Late Eclipses
Page 67
I stiffened.
Catching the motion, the Queen offered me the smallest of smiles. “Your mother’s wicked ways of enticement and deceit live again in you. I’ll be gentle on him, in consideration of that. Now.” She looked back to the crowd, a challenge in her expression. “Will there be anyone else?”
I listened to the silence. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Tybalt would protect the Tea Gardens. May would live. Walther would cure the subjects of the Cat’s Court, and if Sylvester went to him, Luna might have a chance. Oleander was out there somewhere, but I’d done everything I could to save the people I loved; at this point it was up to them, because I didn’t think my mother could bring me back from the dead more than once. There are limits to everything, and I’d finally found mine.
“Very well,” said the Queen. “October Daye, rise.”
My trial—such as it was—was over. The Queen’s binding dissolved, letting me stagger back to my feet. I stole a quick glance around the room. More than half the crowd looked stunned, even frightened; good. They saw the Queen’s madness as clearly as I did. Let her do whatever she wanted to me. She wouldn’t hold her throne if she stayed that careless.
The Queen didn’t seem to notice the mood of the crowd. “October Daye, you have been found guilty of breaking Oberon’s law. Do you have any last words before your sentence is pronounced?”
I looked back to her. “I’ve served those who held my fealty as well as I could, and I’ve never willingly broken Faerie’s laws. I didn’t do what you accuse me of, but you’re my liege, and your word is law. Tell me what guilt is mine to bear.”
Her smile faltered. This was what would be remembered, and she knew it: I was condemned in innocence, and I went bravely, according to the law. When the revolution came, this moment was part of what would be used to take her down.
Pulling herself straight, she asked, “You understand your fate is mine to choose?”
“I understand I can’t change your mind. I just hope you’ll choose justice over whatever lies you’ve been offered.” Raysel was standing at the edge of the crowd; I saw her tense, but she didn’t speak. Clever girl.
“What is true and what is false is mine to decide,” said the Queen.
“My apologies.” I squared my aching shoulders. “I’m done. The rest is silence.”
“Very well. October Daye, Countess of Goldengreen, Knight of Shadowed Hills, daughter of Amandine, I declare you guilty of violating Oberon’s law. In three days’ time, you will be taken to the crossroads where the Iron Tree grows, where you will be bound, blinded, tied to the tree, as have been so many criminals before you . . . and burned. This is your sentence. This is what will be.”
I stared at her, barely able to believe her words. That wasn’t just death; it was torture of the worst kind. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Take her away.” The guards grabbed my arms, and she shouted, “See how justice is served?”
There was a long pause—too long—before the crowd started clapping. Even then, the applause was timid and broken, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. The Queen glared and the applause swelled to more acceptable levels as the guards half-walked, halfdragged me out of the room.
The sound of it followed us down the hall until the doors slammed shut, blocking the rest of the world away.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE GUARDS DRAGGED ME DOWN THREE halls and a dozen flights of stairs, not pausing to let me rest or recover my breath; my comfort ceased to be a concern when the Queen ordered my arrest.
I was barely staying upright by the time we reached the iron-barred dungeon door. Gremlin and Coblynau charms were etched into the wood, warding the rest of the knowe from the iron, but that wasn’t enough to wash the taint from the air. The closer we got to the door, the harder it got to breathe. The guards were all in better shape than I was, and they still flinched and paled when we got close to the dungeon door. I found it oddly hard to feel sorry for them. None of them were wearing iron manacles, and I was willing to bet they hadn’t started the day by coming back from the dead, either.
The door’s handle was rowan wood. It has a dampening effect on iron, making it easier for purebloods to tolerate the stuff. Dugan still pulled a length of silk out of his pocket, wrapping it around his hand three times before he touched the latch. The lucky bastard had probably never known the touch of iron in his life, much less been bound or shot with it.
Stepping aside, he signaled the guards to pull me forward. I glared, and he smirked, offering a mocking bow as they hauled me past him. He followed us down the increasingly narrow stairs, the pressure from the iron growing heavier with every step we took into the dark.
The guards were visibly anxious by the time we reached the base of the stairs, and I was starting to wonder which would turn and run first. We came to a second door, this one barred even more thickly with iron, and banded with yarrow. Yarrow wood dampens the magic of those rare races who aren’t bothered by iron. A Gremlin will saunter through an iron seal, but yarrow stops them cold.
Dugan pressed his hand against a panel at the center of the door, avoiding the iron as carefully as he could, and whispered something. The strips of yarrow flared yellow as the door swung open to reveal a square of pure darkness. “Can you walk?” I stared into the dark, shaking my head. “Fine. You don’t have to. Take her.”
Three of the guards lifted me off the ground and carried me down the last flight of stairs. Down into the dark.
The hall at the bottom of the stairs was claustrophobically narrow, and the smoky rowan-and-yarrow torches lining the walls didn’t help. Their flickering light was close enough to candlelight to bring me to the edge of panic. We passed half a dozen iron-and-yarrow doors before Dugan waved the guards to a stop. “Here,” he said.
One of the guards stepped forward, grimacing with disgust as he opened the nearest door, revealing a small, totally dark cell. I could feel the iron permeating it, and I went cold, the enormity of what they were about to do driving itself home. They were going to put me in that room and leave me, alone with the iron.
By the time they came back for me, burning would be a mercy.
I panicked, struggling with a strength I didn’t know I still had. One of the guards laughed, smacking me across the back of the head. The world erupted into blinding pain. That was the end of my resistance. I went limp, staying that way as they shoved me into the cell, slamming and locking the door behind me. I landed hard in the dank, half-rotten straw covering the floor.
Catching the motion, the Queen offered me the smallest of smiles. “Your mother’s wicked ways of enticement and deceit live again in you. I’ll be gentle on him, in consideration of that. Now.” She looked back to the crowd, a challenge in her expression. “Will there be anyone else?”
I listened to the silence. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Tybalt would protect the Tea Gardens. May would live. Walther would cure the subjects of the Cat’s Court, and if Sylvester went to him, Luna might have a chance. Oleander was out there somewhere, but I’d done everything I could to save the people I loved; at this point it was up to them, because I didn’t think my mother could bring me back from the dead more than once. There are limits to everything, and I’d finally found mine.
“Very well,” said the Queen. “October Daye, rise.”
My trial—such as it was—was over. The Queen’s binding dissolved, letting me stagger back to my feet. I stole a quick glance around the room. More than half the crowd looked stunned, even frightened; good. They saw the Queen’s madness as clearly as I did. Let her do whatever she wanted to me. She wouldn’t hold her throne if she stayed that careless.
The Queen didn’t seem to notice the mood of the crowd. “October Daye, you have been found guilty of breaking Oberon’s law. Do you have any last words before your sentence is pronounced?”
I looked back to her. “I’ve served those who held my fealty as well as I could, and I’ve never willingly broken Faerie’s laws. I didn’t do what you accuse me of, but you’re my liege, and your word is law. Tell me what guilt is mine to bear.”
Her smile faltered. This was what would be remembered, and she knew it: I was condemned in innocence, and I went bravely, according to the law. When the revolution came, this moment was part of what would be used to take her down.
Pulling herself straight, she asked, “You understand your fate is mine to choose?”
“I understand I can’t change your mind. I just hope you’ll choose justice over whatever lies you’ve been offered.” Raysel was standing at the edge of the crowd; I saw her tense, but she didn’t speak. Clever girl.
“What is true and what is false is mine to decide,” said the Queen.
“My apologies.” I squared my aching shoulders. “I’m done. The rest is silence.”
“Very well. October Daye, Countess of Goldengreen, Knight of Shadowed Hills, daughter of Amandine, I declare you guilty of violating Oberon’s law. In three days’ time, you will be taken to the crossroads where the Iron Tree grows, where you will be bound, blinded, tied to the tree, as have been so many criminals before you . . . and burned. This is your sentence. This is what will be.”
I stared at her, barely able to believe her words. That wasn’t just death; it was torture of the worst kind. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Take her away.” The guards grabbed my arms, and she shouted, “See how justice is served?”
There was a long pause—too long—before the crowd started clapping. Even then, the applause was timid and broken, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. The Queen glared and the applause swelled to more acceptable levels as the guards half-walked, halfdragged me out of the room.
The sound of it followed us down the hall until the doors slammed shut, blocking the rest of the world away.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE GUARDS DRAGGED ME DOWN THREE halls and a dozen flights of stairs, not pausing to let me rest or recover my breath; my comfort ceased to be a concern when the Queen ordered my arrest.
I was barely staying upright by the time we reached the iron-barred dungeon door. Gremlin and Coblynau charms were etched into the wood, warding the rest of the knowe from the iron, but that wasn’t enough to wash the taint from the air. The closer we got to the door, the harder it got to breathe. The guards were all in better shape than I was, and they still flinched and paled when we got close to the dungeon door. I found it oddly hard to feel sorry for them. None of them were wearing iron manacles, and I was willing to bet they hadn’t started the day by coming back from the dead, either.
The door’s handle was rowan wood. It has a dampening effect on iron, making it easier for purebloods to tolerate the stuff. Dugan still pulled a length of silk out of his pocket, wrapping it around his hand three times before he touched the latch. The lucky bastard had probably never known the touch of iron in his life, much less been bound or shot with it.
Stepping aside, he signaled the guards to pull me forward. I glared, and he smirked, offering a mocking bow as they hauled me past him. He followed us down the increasingly narrow stairs, the pressure from the iron growing heavier with every step we took into the dark.
The guards were visibly anxious by the time we reached the base of the stairs, and I was starting to wonder which would turn and run first. We came to a second door, this one barred even more thickly with iron, and banded with yarrow. Yarrow wood dampens the magic of those rare races who aren’t bothered by iron. A Gremlin will saunter through an iron seal, but yarrow stops them cold.
Dugan pressed his hand against a panel at the center of the door, avoiding the iron as carefully as he could, and whispered something. The strips of yarrow flared yellow as the door swung open to reveal a square of pure darkness. “Can you walk?” I stared into the dark, shaking my head. “Fine. You don’t have to. Take her.”
Three of the guards lifted me off the ground and carried me down the last flight of stairs. Down into the dark.
The hall at the bottom of the stairs was claustrophobically narrow, and the smoky rowan-and-yarrow torches lining the walls didn’t help. Their flickering light was close enough to candlelight to bring me to the edge of panic. We passed half a dozen iron-and-yarrow doors before Dugan waved the guards to a stop. “Here,” he said.
One of the guards stepped forward, grimacing with disgust as he opened the nearest door, revealing a small, totally dark cell. I could feel the iron permeating it, and I went cold, the enormity of what they were about to do driving itself home. They were going to put me in that room and leave me, alone with the iron.
By the time they came back for me, burning would be a mercy.
I panicked, struggling with a strength I didn’t know I still had. One of the guards laughed, smacking me across the back of the head. The world erupted into blinding pain. That was the end of my resistance. I went limp, staying that way as they shoved me into the cell, slamming and locking the door behind me. I landed hard in the dank, half-rotten straw covering the floor.
