Late Eclipses
Page 23
“Yeah.” I laughed sourly. “There’s a quest for some other idiot: looking for Maeve so they can get medical details for all her descendants.” Our King and Queens have been missing for hundreds of years. Someone’s eventually going to have to go and find them. Personally, I have other problems to deal with.
“I suppose that’s true,” Luna agreed, rubbing her forehead. “It’s a very warm night. The summers were never this warm when I was younger.”
“If you say so,” I said. California has a reputation for strange weather patterns, but the Summerlands are in a league of their own. I’ve seen snowstorms in July and heat waves in December. “I’m going to be at the Tea Gardens for a while, and then . . . well, I don’t know where I’ll be after that. Check with May. If she doesn’t know where to find me, check with—check with Tybalt. He usually seems to know where I am.”
Luna’s smile was brief and knowing. “Yes, he does go out of his way to keep tabs on you, doesn’t he? One might think he cared.”
I groaned. “Don’t you start, too.”
“You should be flattered. He’s a sweet man, in his way.” She paused before adding, “My daughter’s mad, you know.”
I stared at her.
Unheeding, Luna continued, “People think I don’t see it because I’m mad, too, in a quieter way, but madness isn’t blindness. I lived with my father. I know what she is. I can’t blame her. I still can’t help feeling she had as much choice in her madness as I had in mine, and chose the wrong path.”
“Luna, what are you—”
“I was afraid for her. That’s why we found her a husband. Saltmist was begging for a treaty, what with that madwoman Riordan sniffing at the borders of Roan Rathad and them so restricted from intervention, and Raysel needed an anchor.” Her eyes were far away; she wasn’t talking to me anymore. “We were trying to save her the way my parents never saved me.”
“Luna?” I put a hand on her shoulder, jerking it away almost immediately. “You’re burning up!”
“I don’t feel well.” She wiped her forehead again, giving me a pleading look. “Can you tell Sylvester to turn the summer down?”
“You’re shaking.” I caught her hand. Her fingers were so hot that they felt like they might blister my skin. “Come on. We need to go inside.”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to tug away. “It’s just warm.”
“You have a fever. That’s not fine.” Purebloods almost never get sick. When they do, it’s either a laughable thing, over in a matter of hours, or serious enough to be incredibly scary. Luna’s parents were Firstborn, making her blood purer than most. If she was sick, it wasn’t going to be the easy kind of illness.
“It’s not?” she asked. The color was draining from her cheeks, leaving her pale—too pale. Whatever was happening to her couldn’t be entirely natural.
“No. Come on, now. We need to find Sylvester.”
“If you say so,” she said, and reeled, knocking her goblet to the terrace as she slumped toward me. The heat from her skin was intense. “Is there time for me to faint?”
I slid an arm around her, propping her up. She turned wide, haunted eyes toward me. Threads of pink and yellow were lacing through her irises, eroding their familiar brown. “Oh, oak and ash,” I whispered.
“Has my father heard us? Is he coming?”
“Luna—” Luna couldn’t escape her father in the shape she was born in, and so she stole the skin of a dying Kitsune and fled to the Summerlands. I’d seen the colors bleed into her eyes twice, and both times she was under such stress that she almost reverted back to her original form.
“I forgot my candle,” she said, in a voice as thin and strained as wind through the trees. Then she went limp, eyes closing. I staggered, trying not to drop what was suddenly a dead weight.
“Luna?” There was no reply. I lowered her to the terrace, fumbling for a pulse. “No. No, not you, too. Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I slid her head into my lap in the vague hope that it might help her breathe, and looked frantically up and down the terrace. There was no one in either direction.
Taking a deep breath, I tilted back my head and screamed for help.
TEN
I’D BEEN SHOUTING FOR A GOOD FIVE MINUTES when a tipsy Hind staggered out of the ballroom. She had a champagne flute dangling precariously from one hand, and was already starting to scold me for making too much noise when she realized what was happening in front of her. Her cloven hooves clattered as she staggered to a stop.
The sound barely registered; it was her champagne flute shattering against the terrace floor that snapped me out of my panic, like the breaking glass somehow flipped a switch inside my brain. I sat up straight, ordering, “Go inside and send the first person you can find wearing the Duke’s livery to me,” in my best “I am a Knight of this Duchy, do not fuck with me” tone.
I turned my attention back to Luna as the Hind turned and fled. She was still breathing, but her fever seemed to be getting worse, and that couldn’t possibly be good. I reached for her goblet, intending to use whatever was left of its contents to cool her down, and paused.
Purebloods almost never get sick. Oleander’s weapon of choice was poison. The two weren’t necessarily connected, but did I really want to take that chance?
I was staring at the goblet like I expected it to turn into a snake and bite me when a wonderfully familiar voice demanded, “Tree and thorn, October, what in the name of Oberon’s honor is going on out here!”
There’s just one man in Shadowed Hills—maybe just one man in all of Faerie—who can say things like “in the name of Oberon’s honor” and sound like he believes what he’s saying. Not even Luna’s condition was enough to quash my relief as I twisted around to face him. “Etienne. Root and branch, I’m glad you’re here.”
Etienne stopped and stared.
I had to admit that the scene was strange; not even the weird training exercises he put me through when I was new to my knighthood approached finding me on the ground in a ball gown with an unconscious Duchess in my lap. Rendering Etienne speechless has been a goal of mine for years, and under any other circumstances, I might have savored the moment. Sadly, this was neither the time nor the place to enjoy my little sideways victory.
“I suppose that’s true,” Luna agreed, rubbing her forehead. “It’s a very warm night. The summers were never this warm when I was younger.”
“If you say so,” I said. California has a reputation for strange weather patterns, but the Summerlands are in a league of their own. I’ve seen snowstorms in July and heat waves in December. “I’m going to be at the Tea Gardens for a while, and then . . . well, I don’t know where I’ll be after that. Check with May. If she doesn’t know where to find me, check with—check with Tybalt. He usually seems to know where I am.”
Luna’s smile was brief and knowing. “Yes, he does go out of his way to keep tabs on you, doesn’t he? One might think he cared.”
I groaned. “Don’t you start, too.”
“You should be flattered. He’s a sweet man, in his way.” She paused before adding, “My daughter’s mad, you know.”
I stared at her.
Unheeding, Luna continued, “People think I don’t see it because I’m mad, too, in a quieter way, but madness isn’t blindness. I lived with my father. I know what she is. I can’t blame her. I still can’t help feeling she had as much choice in her madness as I had in mine, and chose the wrong path.”
“Luna, what are you—”
“I was afraid for her. That’s why we found her a husband. Saltmist was begging for a treaty, what with that madwoman Riordan sniffing at the borders of Roan Rathad and them so restricted from intervention, and Raysel needed an anchor.” Her eyes were far away; she wasn’t talking to me anymore. “We were trying to save her the way my parents never saved me.”
“Luna?” I put a hand on her shoulder, jerking it away almost immediately. “You’re burning up!”
“I don’t feel well.” She wiped her forehead again, giving me a pleading look. “Can you tell Sylvester to turn the summer down?”
“You’re shaking.” I caught her hand. Her fingers were so hot that they felt like they might blister my skin. “Come on. We need to go inside.”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to tug away. “It’s just warm.”
“You have a fever. That’s not fine.” Purebloods almost never get sick. When they do, it’s either a laughable thing, over in a matter of hours, or serious enough to be incredibly scary. Luna’s parents were Firstborn, making her blood purer than most. If she was sick, it wasn’t going to be the easy kind of illness.
“It’s not?” she asked. The color was draining from her cheeks, leaving her pale—too pale. Whatever was happening to her couldn’t be entirely natural.
“No. Come on, now. We need to find Sylvester.”
“If you say so,” she said, and reeled, knocking her goblet to the terrace as she slumped toward me. The heat from her skin was intense. “Is there time for me to faint?”
I slid an arm around her, propping her up. She turned wide, haunted eyes toward me. Threads of pink and yellow were lacing through her irises, eroding their familiar brown. “Oh, oak and ash,” I whispered.
“Has my father heard us? Is he coming?”
“Luna—” Luna couldn’t escape her father in the shape she was born in, and so she stole the skin of a dying Kitsune and fled to the Summerlands. I’d seen the colors bleed into her eyes twice, and both times she was under such stress that she almost reverted back to her original form.
“I forgot my candle,” she said, in a voice as thin and strained as wind through the trees. Then she went limp, eyes closing. I staggered, trying not to drop what was suddenly a dead weight.
“Luna?” There was no reply. I lowered her to the terrace, fumbling for a pulse. “No. No, not you, too. Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I slid her head into my lap in the vague hope that it might help her breathe, and looked frantically up and down the terrace. There was no one in either direction.
Taking a deep breath, I tilted back my head and screamed for help.
TEN
I’D BEEN SHOUTING FOR A GOOD FIVE MINUTES when a tipsy Hind staggered out of the ballroom. She had a champagne flute dangling precariously from one hand, and was already starting to scold me for making too much noise when she realized what was happening in front of her. Her cloven hooves clattered as she staggered to a stop.
The sound barely registered; it was her champagne flute shattering against the terrace floor that snapped me out of my panic, like the breaking glass somehow flipped a switch inside my brain. I sat up straight, ordering, “Go inside and send the first person you can find wearing the Duke’s livery to me,” in my best “I am a Knight of this Duchy, do not fuck with me” tone.
I turned my attention back to Luna as the Hind turned and fled. She was still breathing, but her fever seemed to be getting worse, and that couldn’t possibly be good. I reached for her goblet, intending to use whatever was left of its contents to cool her down, and paused.
Purebloods almost never get sick. Oleander’s weapon of choice was poison. The two weren’t necessarily connected, but did I really want to take that chance?
I was staring at the goblet like I expected it to turn into a snake and bite me when a wonderfully familiar voice demanded, “Tree and thorn, October, what in the name of Oberon’s honor is going on out here!”
There’s just one man in Shadowed Hills—maybe just one man in all of Faerie—who can say things like “in the name of Oberon’s honor” and sound like he believes what he’s saying. Not even Luna’s condition was enough to quash my relief as I twisted around to face him. “Etienne. Root and branch, I’m glad you’re here.”
Etienne stopped and stared.
I had to admit that the scene was strange; not even the weird training exercises he put me through when I was new to my knighthood approached finding me on the ground in a ball gown with an unconscious Duchess in my lap. Rendering Etienne speechless has been a goal of mine for years, and under any other circumstances, I might have savored the moment. Sadly, this was neither the time nor the place to enjoy my little sideways victory.
