An Artificial Night
Page 93
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.
THIRTY-TWO
IT 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.
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.
THIRTY-TWO
IT 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.
