Authors: Seanan McGuire
Rosemary and Rue (26 page)
“He placed walls around my fiefdom,” she said. “I was lonely, October, so lonely, and my magic is for growth and healing, not transformation. I couldn’t save you, child. I could only keep you as comfortable as the water would allow. I’m sorry.”
Lily was as much Simon’s prisoner as I was because for fourteen years, the world forgot she’d ever existed. The residents of her fiefdom scattered, suddenly homeless and not able to understand why. She was closer to dead than I was until the spell broke, because at least they remembered to mourn for me. I couldn’t hate her for things that Simon did to both of us. We had something very much in common: someday, we were going to make Simon Torquill pay.
The taste of hibiscus flowers called me out of memory and back to my body. I sighed and opened my eyes, blinking. The pain was gone. So was my shirt, along with the rest of my clothing; I wasn’t wearing anything except the strips of moss and willow bark Lily had wrapped around my wounded shoulder. Swell. I’m not body-shy—it’s hard to grow up in the Summerlands, where clothes are solidly optional, and stay body-shy—but that doesn’t mean I enjoy nudity. Naked people are, by definition, unarmed.
Bracing my right elbow against the ground, I levered myself into a sitting position. The motion made my head spin. At least my headache had faded: it was only half as bad as it had been before. Lily was kneeling a few yards away, dipping something in the water of a small pond. Now that my eyes were focusing, I could tell that the rustling noise came from her heavy silk robes; they were dark green and embroidered in white and silver with a pattern of sinuous dragons. A pair of pixies rested on the ebony chopsticks holding her hair in place, throwing flickering shadows over her face.
“Move slowly,” she said, rising and walking over to kneel beside me. “I have done my best, but the human in you protests the intrusion of magic, and the iron blocks me further. I can do no more.”
“Sorry; wasn’t my idea,” I said, moving my arm experimentally backward. The bandages on my shoulder pulled, and I winced. Lily clucked her tongue, starting to dampen the poultice with a silk sponge. The water soothed away most of the soreness, but not all of it. I wasn’t surprised she couldn’t heal me all the way: she was fighting iron, and I had no right to expect a miracle. If she’d been anything less than an Undine in her own realm she probably wouldn’t have been able to do as much as she had. None of that stopped me from being disappointed as I realized how extensive the remaining damage was. It wasn’t enough to cripple me—I’d still have use of the arm, even while it was healing—but it was going to make my job an awful lot harder than it had been before.
Guess that’d teach me to be careless. I looked to Lily, and smiled as earnestly as I could while disappointed and hurting. “It’s a pretty good job.”
She waved one fine-webbed hand, dismissing my words. Anything that smacks of saying “thank you” is unsteady ground in Faerie. “It is no more and no less than hospitality demands. Really, October, there wouldn’t be any need for this sort of thing if you would just stop jumping in front of bullets.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Good.” The gills under her jaw fluttered, and I felt a sudden pang of concern. She was trying to hide it, but I knew her well enough to see how worn out she was.
Healing spells are tiring, even when you’re not fighting against iron.
“Lily, you okay over there?”
“I am tired, October, nothing more. It will pass.” She smiled, creasing the scales around her mouth. “Now, tell me, why did you have to be pulled from my pond? You were bleeding all over my fish.”
“Because you’d miss me if I died?” I shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“You may be right,” Lily said, smile fading. “What happened?”
She deserved to know, even if I didn’t want to tell her. Forcing myself to look her in the eye, I took a deep breath and started from the beginning.
Telling the whole story took less time than I expected, all of it passing in rapid flurries of words. It was a relief to say some of it aloud, here, where Lily’s control meant there was no risk of eavesdroppers. The close urgency of the events was already gone, reducing them to simple facts. Lily listened, expression growing grim as I explained more and more of the last fairy tale that Evening Winterrose would ever be a part of. By the time I reached the end, her lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “It seems you’ve had a busy week,” she said.
“Not my choice.”
“Even so.” She rose, inclining her head toward me. “I will return with tea and, I think, a robe for you to wear. You will rest here a while before I allow you to leave. Foolish child.”
She stepped onto the water and was gone, leaving only the faint scent of hibiscus and water lilies in her wake.
“Swell,” I said, and flopped backward into the moss to wait.
SIXTEEN
THE ROBE LILY BROUGHT fit pretty well, even if it left me feeling more exposed than I’d been before. Nudity is fine—not my favorite thing, but fine. Clinging silk robes meant for someone six inches shorter are less fine. The hem stopped at mid-thigh, and the neckline barely covered my chest. To make matters worse, or at least more mortifying, the whole thing was a rosy shade of cream: taken as a whole, I felt like the star of some demented piece of fantasy porn.
The poultice swaddling my left shoulder would kill that idea pretty quickly. I could move the arm more easily than when I first woke—changelings don’t recover as fast as purebloods, though we bounce back faster than humans—but I wasn’t sure the improvement would be enough. I couldn’t move it fast enough to do anything useful, and heavy lifting was definitely out of the question for a few days. I wouldn’t have worried about it before people started shooting at me. Now that they’d started, I had plenty of reason to worry.
Whoever killed Evening and set a Redcap on my trail wasn’t going to back off. If there’d been any chance of that, it died when the man started taking shots at me on a public street. Whatever the game was, I was in it until it was over.
Lily kept moistening the moss around the poultice, refusing to let me move more than I had to in order to reach my tea. The combination of my body’s natural defenses and Undine water was helping, but movement wasn’t easy. I hadn’t even been able to help her wash the blood out of my hair. She’d pulled it into a braid when she was done, tying it off with a strip of fabric torn from my irreparably stained blouse. I still looked like hell, but it was one of the outer circles, and the fact that I didn’t seem likely to drop dead any second was a definite improvement.
“Drink this,” said Lily, handing me another cup of tea. “It will help.”
It smelled like rosehips and hibiscus, just like the last eleven batches. I took it, asking, “Am I going to be done drinking this stuff any time soon?” I understood the logic. The tea was helping me recover the blood I’d lost, and it was forcing Undine water into my system at the same time. That was fine. It didn’t make the idea of drowning in syrupy floral tea any more appealing.
Lily gave me a stern look. “You’ll be done when I say you are.”
“Right.” I took a sip, grimacing. There was a good reason for me to drink the tea. Still, I would’ve killed for a cup of coffee.
More gently, Lily said, “I’m sorry if I’m fussing, October, but I don’t wish to see you killed for your hastiness. Not if I can help you by keeping you here.”
“I’m not being hasty, Lily. I have a job to do.” The Undine take a long, slow view of time. To Lily, a year and a day were very much the same.
“You’re not? Does that mean you had to be fished out of the viewing pool over nothing? How curious. I should have realized you’d intended to collapse there from exhaustion and overabuse and insisted you be put back again. I apologize.”
I sighed. “Lily, being hasty doesn’t usually get you shot.”
“I see. So I suppose you paused to think through whatever actions
did
lead to your being shot before you took them?”
did
lead to your being shot before you took them?”
“I . . .” Lily narrowed her eyes, and I stopped, reviewing the events of the afternoon in my head. I hadn’t been thinking, or even acting: just reacting. I’d been reacting since I heard Evening’s voice on my answering machine. Looking away, I said, “No.”
“I didn’t think so. People have been trying to kill you for as long as I’ve known you; it seems to be a normal part of your existence, and I’ve grown resigned to that fact. Even so, I’ve never seen you giving so little care to evading their efforts. It almost seems like you want them to catch you.”
“Lily, I—”
“No,” she said, and I stopped, run up against the wall of her implacability. “You forget, how well I knew your mother. Amandine’s excuses were always very much like yours. Nothing you say will be new to me.”
I raised my eyes, and she met them without flinching. Her lips were curved in a faint, sad smile, creasing the scales that ran across her cheeks. “Maybe not. But you always let her go.”
The smile softened, growing sadder and more accepting at the same time. “I always regretted it, as well.”
“We do what we have to.”
“As, I suppose, we must.” She sighed. “Ah, well.”
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now you leave me. Even if I could hold you here against your will—even if I would, after what we’ve been through together—the Winterrose has bound you, and I can’t defy the law so directly. The sun will be down soon.”
“. . . down?” I asked, staring at her. “Lily, it was night when I got here.” Fleetingly, I wondered how much work I’d managed to miss.
“Time passes, October,” she said. I didn’t have an answer to that. Lily looked at me levelly and continued, “Once the sun is down, Marcia will summon a taxi for you, and I will have one of my handmaids escort you to the edge of the park. Once you have left my lands, you may do whatever you feel is needed, and I will have done what hospitality demands.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I am not done.” Her tone sharpened, becoming colder. “I wouldn’t let you go at all were it not for the binding, and had you not been my unwilling guest once before; understand that. Your mother will not forgive me for your death.”
“My mother hasn’t left the Summerlands in twenty years,” I said, unable to stop myself. “I doubt she’s going to come out to yell at you.”
“I think you might be surprised by what she would do.” I looked at her and couldn’t think of a single way to answer that. So we just sat and drank our tea while the silence stretched out between us, until Lily raised her head, acknowledging some unseen sign.
“The sun is down,” she said, and stood, moving with fluid grace. “Come, October. It’s time to go. I just hope, for your sake, that you’ve rested well enough.”
I pushed myself to my feet and followed her, pausing to take my bloody clothes from a Puca with drag onfly wings and white-blind eyes. She looked familiar, like someone I’d known once, but I didn’t ask. The stories you find in the independent knowes usually aren’t pretty ones.
Lily stopped, looking at me. “You should dress,” she said. “It’s cold outside, and you aren’t as accustomed to it as I am.”
“True,” I said. No one is as accustomed to cold as the Undine, unless you count the various breeds of snow fae. Lily could walk naked in subzero temperatures and not be bothered.
Pulling my jeans over the bottom of the too-short robe turned it into a slightly tasteless, expensive-looking silk blouse; pulling my sweater on, bloodstains and all, made me feel a little more like I was in control of the situation, despite the hole through the left shoulder. Not being dressed like an escapee from a faerie whorehouse will do that for me every time. I would have put my bra back on, but that would have required removing the robe; I wadded it into a ball instead, shoving it into the waistband of my jeans. My left arm bent reluctantly, but it bent. I’d have to be satisfied with that. Nodding to myself, I followed Lily through the darkness and back into the world of men.
Night had chased away the tourists, filling the shadows with a different kind of crowd. There are no fireflies in California, but points of light still danced over the surface of the water, darting away from ambitious fish. There are benefits to a pixie infestation; fireflies don’t pierce the night with glittering laughter or spin each other through ornate midair ballets. White Christmas lights were strung through the branches of the trees, providing brighter, more constant illumination. Pixies who had tired of aerial acrobatics perched on the cords, and clusters of the more human-sized residents were scattered along the pathways, talking and laughing. The Tea Gardens are always at their best when no one but the night-side inhabitants are there to see them. That’s when no one—and nothing—has to hide.
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