Late Eclipses
Page 93
“Fuck, Toby, you just can’t ask the easy ones, can you?” The question had the bitter lilt of the rhetorical; she didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t give one. Sighing, the Luidaeg said, “She lied because she was trying to save you.”
“From what?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
Offering a small, warning shake of her head, she continued, “There are things in Faerie that don’t like your mother much, and they don’t like you either, because you’re the last one left to play heir for her. Sorry. She tried to spare you. First by changing your blood to make you mortal before anyone knew you existed, and then by lying about your heritage. You’d always be weak if you considered yourself Daoine Sidhe. Your race doesn’t have any of Titania’s blood, and she’s the mother of illusions. But if you knew yourself, if you knew what you could do . . .”
“So she lied to me?” This time, I was the one asking the rhetorical question.
“She thought she was doing the right thing,” said the Luidaeg, tone off-handed enough to make it plain that she wasn’t answering me; just making an observation. “Amandine was never the most stable of my siblings, and that’s saying a lot. Faerie wasn’t kind to her. She thought getting you out was the best thing she could do for you.”
“I . . . ” I paused. I would have agreed wholeheartedly with Amandine’s decision to turn me human not that long ago. Maybe not after Evening died—I gave back the hope chest, I’d like to think I would’ve been together enough to tell my mother “no”—but before that? Before the pond? I would have told Sylvester thanks but no thanks for a place in his service, told Devin I had a way out, and gone off to live happily ever after in the mortal world.
If I’d done that . . . Rayseline would still have lost her mind. Evening would still have died. Blind Michael’s Ride would still have taken the children. And I wouldn’t have been there to do anything about any of it.
The Luidaeg sighed at my expression. “She did the best she could. It was fucked-up and wrong for you, but it was still the best she could do. Don’t get me wrong,” she raised a hand, palm turned toward me, “I’m not a fan of Amandine’s. She and I have some old issues. But mothers are allowed to make mistakes.”
If I’d been human, I wouldn’t have left my own daughter behind. Mothers make mistakes. “Luidaeg—”
She shook her head. “No. You’ve had three questions, and as much wiggle room as I can give you. Now’s the time where you get the fuck out of here. Besides, you still look like hammered shit. Go get some sleep. You’re staying at Shadowed Hills?”
“I am.” I dug a hand into my pocket, coming up with a fistful of red-black rose petals that glowed with their own interior light. “Acacia gave me a ticket back for when we were finished here.”
“How sweet of her. I have a detour for you to make before you go back.”
I eyed her warily as I tucked the petals back in my pocket. “Define ‘detour.’ ”
“Detour. A word meaning ‘I’m Firstborn, and I could kick your ass without thinking about it, so how about you just go along with me and nobody gets hurt.’” A corner of the Luidaeg’s mouth tipped upward in the semblance of a smile. “If all my nieces and nephews were as stubborn as you, Faerie would have a much larger under-population problem, because I would never have let them live to breed.”
“You say the sweetest things,” I said blandly. “All right. Where am I going?”
“Through here.” She turned and opened the door to her kitchen closet, displaying rotting mops and ancient canned goods. I raised an eyebrow. She glanced into the closet, said, “Whoops,” and closed the door, pausing a moment before opening it again.
The closet was gone. The doorway opened on the familiar greens of Lily’s knowe. I could see figures in the distance, clustered around one of the pavilions that seemed to crop up there like mushrooms after the rain. I looked at the Luidaeg. She nodded.
“Right,” I said, and offered a wan smile. “So I’ll see you later.”
“After you’ve dealt with the Queen, you come and see me again. Just make sure it’s not for at least a week. I’ve got shit to do.”
“Luidaeg . . . ” I hesitated. “Is everything all right?”
The whites of her eyes darkened for a moment, almost vanishing against the ordinary brown of her irises. She blinked and her eyes were normal again; normal, and sad. “Nothing in this world is ever all the way right, October,” she said quietly. “Now get out of here. There are people you need to be looking after.”
“Right,” I repeated, and stepped through the door.
There was no real moment of transition, no distortion or disorientation. It was as easy as stepping through a normal doorway, if you discount the fact that walking through a normal doorway doesn’t usually result in quite that extreme a change in temperature. The Luidaeg’s apartment was warm and dry. Lily’s knowe was moist, and cold enough to border on clammy. I stopped where I was, taking an uneasy breath as I realized what the change in temperature meant.
Lily was gone. And with her out of the picture, the knowe—which had always been sustained almost entirely by her unique sort of magic—was dying.
Marcia spotted me before I trudged more than halfway across the mossy expanse between my point of arrival and the pavilion. She came racing down the pavilion steps, looking small and frazzled in her oversized, obviously secondhand sweater. “Toby! You’re alive!”
“Hey, Marcia,” I said. “Yeah, I’m alive. I’ve just been in hiding. Still am, sort of. I’m not quite ready to cope with the Queen yet. How’s everybody here?”
“Cold,” said Walther, exiting the pavilion at a more sedate pace and walking out to join us. “Hello, October. How are you?”
“I think we’ve already established ‘alive’ as the important thing. How far has the temperature dropped?”
“Far enough. Some of the outlying ponds have already blended back into nothing. It won’t be long now.”
Marcia looked between the two of us, expression openly perplexed. Poor kid. My education was acquired in drips and drabs, either spoon-fed to me by Devin to prepare me for a job or offered up by Sylvester when he realized there was something I needed to know. That was still probably a lot more education than Marcia ever got.
“From what?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
Offering a small, warning shake of her head, she continued, “There are things in Faerie that don’t like your mother much, and they don’t like you either, because you’re the last one left to play heir for her. Sorry. She tried to spare you. First by changing your blood to make you mortal before anyone knew you existed, and then by lying about your heritage. You’d always be weak if you considered yourself Daoine Sidhe. Your race doesn’t have any of Titania’s blood, and she’s the mother of illusions. But if you knew yourself, if you knew what you could do . . .”
“So she lied to me?” This time, I was the one asking the rhetorical question.
“She thought she was doing the right thing,” said the Luidaeg, tone off-handed enough to make it plain that she wasn’t answering me; just making an observation. “Amandine was never the most stable of my siblings, and that’s saying a lot. Faerie wasn’t kind to her. She thought getting you out was the best thing she could do for you.”
“I . . . ” I paused. I would have agreed wholeheartedly with Amandine’s decision to turn me human not that long ago. Maybe not after Evening died—I gave back the hope chest, I’d like to think I would’ve been together enough to tell my mother “no”—but before that? Before the pond? I would have told Sylvester thanks but no thanks for a place in his service, told Devin I had a way out, and gone off to live happily ever after in the mortal world.
If I’d done that . . . Rayseline would still have lost her mind. Evening would still have died. Blind Michael’s Ride would still have taken the children. And I wouldn’t have been there to do anything about any of it.
The Luidaeg sighed at my expression. “She did the best she could. It was fucked-up and wrong for you, but it was still the best she could do. Don’t get me wrong,” she raised a hand, palm turned toward me, “I’m not a fan of Amandine’s. She and I have some old issues. But mothers are allowed to make mistakes.”
If I’d been human, I wouldn’t have left my own daughter behind. Mothers make mistakes. “Luidaeg—”
She shook her head. “No. You’ve had three questions, and as much wiggle room as I can give you. Now’s the time where you get the fuck out of here. Besides, you still look like hammered shit. Go get some sleep. You’re staying at Shadowed Hills?”
“I am.” I dug a hand into my pocket, coming up with a fistful of red-black rose petals that glowed with their own interior light. “Acacia gave me a ticket back for when we were finished here.”
“How sweet of her. I have a detour for you to make before you go back.”
I eyed her warily as I tucked the petals back in my pocket. “Define ‘detour.’ ”
“Detour. A word meaning ‘I’m Firstborn, and I could kick your ass without thinking about it, so how about you just go along with me and nobody gets hurt.’” A corner of the Luidaeg’s mouth tipped upward in the semblance of a smile. “If all my nieces and nephews were as stubborn as you, Faerie would have a much larger under-population problem, because I would never have let them live to breed.”
“You say the sweetest things,” I said blandly. “All right. Where am I going?”
“Through here.” She turned and opened the door to her kitchen closet, displaying rotting mops and ancient canned goods. I raised an eyebrow. She glanced into the closet, said, “Whoops,” and closed the door, pausing a moment before opening it again.
The closet was gone. The doorway opened on the familiar greens of Lily’s knowe. I could see figures in the distance, clustered around one of the pavilions that seemed to crop up there like mushrooms after the rain. I looked at the Luidaeg. She nodded.
“Right,” I said, and offered a wan smile. “So I’ll see you later.”
“After you’ve dealt with the Queen, you come and see me again. Just make sure it’s not for at least a week. I’ve got shit to do.”
“Luidaeg . . . ” I hesitated. “Is everything all right?”
The whites of her eyes darkened for a moment, almost vanishing against the ordinary brown of her irises. She blinked and her eyes were normal again; normal, and sad. “Nothing in this world is ever all the way right, October,” she said quietly. “Now get out of here. There are people you need to be looking after.”
“Right,” I repeated, and stepped through the door.
There was no real moment of transition, no distortion or disorientation. It was as easy as stepping through a normal doorway, if you discount the fact that walking through a normal doorway doesn’t usually result in quite that extreme a change in temperature. The Luidaeg’s apartment was warm and dry. Lily’s knowe was moist, and cold enough to border on clammy. I stopped where I was, taking an uneasy breath as I realized what the change in temperature meant.
Lily was gone. And with her out of the picture, the knowe—which had always been sustained almost entirely by her unique sort of magic—was dying.
Marcia spotted me before I trudged more than halfway across the mossy expanse between my point of arrival and the pavilion. She came racing down the pavilion steps, looking small and frazzled in her oversized, obviously secondhand sweater. “Toby! You’re alive!”
“Hey, Marcia,” I said. “Yeah, I’m alive. I’ve just been in hiding. Still am, sort of. I’m not quite ready to cope with the Queen yet. How’s everybody here?”
“Cold,” said Walther, exiting the pavilion at a more sedate pace and walking out to join us. “Hello, October. How are you?”
“I think we’ve already established ‘alive’ as the important thing. How far has the temperature dropped?”
“Far enough. Some of the outlying ponds have already blended back into nothing. It won’t be long now.”
Marcia looked between the two of us, expression openly perplexed. Poor kid. My education was acquired in drips and drabs, either spoon-fed to me by Devin to prepare me for a job or offered up by Sylvester when he realized there was something I needed to know. That was still probably a lot more education than Marcia ever got.
