Chimes at Midnight
Page 81
Acceptance of fealty is one of the few times in Faerie when thanks are appropriate. Sylvester rose, resheathing his sword. He was trying to watch Arden—I knew him well enough to know that—but his eyes still skipped to me, taking in my too-human state and the faint glow of the firefly sitting on my neck.
“We are here to support your claim to the throne,” he said, tearing his eyes away from me and looking back to Arden. “Will you have us?”
“Gladly,” said Arden.
“I have also brought my housekeepers, as I thought you might need some small assistance in preparing for parley.” I was impressed: he managed to say that with a straight face.
“Melly and Ormond are already starting to scrub things,” I said. “Don’t mess around: the place is a sty. Did you see the Undersea forces at all?”
“They’re on their way up from the beach,” he said, looking only faintly annoyed by my determined effort to ignore propriety.
“Good. And Goldengreen?”
“Amassing in the parking lot.”
“Better.” I looked to Arden. “Your army is here. Your knowe is open. This is your time to act.”
She took a deep breath, and turned to Sylvester. “Your knight is a Candela, I believe?” she said, indicating Grianne.
“She is,” said Sylvester.
“May I borrow her?”
A smile flashed across Sylvester’s face, there and gone so fast that it would have been easy to miss. “Please.”
Arden turned to Grianne, taking a deep breath as she visibly centered herself. “I’d like you to carry a message to the imposter who currently holds my throne, if you would be so kind.”
Grianne cocked her head, waiting.
“Tell her . . .” Arden took another deep breath. “Tell her I will no longer sit idly by while she pretends to my father’s name. Tell her the true Queen in the Mists is in her knowe, and claiming that which is hers by right.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Grianne. Her Merry Dancers descended and swirled around her as she turned and ran toward the wall. There was a green glittering in the air. Then she dove into it, and was gone.
Arden stared after her, something midway between hope and horror in her face.
“Well, then,” I said. “No turning back now. May?”
“I’m on it.” May waved her hands, and while I couldn’t see the casting, I could see the results: in the blink of an eye, she went from herself to me, as I normally was. She even created an illusionary leather jacket, completing the picture. “Now go get that boy and bring him home.”
“We will.” I turned to Sylvester. He would barely meet my eyes. Our last parting had been hard, on both of us, and he clearly wasn’t sure I’d forgiven him for keeping Tybalt away when I needed him there.
Sylvester had been a father to me when I’d had no one else. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, propriety be damned. “Kick her ass,” I said. I glanced to Arden. “Stay alive. I’ll be back with your brother.”
Tybalt was waiting when I turned back to him. He gathered me into his arms without asking, and carried me, grime and all, into the hanging curtains of cobwebs until the light became diffuse enough to count as shadow.
“This will take some time,” Tybalt murmured. “I’ll come out as often as I can. Just hold on, all right?”
“All right,” I said. “I trust you.”
He smiled through the growing dark. I took a breath and closed my eyes, and the world went cold around us.
True to his word, we broke back out into warmth just as my lungs were beginning to burn. Tybalt kept running. I gulped down several mouthfuls of sweet, night-warm air before he squeezed my arm, signaling that we were about to step back onto the Shadow Roads. I took a breath and held it as we dove back into the cold.
The transition happened twice more before Tybalt stumbled, dropping me onto a stone floor. I yelped—I couldn’t help myself—as I spun head over heels to slam into a wall that somehow felt even harder than the floor. I finished my tumble by hitting my head against that same wall. Yup. It was definitely harder than the floor.
Then I realized that Tybalt hadn’t made a sound since he’d fallen.
“Tybalt?” I was aiming for a whisper. My voice came out in a squeak. Trying to ignore my spinning head, I rolled to my hands and knees and crawled toward him. “Are you okay?”
He still wasn’t moving. I swallowed a cold jet of panic and crawled faster, finally reaching his side. Maybe it was the pain, and maybe it was the cold inevitability of the situation, but I found myself swaddled in a veil of surprising calm. Things had been going too well. Everyone I loved had to die. That was the way my life worked, and had worked since the day I woke up, wet, naked, and alone in the pond that had been my prison. I was a fool to have thought, for even a few seconds, that this time would be different.
I pressed my fingers against the side of Tybalt’s throat, trying to find a pulse, and found nothing. “Come on,” I whispered. “Please, just this once, just this one time, forget you’re a cat, and come when you’re called. Please.”
He didn’t respond. The muscles in his face were completely relaxed. He looked like he was sleeping; like he’d wake up at any moment.
My head was still spinning. I raised my hand to cup his cheek. “Please, don’t do this. Tybalt, you promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this.”
He didn’t move.
I took a deep, ragged breath, reaching up to touch the firefly that was huddled in my hair. I didn’t know whether seeing illusions would extend to hearing things that were normally confined to Faerie, but it was worth a try. The firefly’s wings buzzed against my fingers. I eased my butt down to the stone floor, leaning against Tybalt, and waited for something to happen. Seconds ticked by, each of them seeming to last an eternity.
And in the distance, I heard the sound of wings.
My heart lurched. I opened my eyes and turned to see the first of the night-haunts descending toward us. No—not the first. The flock normally traveled together, a great swarm of shadowy bodies and ragged, fast-beating wings. There were only two this time, both wearing faces I recognized. My old mentor, Devin . . .
. . . and Connor. They landed several feet away, folding their wings behind their Barbie-sized bodies and watching me warily.
“We are here to support your claim to the throne,” he said, tearing his eyes away from me and looking back to Arden. “Will you have us?”
“Gladly,” said Arden.
“I have also brought my housekeepers, as I thought you might need some small assistance in preparing for parley.” I was impressed: he managed to say that with a straight face.
“Melly and Ormond are already starting to scrub things,” I said. “Don’t mess around: the place is a sty. Did you see the Undersea forces at all?”
“They’re on their way up from the beach,” he said, looking only faintly annoyed by my determined effort to ignore propriety.
“Good. And Goldengreen?”
“Amassing in the parking lot.”
“Better.” I looked to Arden. “Your army is here. Your knowe is open. This is your time to act.”
She took a deep breath, and turned to Sylvester. “Your knight is a Candela, I believe?” she said, indicating Grianne.
“She is,” said Sylvester.
“May I borrow her?”
A smile flashed across Sylvester’s face, there and gone so fast that it would have been easy to miss. “Please.”
Arden turned to Grianne, taking a deep breath as she visibly centered herself. “I’d like you to carry a message to the imposter who currently holds my throne, if you would be so kind.”
Grianne cocked her head, waiting.
“Tell her . . .” Arden took another deep breath. “Tell her I will no longer sit idly by while she pretends to my father’s name. Tell her the true Queen in the Mists is in her knowe, and claiming that which is hers by right.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Grianne. Her Merry Dancers descended and swirled around her as she turned and ran toward the wall. There was a green glittering in the air. Then she dove into it, and was gone.
Arden stared after her, something midway between hope and horror in her face.
“Well, then,” I said. “No turning back now. May?”
“I’m on it.” May waved her hands, and while I couldn’t see the casting, I could see the results: in the blink of an eye, she went from herself to me, as I normally was. She even created an illusionary leather jacket, completing the picture. “Now go get that boy and bring him home.”
“We will.” I turned to Sylvester. He would barely meet my eyes. Our last parting had been hard, on both of us, and he clearly wasn’t sure I’d forgiven him for keeping Tybalt away when I needed him there.
Sylvester had been a father to me when I’d had no one else. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, propriety be damned. “Kick her ass,” I said. I glanced to Arden. “Stay alive. I’ll be back with your brother.”
Tybalt was waiting when I turned back to him. He gathered me into his arms without asking, and carried me, grime and all, into the hanging curtains of cobwebs until the light became diffuse enough to count as shadow.
“This will take some time,” Tybalt murmured. “I’ll come out as often as I can. Just hold on, all right?”
“All right,” I said. “I trust you.”
He smiled through the growing dark. I took a breath and closed my eyes, and the world went cold around us.
True to his word, we broke back out into warmth just as my lungs were beginning to burn. Tybalt kept running. I gulped down several mouthfuls of sweet, night-warm air before he squeezed my arm, signaling that we were about to step back onto the Shadow Roads. I took a breath and held it as we dove back into the cold.
The transition happened twice more before Tybalt stumbled, dropping me onto a stone floor. I yelped—I couldn’t help myself—as I spun head over heels to slam into a wall that somehow felt even harder than the floor. I finished my tumble by hitting my head against that same wall. Yup. It was definitely harder than the floor.
Then I realized that Tybalt hadn’t made a sound since he’d fallen.
“Tybalt?” I was aiming for a whisper. My voice came out in a squeak. Trying to ignore my spinning head, I rolled to my hands and knees and crawled toward him. “Are you okay?”
He still wasn’t moving. I swallowed a cold jet of panic and crawled faster, finally reaching his side. Maybe it was the pain, and maybe it was the cold inevitability of the situation, but I found myself swaddled in a veil of surprising calm. Things had been going too well. Everyone I loved had to die. That was the way my life worked, and had worked since the day I woke up, wet, naked, and alone in the pond that had been my prison. I was a fool to have thought, for even a few seconds, that this time would be different.
I pressed my fingers against the side of Tybalt’s throat, trying to find a pulse, and found nothing. “Come on,” I whispered. “Please, just this once, just this one time, forget you’re a cat, and come when you’re called. Please.”
He didn’t respond. The muscles in his face were completely relaxed. He looked like he was sleeping; like he’d wake up at any moment.
My head was still spinning. I raised my hand to cup his cheek. “Please, don’t do this. Tybalt, you promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this.”
He didn’t move.
I took a deep, ragged breath, reaching up to touch the firefly that was huddled in my hair. I didn’t know whether seeing illusions would extend to hearing things that were normally confined to Faerie, but it was worth a try. The firefly’s wings buzzed against my fingers. I eased my butt down to the stone floor, leaning against Tybalt, and waited for something to happen. Seconds ticked by, each of them seeming to last an eternity.
And in the distance, I heard the sound of wings.
My heart lurched. I opened my eyes and turned to see the first of the night-haunts descending toward us. No—not the first. The flock normally traveled together, a great swarm of shadowy bodies and ragged, fast-beating wings. There were only two this time, both wearing faces I recognized. My old mentor, Devin . . .
. . . and Connor. They landed several feet away, folding their wings behind their Barbie-sized bodies and watching me warily.
