Late Eclipses
Page 21
“No,” I said. “I’m heading for the Tea Gardens as soon as I’m finished here. Have you seen Luna?”
“She was with the delegation from Roan Rathad a little while ago.” He grimaced, shoulders dipping upward in an involuntary semi-shrug. I understood the reaction. Roan Rathad was his original home, a mostly Selkie fiefdom that swears fealty to the Undersea Duchy of Saltmist. It was Saltmist that decided he was expendable enough to be sold into marriage to a madwoman for political reasons, and Roan Rathad didn’t fight them. I’ve never asked whether it was our relationship that made them see him that way. After all, a man who was willing to sully himself by getting involved with a changeling would probably never marry expediently on his own.
If that’s why they did it, I genuinely don’t want to know.
“That explains the clothes.” I gave him a sympathetic once-over. He was wearing white linen trousers with a smoky blue tunic trimmed in silver; the colors of his particular Selkie clan. He looked like a ghost next to the vibrant colors of the rest of Shadowed Hills. The contrast was a visual reminder of his status in the Court: always an outsider, whether he was technically part of the ruling family or not.
It was also, if I was being entirely honest with myself, a damn good look for him, contrasting with his dark coloring and making him look like a movie star from a 1940s film noir mystery. Very few men can pull off white linen without looking like they’re about to hit the beach, but on Connor, it made him look like he was about to hit the dance floor at some nightclub in Monaco.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged for real this time. “I like your dress.”
“May helped me pick it out.” A new song was starting. “Can you point me in Luna’s general direction?”
“I can do you one better.” He offered his hand, coupling it with a slightly lopsided smile. “May I have this dance?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fastest route across the floor?”
“You got it.”
“And so do you.” I slid my hand into his. Rayseline was perpetually jealous of my nonrelationship with Connor, but for once, I didn’t feel compelled to refuse the invitation. Turning down a dance on Beltane is an insult almost beyond measure, as is snubbing an old friend. Connor and I could waltz the night away if we wanted to, and Raysel couldn’t say a damn thing about it.
He tugged me onto the floor, still cautious. People parted around us, making room for us to move without knocking into anyone. It helped that he was recognizably a Selkie, with fingers webbed to the first knuckle and short brown hair stippled with gray like the blotches on a seal’s coat—even people who didn’t know that he was the husband of the current Ducal heir would move aside, out of politeness. No one wants to be responsible for causing one of the polite, slightly-awkward sea fae to go sprawling.
I was standing close enough to see the edge-to-edge darkness of his eyes, irises blending seamlessly into pupils. They were the color of the sea at midnight, and just as easy to drown in. I’ve been drowning in those eyes for years. Every time I thought I might be learning to swim, he just smiled at me, and I went under again.
“I know you hate to dance,” Connor murmured, beginning to waltz me in an almost straight line across the floor. “At least you might get the pleasure of seeing me fall on my ass.”
“Oh, right. I guess that’s a fair exchange.”
“Why else would they call us the Fair Folk?”
“Because we steal their kids and cows if they call us fairies?”
“I mean besides that,” he said, and smiled. The expression died quickly. “How bad is Lily really? Don’t lie to me. Please.”
“Bad.” I took a shaky breath, forcing my back to stay straight as I followed him mechanically through the motions of the dance. I could see flashes of night sky through the open doors on the far wall. We’d have a much easier time finding Luna once we reached the terrace outside. “Really bad.”
“Did you ask . . . ” He glanced around, lowering his voice before he asked, “The Luidaeg?”
“Yeah. She said she couldn’t help me. We’re on our own this time.”
He took an unsteady breath. “Root and branch.”
“My thought exactly. So I’m going to talk to Luna, see if she has any—” I stopped mid-sentence as the scent of familiar magic cut through the air, sharp enough to make my sinuses ache. It was a mix of sulfuric acid and crushed oleanders, as out of place among the delicate perfumes of the dancers as a fox in a henhouse.
Connor blinked as our unsteady waltz came stumbling to a halt. “Toby?”
“Hush,” I hissed, putting all my concentration into trying to follow the scent back to its source. I hadn’t smelled that combination in years, but I would’ve known it even without the immediate, visceral reminder of the dream Karen sent me. I’ll never forget Oleander de Merelands’ magic.
Especially not when it’s coming in with the wind off the terrace.
“What’s going—”
“Call the guards,” I said. “Call Sylvester. Now.” I pulled away without waiting for his reply, gathering my skirts and bolting for the door like Cinderella leaving the ball for the battlefield. Connor shouted something, the exclamations from the dancers I shoved out of my path rendering his words unintelligible. I didn’t stop. Oleander stole my life from me once already. I’d be damned before I let her do it to anyone else.
NINE
THE TERRACE OUTSIDE THE BALLROOM doors extended in both directions and around the corners, out of sight. I knew from experience that it made a complete circuit of the building, regardless of what shape the hall happened to be at any given moment. The architecture of Shadowed Hills may shift, but some things don’t change, and the place is always riddled with towers, nooks, and crannies. That meant more doors than we could possibly cover, even if Connor found every guard in the knowe. When I factored in the general chaos of the Ball, I had to assume it would take him several minutes to convince anyone he found that there was a problem and get them heading in my direction. Possibly longer, since I hadn’t told him exactly what the problem was.
A soft breeze wafted up riotous perfume from the gardens below, burying any trace of Oleander’s magic. I wouldn’t be able to track her that way, and the stone floor of the terrace showed no footprints. I hesitated, trying to decide how to proceed. I could wait until the guards came, losing any advantage I might have gained by spotting her quickly, but getting myself some backup. Or I could follow blind and hope to get lucky.
“She was with the delegation from Roan Rathad a little while ago.” He grimaced, shoulders dipping upward in an involuntary semi-shrug. I understood the reaction. Roan Rathad was his original home, a mostly Selkie fiefdom that swears fealty to the Undersea Duchy of Saltmist. It was Saltmist that decided he was expendable enough to be sold into marriage to a madwoman for political reasons, and Roan Rathad didn’t fight them. I’ve never asked whether it was our relationship that made them see him that way. After all, a man who was willing to sully himself by getting involved with a changeling would probably never marry expediently on his own.
If that’s why they did it, I genuinely don’t want to know.
“That explains the clothes.” I gave him a sympathetic once-over. He was wearing white linen trousers with a smoky blue tunic trimmed in silver; the colors of his particular Selkie clan. He looked like a ghost next to the vibrant colors of the rest of Shadowed Hills. The contrast was a visual reminder of his status in the Court: always an outsider, whether he was technically part of the ruling family or not.
It was also, if I was being entirely honest with myself, a damn good look for him, contrasting with his dark coloring and making him look like a movie star from a 1940s film noir mystery. Very few men can pull off white linen without looking like they’re about to hit the beach, but on Connor, it made him look like he was about to hit the dance floor at some nightclub in Monaco.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged for real this time. “I like your dress.”
“May helped me pick it out.” A new song was starting. “Can you point me in Luna’s general direction?”
“I can do you one better.” He offered his hand, coupling it with a slightly lopsided smile. “May I have this dance?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fastest route across the floor?”
“You got it.”
“And so do you.” I slid my hand into his. Rayseline was perpetually jealous of my nonrelationship with Connor, but for once, I didn’t feel compelled to refuse the invitation. Turning down a dance on Beltane is an insult almost beyond measure, as is snubbing an old friend. Connor and I could waltz the night away if we wanted to, and Raysel couldn’t say a damn thing about it.
He tugged me onto the floor, still cautious. People parted around us, making room for us to move without knocking into anyone. It helped that he was recognizably a Selkie, with fingers webbed to the first knuckle and short brown hair stippled with gray like the blotches on a seal’s coat—even people who didn’t know that he was the husband of the current Ducal heir would move aside, out of politeness. No one wants to be responsible for causing one of the polite, slightly-awkward sea fae to go sprawling.
I was standing close enough to see the edge-to-edge darkness of his eyes, irises blending seamlessly into pupils. They were the color of the sea at midnight, and just as easy to drown in. I’ve been drowning in those eyes for years. Every time I thought I might be learning to swim, he just smiled at me, and I went under again.
“I know you hate to dance,” Connor murmured, beginning to waltz me in an almost straight line across the floor. “At least you might get the pleasure of seeing me fall on my ass.”
“Oh, right. I guess that’s a fair exchange.”
“Why else would they call us the Fair Folk?”
“Because we steal their kids and cows if they call us fairies?”
“I mean besides that,” he said, and smiled. The expression died quickly. “How bad is Lily really? Don’t lie to me. Please.”
“Bad.” I took a shaky breath, forcing my back to stay straight as I followed him mechanically through the motions of the dance. I could see flashes of night sky through the open doors on the far wall. We’d have a much easier time finding Luna once we reached the terrace outside. “Really bad.”
“Did you ask . . . ” He glanced around, lowering his voice before he asked, “The Luidaeg?”
“Yeah. She said she couldn’t help me. We’re on our own this time.”
He took an unsteady breath. “Root and branch.”
“My thought exactly. So I’m going to talk to Luna, see if she has any—” I stopped mid-sentence as the scent of familiar magic cut through the air, sharp enough to make my sinuses ache. It was a mix of sulfuric acid and crushed oleanders, as out of place among the delicate perfumes of the dancers as a fox in a henhouse.
Connor blinked as our unsteady waltz came stumbling to a halt. “Toby?”
“Hush,” I hissed, putting all my concentration into trying to follow the scent back to its source. I hadn’t smelled that combination in years, but I would’ve known it even without the immediate, visceral reminder of the dream Karen sent me. I’ll never forget Oleander de Merelands’ magic.
Especially not when it’s coming in with the wind off the terrace.
“What’s going—”
“Call the guards,” I said. “Call Sylvester. Now.” I pulled away without waiting for his reply, gathering my skirts and bolting for the door like Cinderella leaving the ball for the battlefield. Connor shouted something, the exclamations from the dancers I shoved out of my path rendering his words unintelligible. I didn’t stop. Oleander stole my life from me once already. I’d be damned before I let her do it to anyone else.
NINE
THE TERRACE OUTSIDE THE BALLROOM doors extended in both directions and around the corners, out of sight. I knew from experience that it made a complete circuit of the building, regardless of what shape the hall happened to be at any given moment. The architecture of Shadowed Hills may shift, but some things don’t change, and the place is always riddled with towers, nooks, and crannies. That meant more doors than we could possibly cover, even if Connor found every guard in the knowe. When I factored in the general chaos of the Ball, I had to assume it would take him several minutes to convince anyone he found that there was a problem and get them heading in my direction. Possibly longer, since I hadn’t told him exactly what the problem was.
A soft breeze wafted up riotous perfume from the gardens below, burying any trace of Oleander’s magic. I wouldn’t be able to track her that way, and the stone floor of the terrace showed no footprints. I hesitated, trying to decide how to proceed. I could wait until the guards came, losing any advantage I might have gained by spotting her quickly, but getting myself some backup. Or I could follow blind and hope to get lucky.
