An Artificial Night
Page 95
But he didn’t. I could see his childhood dying in his eyes as he looked at me, silently begging me to answer for him. I finally understood why the Luidaeg said making the choice would pay her fee. Whether he gave Katie up or not, he was paying with his innocence. There are choices you have to make for yourself, unless you want to spend the rest of your life lying awake wondering when the shadows got so dark. If he kept her with him, he’d be forcing her to belong to him until she died. There’s no going back on that kind of choice: she’d be his forever, no matter what she might have wanted. But love ends, and people change, and ordering someone to love you for as long as they live isn’t a good idea.
Katie was young and innocent enough for Blind Michael’s lands. Would she survive another kidnapping?
Love is a powerful thing; it makes us all equals by making us briefly, beautifully human. First love cuts the deepest and hurts the worst, and when you’re caught in its claws, you can’t imagine that it’s ever going to end. I was just a kid the first time I fell in love. I got over it, but it took time, and that was something Quentin and Katie didn’t have.
“I . . .” Quentin’s voice fell gracelessly into the darkness. He was shaking. There was a time when I wouldn’t have credited him with the humanity that required.
“Quentin—” I started. The Luidaeg silenced me with a look. This wasn’t my fight—it never had been.
He had to say the words alone.
He stood frozen for a moment longer, shivering. Then his shoulders slumped in defeat as he said, “I understand,” and began walking toward them.
None of us spoke as he knelt by Katie’s feet, and for a moment I saw him in all the terrible glory of his adulthood. Beautiful and terrible they are, the lords of our lands; beautiful and terrible beyond measure. But watching Quentin, I realized they also had the potential to be kind. When did that begin? More important, how do we make sure it never, ever ends?
“Katie,” he said, and reached for her hands. Maybe it was the slowness of his approach, or the resignation in his tone, but whatever it was, she didn’t pull away. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I really didn’t.” The words belonged entirely to his childhood, begging for forgiveness and unable to see past the punishment. “I thought it could be okay. I thought I could love you without hurting you. I thought we could be different. I’m sorry.”
Katie just kept staring away into the distance; wherever she was, it was a place past easy words. Quentin quieted and watched her for a moment, hungrily, like he was trying to memorize every detail. Maybe he was. Forever is a long time. You have to burn the edges of memory onto your heart, or they can fade, and sometimes the second loss is worse than the first one.
“I would’ve stayed with you,” he whispered. “When you got old, when you were sick, I would’ve stayed. I . . .”
He stopped, shaking his head. “No. I wouldn’t, and won’t. I loved you. That’s enough.” He looked to the Luidaeg like he was asking for permission, and she nodded. Crying bitterly all the while, Quentin leaned in and kissed Katie for the last time.
“We are done, we are done, with the coming of the sun,” the Luidaeg said, running her hands through Katie’s hair. Quentin pulled away, watching her. “Now the morning light appears, and the Faerie Courts draw near for the dancing of our Queens on the still and dew-soaked green. Human child, run fast away; fae-folk come with close of day.”
Something old and wild and cold brushed through the darkness of the apartment. I shivered as it brushed past me, remembering my own Changeling’s Choice, so long ago, when I rejected Eden for the wilds beyond.
Katie blinked, eyes going wide as the spell wrapped itself around her. “Quentin?” I wondered what she saw when she looked at him; what fiction her mind was using to cover what she knew damn well was really there. Did it matter? He’d given her up. She was no longer Faerie’s concern.
Quentin looked to the Luidaeg, and she nodded marginally, giving her consent. Turning back to Katie, he offered her his hands. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“Home—yes, please. I’d like to go home.” She stood, letting him lead her to the hall. It was shorter now, and they reached the front door in a matter of moments.
Quentin looked back once, his face like a mask, before they stepped out into the light of day. Mortal day. The sun has no love for our kind. I knew what came next: it was a simple story. He’d walk her to the corner, hail a taxi, take her home, and leave her on her doorstep, as the fae have done with their mortal lovers since time began. For good or ill, she’d never touch the world of Faerie again. She was free. All it cost was Quentin’s heart.
I crossed and sat next to the Luidaeg, watching her. She looked back for a long time before turning away and saying, “I tried, Toby. I really did. Believing in both worlds at once was too much for her. It was either our world or hers, and I couldn’t be the one to make that choice for her.”
“I know,” I said. Oddly enough, I did. I couldn’t make the choice for Cliff, or for Gillian, and the human world had taken them both. Understanding didn’t make it less painful.
“You came back.”
“I’m like a bad penny.”
“I put you on the Blood Road.”
“Yeah, I actually noticed that part.”
“My brother . . .”
“Is dead.”
“I see.” She raised her head, regarding me with solemn, ancient eyes. “There was a time when I’d have ripped your heart out of your chest and eaten it in front of your dying eyes for saying something like that to me.”
“I know.”
“Only you wouldn’t have died. I’d have left you broken and heartless on the moors, bleeding forever as a warning to anyone who touched my family. I’d have destroyed you.”
“I know that, too.” I wasn’t afraid of her. When did I stop being afraid?
“Once.”
“But that was a long time ago.”
“I know.” She paused, looking down at her hands. The dainty claws that tipped her fingers retracted, reshaping themselves into human nails. “How did he die?”
“I killed him with silver and iron and the light of a candle.” I shivered as the memories slipped over me, trying to ignore the feeling of blood on my hands. Blood has power; part of me was his forever. The knives had been iron and silver, but that was only the end of the kill, not the means. He died by blood and fire and faith, by roses and the cold flicker of candlelight. My blades were only an afterthought, a sharp reminder that the long, wild chase was over, and it was time to lie down and be still. It was time to close the nursery windows. It was time to grow up.
Katie was young and innocent enough for Blind Michael’s lands. Would she survive another kidnapping?
Love is a powerful thing; it makes us all equals by making us briefly, beautifully human. First love cuts the deepest and hurts the worst, and when you’re caught in its claws, you can’t imagine that it’s ever going to end. I was just a kid the first time I fell in love. I got over it, but it took time, and that was something Quentin and Katie didn’t have.
“I . . .” Quentin’s voice fell gracelessly into the darkness. He was shaking. There was a time when I wouldn’t have credited him with the humanity that required.
“Quentin—” I started. The Luidaeg silenced me with a look. This wasn’t my fight—it never had been.
He had to say the words alone.
He stood frozen for a moment longer, shivering. Then his shoulders slumped in defeat as he said, “I understand,” and began walking toward them.
None of us spoke as he knelt by Katie’s feet, and for a moment I saw him in all the terrible glory of his adulthood. Beautiful and terrible they are, the lords of our lands; beautiful and terrible beyond measure. But watching Quentin, I realized they also had the potential to be kind. When did that begin? More important, how do we make sure it never, ever ends?
“Katie,” he said, and reached for her hands. Maybe it was the slowness of his approach, or the resignation in his tone, but whatever it was, she didn’t pull away. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I really didn’t.” The words belonged entirely to his childhood, begging for forgiveness and unable to see past the punishment. “I thought it could be okay. I thought I could love you without hurting you. I thought we could be different. I’m sorry.”
Katie just kept staring away into the distance; wherever she was, it was a place past easy words. Quentin quieted and watched her for a moment, hungrily, like he was trying to memorize every detail. Maybe he was. Forever is a long time. You have to burn the edges of memory onto your heart, or they can fade, and sometimes the second loss is worse than the first one.
“I would’ve stayed with you,” he whispered. “When you got old, when you were sick, I would’ve stayed. I . . .”
He stopped, shaking his head. “No. I wouldn’t, and won’t. I loved you. That’s enough.” He looked to the Luidaeg like he was asking for permission, and she nodded. Crying bitterly all the while, Quentin leaned in and kissed Katie for the last time.
“We are done, we are done, with the coming of the sun,” the Luidaeg said, running her hands through Katie’s hair. Quentin pulled away, watching her. “Now the morning light appears, and the Faerie Courts draw near for the dancing of our Queens on the still and dew-soaked green. Human child, run fast away; fae-folk come with close of day.”
Something old and wild and cold brushed through the darkness of the apartment. I shivered as it brushed past me, remembering my own Changeling’s Choice, so long ago, when I rejected Eden for the wilds beyond.
Katie blinked, eyes going wide as the spell wrapped itself around her. “Quentin?” I wondered what she saw when she looked at him; what fiction her mind was using to cover what she knew damn well was really there. Did it matter? He’d given her up. She was no longer Faerie’s concern.
Quentin looked to the Luidaeg, and she nodded marginally, giving her consent. Turning back to Katie, he offered her his hands. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
“Home—yes, please. I’d like to go home.” She stood, letting him lead her to the hall. It was shorter now, and they reached the front door in a matter of moments.
Quentin looked back once, his face like a mask, before they stepped out into the light of day. Mortal day. The sun has no love for our kind. I knew what came next: it was a simple story. He’d walk her to the corner, hail a taxi, take her home, and leave her on her doorstep, as the fae have done with their mortal lovers since time began. For good or ill, she’d never touch the world of Faerie again. She was free. All it cost was Quentin’s heart.
I crossed and sat next to the Luidaeg, watching her. She looked back for a long time before turning away and saying, “I tried, Toby. I really did. Believing in both worlds at once was too much for her. It was either our world or hers, and I couldn’t be the one to make that choice for her.”
“I know,” I said. Oddly enough, I did. I couldn’t make the choice for Cliff, or for Gillian, and the human world had taken them both. Understanding didn’t make it less painful.
“You came back.”
“I’m like a bad penny.”
“I put you on the Blood Road.”
“Yeah, I actually noticed that part.”
“My brother . . .”
“Is dead.”
“I see.” She raised her head, regarding me with solemn, ancient eyes. “There was a time when I’d have ripped your heart out of your chest and eaten it in front of your dying eyes for saying something like that to me.”
“I know.”
“Only you wouldn’t have died. I’d have left you broken and heartless on the moors, bleeding forever as a warning to anyone who touched my family. I’d have destroyed you.”
“I know that, too.” I wasn’t afraid of her. When did I stop being afraid?
“Once.”
“But that was a long time ago.”
“I know.” She paused, looking down at her hands. The dainty claws that tipped her fingers retracted, reshaping themselves into human nails. “How did he die?”
“I killed him with silver and iron and the light of a candle.” I shivered as the memories slipped over me, trying to ignore the feeling of blood on my hands. Blood has power; part of me was his forever. The knives had been iron and silver, but that was only the end of the kill, not the means. He died by blood and fire and faith, by roses and the cold flicker of candlelight. My blades were only an afterthought, a sharp reminder that the long, wild chase was over, and it was time to lie down and be still. It was time to close the nursery windows. It was time to grow up.
