The Winter Long
Page 21
“Think she’s home?” asked Quentin.
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I said, and started walking faster. The others fell back, allowing me to take the lead. The enchantments on the tower knew who I was; they’d always let me in, no matter what else might be going on. That could be important, depending on the situation ahead of us.
The gate swung open when I touched it. I left my fingertips against the wood, murmuring, “These three are with me. Let them in.” Then I walked on, into my mother’s garden.
Tybalt, Quentin, and Sylvester followed without difficulty. The enchantments were listening.
I hadn’t lived in the tower for a long time, but the layout of the garden had always been simple, and I knew the way. I followed the path as it curved gently past the marble birdbath to the door, which was standing open. That was enough to make me stop, one hand going to my knife as I sniffed the air, trying to find traces of magic beneath the riotous perfumes of a dozen different types of flower, some of which never existed in the mortal world. I thought I smelled smoke. I couldn’t be sure.
“Tybalt?”
“Yes.” The smell of pennyroyal and musk cut through the layers of perfume as he transformed, and as a cat, he raced past me, up the shallow steps at the threshold, into the building beyond.
I tensed, waiting where I was. Simon was a powerful magician, but Tybalt was harder to transform than I was—most people are harder to transform than I am—and there’s very little that can catch a Cait Sidhe when he’s not trying to be caught. The tower was five floors, no more than four rooms to a floor. Some of the floors were a single large room, like mine, like Amandine’s. He could search them and return in an instant. He could—
He reappeared on the steps, stretching back into human form, a blank expression on his face. For just an instant, I was certain that he had found her body in one of the tower’s upper rooms, throat slit by the silver and iron required to kill one of the Firstborn, colorless eyes open and staring into the rafters.
Then he shook his head. “She is not here; from the scent markings in her room and parlor, she has not been here in days, maybe even weeks. There are no signs of a struggle. I’m sorry, October. Your mother is still missing.”
It was almost a relief. I realized that even as I sighed, shook my head, and said, “We had to check. Did you smell anyone else?”
“Yes.” His face hardened again. “Traces of candle smoke and rotten oranges. Simon has been here, and recently.”
I turned to Sylvester to see how he was taking this news. He was staring at the tower, lips gone pale and bloodless as he pressed them into a thin, hard line. One hand was grasping the pommel of his sword. His knuckles were white, and I had to fight not to take a step away from him.
“I can’t follow this trail. Our magic is not so attuned as it once was, and he is too far for me to follow. He could see our walls from your mother’s land, and the wards would never tell me how close he had come,” said Sylvester, voice pitched low. “He could have been here for days, watching us, waiting for the chance to strike. Oh, he is going to pay for what he’s done to me and mine, October. On the root and the branch, I promise you that.”
I glanced to Tybalt, who looked as alarmed as I felt. He stepped away from the tower, and the door swung shut behind him, leaving the four of us standing in my mother’s garden, where the white petals from the blossoming trees were falling like so much unfrozen snow.
SIX
WE TRUDGED SILENTLY through the meadow between Mom’s land and Sylvester’s. Even when we stepped back into the snow, Quentin remained by my side, not running off to make snowballs or enjoy the weather. The quiet lasted until we were standing on the lawn of Shadowed Hills, with the doors waiting to welcome us into warmth and presumptive safety. Tybalt, Quentin, and I stopped. Sylvester took a few more steps before turning to face the rest of us.
“October—” he began.
I raised a hand, cutting him off. “Who would he run to? If he isn’t here with my mother, where would he think he could go for aid?” He wouldn’t be hiding with the changeling underground, of that I was certain: places like the one that had raised me were too far beneath him, even in his hour of need.
Sylvester frowned slowly, looking confused. “Are you that angry with me?”
“Right now? Yes. You’ve been keeping secrets from me. Things I needed to know.” Like maybe before he’d sent me running after Simon, before I’d been turned into a fish and left stranded in a watery jail for fourteen years. “I love you. I always will. But right now, I’m pretty pissed at you. So can you just answer the question, please?”
“Simon was . . . not well when he was last here,” said Sylvester, picking his words with care. “He was separated from your mother. Luna disliked having him in our halls. He wandered the Kingdom, taking hospitality where he could find it.”
“Did he go to January?” I asked.
Sylvester shook his head. “No. Tamed Lightning had not been founded yet, and as a titled, unlanded Count, Duchess Riordan saw him as a threat. Perhaps if he’d been willing to formally divorce your mother—but that would have required taking steps neither wanted taken.”
I blinked, frowning. Fae marriages are complicated things, filled with rules about inheritance and succession that I never bothered learning. But fae divorces are simple. Unless there are children involved, all the couple needs to do is announce that they’re no longer married. “Why didn’t they want to get a divorce?”
“I don’t see how this relates to where he would be if not here or at your mother’s tower.”
I bared my teeth. “Humor me,” I half-snarled. “Why didn’t they want to get a divorce?”
“Because that would mean admitting there was no hope for them. It may be hard for you to believe, but there was a time when we were all so much younger than we are now. My brother loved your mother as he’s loved very few. He wasn’t willing to give up on her. And maybe I’m a sentimental old fool, but I always took it as a good sign that your mother wasn’t willing to give up on him, either.”
There was something he wasn’t telling me. I’ve had a lot of practice at being lied to, and I know how to recognize the signs. I narrowed my eyes. “What else?”
“What?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I said, and started walking faster. The others fell back, allowing me to take the lead. The enchantments on the tower knew who I was; they’d always let me in, no matter what else might be going on. That could be important, depending on the situation ahead of us.
The gate swung open when I touched it. I left my fingertips against the wood, murmuring, “These three are with me. Let them in.” Then I walked on, into my mother’s garden.
Tybalt, Quentin, and Sylvester followed without difficulty. The enchantments were listening.
I hadn’t lived in the tower for a long time, but the layout of the garden had always been simple, and I knew the way. I followed the path as it curved gently past the marble birdbath to the door, which was standing open. That was enough to make me stop, one hand going to my knife as I sniffed the air, trying to find traces of magic beneath the riotous perfumes of a dozen different types of flower, some of which never existed in the mortal world. I thought I smelled smoke. I couldn’t be sure.
“Tybalt?”
“Yes.” The smell of pennyroyal and musk cut through the layers of perfume as he transformed, and as a cat, he raced past me, up the shallow steps at the threshold, into the building beyond.
I tensed, waiting where I was. Simon was a powerful magician, but Tybalt was harder to transform than I was—most people are harder to transform than I am—and there’s very little that can catch a Cait Sidhe when he’s not trying to be caught. The tower was five floors, no more than four rooms to a floor. Some of the floors were a single large room, like mine, like Amandine’s. He could search them and return in an instant. He could—
He reappeared on the steps, stretching back into human form, a blank expression on his face. For just an instant, I was certain that he had found her body in one of the tower’s upper rooms, throat slit by the silver and iron required to kill one of the Firstborn, colorless eyes open and staring into the rafters.
Then he shook his head. “She is not here; from the scent markings in her room and parlor, she has not been here in days, maybe even weeks. There are no signs of a struggle. I’m sorry, October. Your mother is still missing.”
It was almost a relief. I realized that even as I sighed, shook my head, and said, “We had to check. Did you smell anyone else?”
“Yes.” His face hardened again. “Traces of candle smoke and rotten oranges. Simon has been here, and recently.”
I turned to Sylvester to see how he was taking this news. He was staring at the tower, lips gone pale and bloodless as he pressed them into a thin, hard line. One hand was grasping the pommel of his sword. His knuckles were white, and I had to fight not to take a step away from him.
“I can’t follow this trail. Our magic is not so attuned as it once was, and he is too far for me to follow. He could see our walls from your mother’s land, and the wards would never tell me how close he had come,” said Sylvester, voice pitched low. “He could have been here for days, watching us, waiting for the chance to strike. Oh, he is going to pay for what he’s done to me and mine, October. On the root and the branch, I promise you that.”
I glanced to Tybalt, who looked as alarmed as I felt. He stepped away from the tower, and the door swung shut behind him, leaving the four of us standing in my mother’s garden, where the white petals from the blossoming trees were falling like so much unfrozen snow.
SIX
WE TRUDGED SILENTLY through the meadow between Mom’s land and Sylvester’s. Even when we stepped back into the snow, Quentin remained by my side, not running off to make snowballs or enjoy the weather. The quiet lasted until we were standing on the lawn of Shadowed Hills, with the doors waiting to welcome us into warmth and presumptive safety. Tybalt, Quentin, and I stopped. Sylvester took a few more steps before turning to face the rest of us.
“October—” he began.
I raised a hand, cutting him off. “Who would he run to? If he isn’t here with my mother, where would he think he could go for aid?” He wouldn’t be hiding with the changeling underground, of that I was certain: places like the one that had raised me were too far beneath him, even in his hour of need.
Sylvester frowned slowly, looking confused. “Are you that angry with me?”
“Right now? Yes. You’ve been keeping secrets from me. Things I needed to know.” Like maybe before he’d sent me running after Simon, before I’d been turned into a fish and left stranded in a watery jail for fourteen years. “I love you. I always will. But right now, I’m pretty pissed at you. So can you just answer the question, please?”
“Simon was . . . not well when he was last here,” said Sylvester, picking his words with care. “He was separated from your mother. Luna disliked having him in our halls. He wandered the Kingdom, taking hospitality where he could find it.”
“Did he go to January?” I asked.
Sylvester shook his head. “No. Tamed Lightning had not been founded yet, and as a titled, unlanded Count, Duchess Riordan saw him as a threat. Perhaps if he’d been willing to formally divorce your mother—but that would have required taking steps neither wanted taken.”
I blinked, frowning. Fae marriages are complicated things, filled with rules about inheritance and succession that I never bothered learning. But fae divorces are simple. Unless there are children involved, all the couple needs to do is announce that they’re no longer married. “Why didn’t they want to get a divorce?”
“I don’t see how this relates to where he would be if not here or at your mother’s tower.”
I bared my teeth. “Humor me,” I half-snarled. “Why didn’t they want to get a divorce?”
“Because that would mean admitting there was no hope for them. It may be hard for you to believe, but there was a time when we were all so much younger than we are now. My brother loved your mother as he’s loved very few. He wasn’t willing to give up on her. And maybe I’m a sentimental old fool, but I always took it as a good sign that your mother wasn’t willing to give up on him, either.”
There was something he wasn’t telling me. I’ve had a lot of practice at being lied to, and I know how to recognize the signs. I narrowed my eyes. “What else?”
“What?”
