself. The shock of transition is always there when we move between worlds; just another little consequence of being what we are.

For some reason I wasn’t surprised when I heard a familiar voice behind me, sounding amazed and a little frightened. It had been that kind of week. “That wasn’t you, was it?” I opened my eyes and turned to face Connor. He stared. “I saw your car, and you were with it, but you looked right through me. I thought you were mad, but you’re not, are you? That wasn’t you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Oh, there was a clever lie.

“Of course not. Toby.”

“Why are you calling me that?” My voice sounded childish and shrill, even to my own ears.

He shook his head, walking toward me. “Did you think losing a few years would fool me?”

“I sort of hoped,” I said, shoulders sagging.

“Wrong answer. I knew you when you were a kid, remember? You tried to drown me in your mom’s garden pond and got angry when I wouldn’t die. I used to spend hours watching you chase pixies in the hedge maze. I know you, October Daye, and you can’t hide from me.” He paused. “I’m sorry you feel like you need to. I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t,” I said, reeling. I don’t need anyone to know me that well. “This wasn’t voluntary—the Luidaeg did it to me.”

His eyes widened at the Luidaeg’s name, and he asked, “Why?”

“She said she needed to.” If he wanted the details, he could damn well drag them out of me. I didn’t feel like sharing.

“I see.” He looked at me for a moment, deciding not to press the issue. Smart boy. “So who’s the clone with the car?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “That’s May.”

“She looks just like you.”

“We’re sort of related.”

“I didn’t think you had a sister.”

“She’s not my sister.”

“So who is she?”

“My Fetch.”

The world stopped as Connor stared at me, shock and terror warring for dominance of his face. Finally, voice barely audible, he said, “What?”

“She’s my Fetch. She showed up just after you called this morning.”

He swallowed hard before asking, “Is that why you didn’t eat anything at breakfast?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“You could have said something.”

“I was in denial.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Sorry. Next time Death decides to show up at my door, you’ll be the first to know.”

He dropped to his knees with a barking sigh. I stepped forward to meet him, and we clung to each other like we could stop the end of the world, me on my tiptoes and Connor kneeling. Spike leaned against me, chirping as Connor buried his face in my hair and shuddered.

“Don’t die,” he whispered. “Please, don’t die . . .”

Funny—I shared the sentiment. I didn’t say anything, but I held him and let him hold me. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but it could help, for a little while.

We let go of each other after a long while. Connor stood, asking, “Where are you going?”

“I have to get the rest of the kids home.”

“I’m coming with you.”

I paused, thinking about arguing, and then shrugged. If I was going to die and he wanted to be there, I wouldn’t stop him. “Fine. I do have one question, though.”

“What?”

“Do you want to drive?”

M
AY MOVED TO THE BACKSEAT with surprisingly good grace, pausing to stage whisper, “He’s cuter than I remembered!” Connor heard her and turned beet red; May winked at him, grin broadening as I glared. If she hadn’t been my personal incarnation of death, I’d have smacked her. As it was, I was strongly tempted.

Connor eyed May, saying, “Toby—”

“I know, Connor.” I climbed into the car, fastening my seat belt. Spike jumped up onto the dashboard and chirped, thorns rattling.

“Okay,” Connor said, settling in the driver’s seat and reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror. He paused before turning to look, disbelieving, into the back seat. “Uh, Toby? When did your car get this big?”