An Artificial Night - BK 3 (45 page)

“Luna’s there.”

“I know. I’ll visit—I can do that, now. I can visit all my children.” This time her smile was sweet and wistful. “I’ve missed them. Luna especially.”

“I think she’s missed you, too.”

“She was always a good girl. She tried to stay. But she was dying here.”

I looked at her thoughtfully. There were traces of green in the mingled gold and brown of her hair. I was willing to bet that as the forest restored itself, Acacia would bloom. “She wasn’t the only one.”

“No; she wasn’t.” She sighed. “He wasn’t always like that. I won’t defend what he did or what he became, but there was a time when he was . . .”

“Sane?” I suggested.

Acacia looked at me, expression grave. “Are the fae
ever
sane? We live in a world that isn’t there half the time. We claim that windmills are giants, and because we say it, it’s true. Our lives become myth and legend, until even we can’t tell what we truly are from what we’re told we ought to be. How can we live that way and be considered sane? My lord was never sane, but he was my love once. He always will be, somewhere. Wherever it is that the once upon a times go when they die.”

I nodded and rose, this time careful not to put any real weight on my left arm. Once I was up I leaned against the nearest tree, taking a slow inventory. My entire body was covered in blood, but the cut on my arm was the only lingering injury. All the other wounds were made by magic and seemed to have faded the same way.

I looked up to see Acacia watching me. “I think you’ll live,” she said.

“So do I,” I replied. “I should probably—”

“Yes, you should.” She gestured toward the ground. Sylvester’s sword was there, properly sheathed; so were the knives I’d used to kill Blind Michael. “I’ve readied your things, and I’m sure there are people who need to know you’ve survived. I would have wagered on your death. I’m sure they’ve done the same.”

Impulsively, I reached for her hands. “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, and smiled. “I have to stay here. The children need me.”

Oak and ash, the Riders. “Will they—are they going to be all right?”

“No,” she said, simply. “They’re going to be Riders, and they’ll be here forever. But they’ll be better than they were. These are my lands now. The Rides are over, and we’ll live another way. I don’t know how. But we’ll do it.”

“Alone?”

“If we have to.” She let go of my hands. “You’ve given us what we needed, October; you’ve given us our freedom. Now go home and give your family the same gift.”

I bent to collect my weapons, pausing before picking up the second knife. I’d killed with it—it was mine now. In the end, I slid both knives into my belt, slinging the sword over my shoulder. “How do I get home?”

“Come here.”

Her smile was warm and welcoming. I stepped forward, stopping barely a foot away.

“Trust me, and close your eyes,” she said. I did as I was told, and felt her kiss first my eyelids, then my lips. “Good-bye, Toby.”

A breeze rose around me and the smell of the air changed, shifting from forest loam to flowers. I opened my eyes, unsurprised to find myself in the Garden of Glass Roses. The light through the windows indicated that it was past noon, although the light in Shadowed Hills can lie. Crystal butterflies flitted from place to place, unconcerned by the sudden appearance of a changeling in their midst. I could tend myself; it was their job to tend the flowers.

“Good-bye, Acacia,” I said, and started for the exit. I needed to find Sylvester and the others, and let them know that I was all right. If I was going to be a hero, it was my job to make sure every part of my family was protected, including their hearts.

Damn it, when did I become the hero?

I stepped out into the empty hall, wincing at the sound of my heels on the marble floor. Sliding Sylvester’s sword down from my shoulder and clutching it to my chest, I started walking.

Shadowed Hills is large, but some parts of it remain constant; the route to the throne room is one of them. I walked down halls and through antechambers until I was standing in front of the familiar double doors. There wasn’t a footman in sight, so I opened the doors myself and stepped inside.

Sylvester, Luna, and May were on the dais at the front of the room. Sylvester was sitting on his throne with Spike in his lap, while Luna sat on the steps in front of him, trying to calm my sobbing Fetch. All four looked up and stared at me when the doors closed. I stared back. What else was I supposed to do?

Luna let go of May and rose, one hand pressed to her mouth. She looked honestly untidy; her shirt was rumpled, and the fur on her tails was uncombed. May stumbled to her feet a moment later, still crying. She looked just as bad when she cried as I do.

None of us moved for a long time. Then, carefully, Sylvester said, “Toby? Is that you?”

“Yes, it is.” I held his sword out, the scabbard resting flat on my palms. “I brought your sword back. Thanks for the loan.”

I swear I don’t remember him moving. Or me moving, for that matter. No one moved, yet somehow we were all standing in the center of the room, everyone trying to hug everyone else at the same time. Spike was twining back and forth between my ankles, and someone was crying. I thought it might be me.

“You’re covered in blood,” whispered Luna. “There’s so much blood.”

I forced myself to meet her eyes, saying, “The Luidaeg sent me back on the Blood Road.”

She stiffened, eyes widening. “Then . . . my father . . . is he . . . ?”

“Yes, Luna. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”

“Oh.” She turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. No more children. No more regrets.” She looked back, smiling through her tears. “I’ll cry for him, but I’ll smile for them. And for you.”

“Good,” I said, and looked to my Fetch. She’d backed off when the first frantic embrace ended, watching me warily. “May?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about going back.”

“Yeah, well.” She sniffled. “Does everything have to be about you? Dope.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “I guess I am sort of a dope.”

“Okay,” she said, and smiled hesitantly. It wasn’t my smile. She was already coming up with a smile of her own. I leaned forward and hugged her. After a moment, she hugged back.

Was she proof that I’d die? Okay, well, maybe. But normally a Fetch shows up right before death occurs. I’d faced down and killed a crazy Firstborn after May arrived. I’d done some ludicrously stupid and suicidal things, and I’d survived them. So what if she was proof that I’d die? I’d known that for years, and treating her like a death sentence wasn’t fair to either one of us.

Sylvester was watching when I let go of May, eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like pride. I didn’t even pause. I just stepped into his arms, letting him close them around me and seal the world out. There was blood on my hands. I’d killed Blind Michael, and nothing would change that. A lot of people had been hurt; some of the kids were almost certainly scarred for life; and for the moment, that didn’t matter. Not if he could still hold me.

“Thank you for surviving,” he whispered so softly that I almost couldn’t hear.

I raised my head, staring at him. The prohibitions against saying “thank you” are incredibly strong. Thanks imply obligation and fealty. Then again, Sylvester already had mine, on both counts. I smiled at him, answering, “You’re welcome.” Then I put my head back against his chest and closed my eyes. And stayed there.

Eventually I must have dozed off. It wasn’t that surprising; except for my nap in Danny’s cab, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept when not injured or enchanted. I was a little surprised that I hadn’t collapsed sooner.

I woke up tucked into a large bed and wearing clean clothes, with Spike curled up in the middle of my chest. My hair was braided, and the blood had been rinsed off of me; the cut on my arm was sore, but it had at least been bandaged. I sat up, ignoring Spike’s protests as it hopped off my chest and curled up, glaring, on my pillow. My stomach made a rumbling noise. I had no idea when my last meal had been, and I was starving.

That’s why Shadowed Hills has kitchens. I’d almost managed to climb out of the bed when May swept through the door with a tray in her hands, scolding, “Get
back
in that bed! Luna’s orders: you have to eat something before I’m allowed to let you get up.”

I eyed her. “You’re my Fetch. Who says you get to order me around?”

“The Duchess,” she cheerfully replied, putting the tray down next to the bed. She was wearing a patchwork skirt and a peasant blouse tie-dyed in clashing stripes of red and purple. The combination was frightening. “Now shut up and eat.”

My stomach rumbled again, and I looked at the tray, suddenly happy to do as I was told. The eggs were perfect, the coffee was hot, and the toast was burned just enough to convince me that I wasn’t dreaming. Heaven. Spike gnawed on a crust, staying out of the way on my pillow.

Luna arrived as I was finishing and sat down on the edge of the bed, saying without preamble, “I need a favor.”

I blinked at her. “Of course.”

“The Luidaeg called. I need you to take Quentin to her. It’s about Katie.”

I froze before nodding, slowly. “Yes, of course.” It wasn’t done yet. If Katie was still broken, it wasn’t done. Oak and ash. Sometimes it feels like the train wreck never ends.

I
T WAS A MORTAL TAXI DRIVER THIS TIME, and he didn’t speak English. That was okay; Quentin held my hand for the entire drive, his fingers clenched in mine, white-knuckled and shaking. He was terrified, and there were things that needed to be said, but I couldn’t say any of them. Saying something makes it real. There was also our human driver to be considered; he claimed not to speak English, but he still might understand enough to pose a problem if we opened our mouths around him.

So I kept my mouth shut, slid my arm around Quentin’s shoulders, and just held him. It was all I could do. It could never have been enough. It had stopped being enough when I handed Spike to Luna and got into the cab to take Quentin off to face his fate.

The driver dropped us off at the mouth of the Luidaeg’s street and left; Sylvester had already paid the fare. I just hoped he’d used real money. The purebloods can have a sort of creative interpretation of “polite” behavior when it comes to mortals, and cabbies tend to get cranky when they make a big run and wind up with pockets full of dead leaves and ashes.

We stopped on the Luidaeg’s doorstep. I looked at Quentin, gauging the strain in his eyes. “Are you going to be all right with this?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I’m not. But I have to.”

I nodded. More and more, I was coming to appreciate the concept of “have to.” “You know she may not be quite right. Not yet.”
You understand that she may be broken beyond even the Luidaeg’s capacity to fix? That we may bring her back, but never bring her home? Do you understand?

There were a lot of things I wanted to say, and I couldn’t bring myself to say a single one, because saying them would make them real, and no amount of preparing him would change what was waiting for us.

“I know. I do. I’m not giving up hope. But I know.”

“All right, Quentin. Just remember that I’m here, okay? I’m not going away again.”

He managed a smile, squeezing my hand. “I know. You’d never be that stupid twice.”

“Brat,” I said fondly and turned to knock on the door.

Inside, the Luidaeg shouted, “It’s open!” When you’re a legendary sea witch, you don’t need to worry much about robbers.

I pushed the door open and led Quentin into the dark, cluttered hall. Quentin stepped easily into the spaces between the debris, moving with the quiet, self-assured grace that comes naturally to the pureblooded Daoine Sidhe. I was easier to track; I was the one who kept tripping and slamming my toes against things in the gloom. The Luidaeg’s hall seems to change length to fit her mood, and we walked for quite a while before we saw the other end come into view. Quentin picked up the pace, his hand still locked in mine, and I let him drag me along.

The living room was as cluttered as ever, reeking of marsh and fen and decaying couch stuffing. Quentin paused for a moment, obviously not used to the smell. Then he saw Katie and froze.

She was sitting on the couch with her hands folded in her lap, gazing into the distance. Her hair had been washed and brushed over her shoulders, and her clothes were clean and new. She looked unhurt and human. The Luidaeg was next to her, one half-clawed hand resting on Katie’s knee.

“Katie?” said Quentin. Then he smiled, brightly enough that it seemed to clear the shadows out of the room. I relaxed, letting my own smile slip forward. Then I saw the look on the Luidaeg’s face, and smiling ceased to be an option. She looked troubled; almost bleak. I stopped, smile fading, and tilted my head to the side in silent question. She nodded, very slightly, and turned to watch Quentin’s approach.