The Winter Long
Page 90
For one heart-stopping moment I was afraid I had gotten one thing wrong: that Evening’s control hadn’t snapped when she left the knowe, and I was about to be forced to choose between fighting my liege and abandoning Tybalt while I ran for my life. Sylvester was the man who taught me how to use a sword. He’d mop the bloody floor with me without even breaking a sweat. And if he came at me, I’d stand my ground.
Then he sighed, weariness growing even more pronounced, and asked, “Can you forgive me for being so easily swayed?”
“She’s your Firstborn, Sylvester, and she’s a blood-worker. I don’t think there’s any way that you could have resisted her.” I ached to throw myself into his arms and be held, even if it was only for a few seconds. But there wasn’t time, and touching me would have ruined his clothes—and also, I was more and more aware that the part of me that needed his reassurance was small, and weak, and frightened. She was the girl I’d been, not the woman I had finally become. “I need to talk to Luna. I need her to open a door for me.”
“A door won’t do you much good without a map,” he said, before turning to Grianne and saying, “Go tell my lady she is needed here. Then go to Jin, and tell her the King of Cats is injured, and to Ormond. Tell him . . .” He glanced to the pool of blood around me. “Tell him to bring several mops, and more hot water than he expects to need.”
Grianne nodded. Then she jumped into a small fold of shadow that had been formed by the intersection of his foot and the floor, and was gone.
“They didn’t leave me a map,” I said, bending to retrieve my bloody knife. As I bent, something in my right pocket dug into my hip. I reached in, intending to adjust whatever it was, and stopped as my fingers hit a familiar curved shape. I straightened, still holding my knife in one hand, and pulled the twisted metal key out of my pocket. It caught and bounced back the light when I held it up for examination. “Okay, I stand corrected,” I said. “They did leave me a map after all.”
“What is that?” asked Sylvester.
“A key. Evening gave it to me, although I think she expected to get it back when she returned; the Luidaeg took it from me almost as soon as I got it. And now I have it again. The Luidaeg must have put it in my pocket when we were in the car.” She’d known we were going to be separated, and that I was going to have to follow her. She’d known, and she’d done nothing to stop it. We were going to have words about that.
After I got her home safely. I crouched down next to Tybalt, the key held loosely in one hand, and watched Sylvester to see what he was going to do next. He watched me, expression remaining tired and grave.
Finally, he took a breath and said, “I’m sorry. I have not been a proper liege to you.”
My head snapped up. “You’ve been a great liege,” I said fiercely. “You defended me when I needed defending, and you’ve given me enough rope to hang myself when I asked you for it. You’ve been a resource without being a hindrance. We both know that you could have put a lot more demands on me than you have these past few years. I give you a hundred percent in the liege category. It’s the friend category where you’ve been falling down a little.” I looked down at the blood obscuring the checkerboard marble floor, and sighed. “It’s where you’ve been falling down a lot.”
“October . . .”
“The Luidaeg not telling me things I can sort of understand. She’s Firstborn, she’s under all these geasa, and she didn’t meet me all that long ago. I like to think we’re friends now, but I didn’t grow up with her. You, on the other hand . . .” I raised my head again, meeting his eyes. “Why do you keep secrets from me, Sylvester? You’ve been the closest thing I’ve had to a father for most of my life. I would have died for you. I almost did die for you, more than once. And you kept things from me, and those things keep getting the people I care about hurt. Hurt bad, in some cases. Why?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
I waited almost a minute before I realized he was done: that was all he intended to say. My eyes widened. “That’s it? You’re sorry? Nothing else? No reasons or justifications or explanations? Just ‘I’m sorry’ and we’re done?”
“Yes,” he said, raising his chin. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It was never my intent. But I don’t feel any need to justify myself.”
I stared at him. “Maybe you don’t,” I said finally. “Maybe that’s the only answer you have to give me. But oak and ash, I’d hoped for more.”
The doors swung open, saving me from needing to hear his response, and Luna walked into the room. She was moving with a calm sort of serenity that made me want to shake her and demand to know why she was wasting my time when she knew that I needed her help. Jin came in after her, and she was running: the petite Ellyllon was moving as fast as her legs allowed, which was almost comic, given her 1940s pin-up girl looks and the gauzy mayfly wings on her back. They buzzed constantly, speeding her along.
“I need to introduce you to my friend Mags,” I said when Jin got close enough to hear me. I straightened up, stepping aside. “Tybalt got blasted with a spell that tried to choke the life out of him. I managed to cut it off, but he suffered some minor wounds in the process, and—”
“What do you mean, ‘cut it off’?” she demanded, even as she sank to her knees in the puddle of semi-coagulated blood and began ripping Tybalt’s shirt off. Normally, I took great interest in things that involved removing Tybalt’s clothing. Under the circumstances, I moved aside and let her work.
“I used my knife to slice the knots holding the spell together, and then I ripped the rest of it away with my bare hands,” I said, aware as I spoke that my words probably sounded like absolute nonsense. My headache wasn’t helping.
“Was he still wrapped in the spell at the time?” asked Jin. Her wings snapped open, sending a spray of pixie-sweat over the three of us.
“Yes,” I said.
“He’s got magic poisoning. Back away and let me work.” The way she turned her head made it clear that she was done talking to me: Tybalt was her patient and her first priority, and the rest of us could go hang.
I closed my eyes for a split-second, allowing myself a silent moment of gratitude, before opening them and turning toward Luna. She was standing next to Sylvester, as pristine and untouched by the chaos around her as he was, while Tybalt, Jin, and I were surrounded by blood. There was probably something about the symbolism there that I should have caught on to sooner.
Then he sighed, weariness growing even more pronounced, and asked, “Can you forgive me for being so easily swayed?”
“She’s your Firstborn, Sylvester, and she’s a blood-worker. I don’t think there’s any way that you could have resisted her.” I ached to throw myself into his arms and be held, even if it was only for a few seconds. But there wasn’t time, and touching me would have ruined his clothes—and also, I was more and more aware that the part of me that needed his reassurance was small, and weak, and frightened. She was the girl I’d been, not the woman I had finally become. “I need to talk to Luna. I need her to open a door for me.”
“A door won’t do you much good without a map,” he said, before turning to Grianne and saying, “Go tell my lady she is needed here. Then go to Jin, and tell her the King of Cats is injured, and to Ormond. Tell him . . .” He glanced to the pool of blood around me. “Tell him to bring several mops, and more hot water than he expects to need.”
Grianne nodded. Then she jumped into a small fold of shadow that had been formed by the intersection of his foot and the floor, and was gone.
“They didn’t leave me a map,” I said, bending to retrieve my bloody knife. As I bent, something in my right pocket dug into my hip. I reached in, intending to adjust whatever it was, and stopped as my fingers hit a familiar curved shape. I straightened, still holding my knife in one hand, and pulled the twisted metal key out of my pocket. It caught and bounced back the light when I held it up for examination. “Okay, I stand corrected,” I said. “They did leave me a map after all.”
“What is that?” asked Sylvester.
“A key. Evening gave it to me, although I think she expected to get it back when she returned; the Luidaeg took it from me almost as soon as I got it. And now I have it again. The Luidaeg must have put it in my pocket when we were in the car.” She’d known we were going to be separated, and that I was going to have to follow her. She’d known, and she’d done nothing to stop it. We were going to have words about that.
After I got her home safely. I crouched down next to Tybalt, the key held loosely in one hand, and watched Sylvester to see what he was going to do next. He watched me, expression remaining tired and grave.
Finally, he took a breath and said, “I’m sorry. I have not been a proper liege to you.”
My head snapped up. “You’ve been a great liege,” I said fiercely. “You defended me when I needed defending, and you’ve given me enough rope to hang myself when I asked you for it. You’ve been a resource without being a hindrance. We both know that you could have put a lot more demands on me than you have these past few years. I give you a hundred percent in the liege category. It’s the friend category where you’ve been falling down a little.” I looked down at the blood obscuring the checkerboard marble floor, and sighed. “It’s where you’ve been falling down a lot.”
“October . . .”
“The Luidaeg not telling me things I can sort of understand. She’s Firstborn, she’s under all these geasa, and she didn’t meet me all that long ago. I like to think we’re friends now, but I didn’t grow up with her. You, on the other hand . . .” I raised my head again, meeting his eyes. “Why do you keep secrets from me, Sylvester? You’ve been the closest thing I’ve had to a father for most of my life. I would have died for you. I almost did die for you, more than once. And you kept things from me, and those things keep getting the people I care about hurt. Hurt bad, in some cases. Why?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
I waited almost a minute before I realized he was done: that was all he intended to say. My eyes widened. “That’s it? You’re sorry? Nothing else? No reasons or justifications or explanations? Just ‘I’m sorry’ and we’re done?”
“Yes,” he said, raising his chin. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It was never my intent. But I don’t feel any need to justify myself.”
I stared at him. “Maybe you don’t,” I said finally. “Maybe that’s the only answer you have to give me. But oak and ash, I’d hoped for more.”
The doors swung open, saving me from needing to hear his response, and Luna walked into the room. She was moving with a calm sort of serenity that made me want to shake her and demand to know why she was wasting my time when she knew that I needed her help. Jin came in after her, and she was running: the petite Ellyllon was moving as fast as her legs allowed, which was almost comic, given her 1940s pin-up girl looks and the gauzy mayfly wings on her back. They buzzed constantly, speeding her along.
“I need to introduce you to my friend Mags,” I said when Jin got close enough to hear me. I straightened up, stepping aside. “Tybalt got blasted with a spell that tried to choke the life out of him. I managed to cut it off, but he suffered some minor wounds in the process, and—”
“What do you mean, ‘cut it off’?” she demanded, even as she sank to her knees in the puddle of semi-coagulated blood and began ripping Tybalt’s shirt off. Normally, I took great interest in things that involved removing Tybalt’s clothing. Under the circumstances, I moved aside and let her work.
“I used my knife to slice the knots holding the spell together, and then I ripped the rest of it away with my bare hands,” I said, aware as I spoke that my words probably sounded like absolute nonsense. My headache wasn’t helping.
“Was he still wrapped in the spell at the time?” asked Jin. Her wings snapped open, sending a spray of pixie-sweat over the three of us.
“Yes,” I said.
“He’s got magic poisoning. Back away and let me work.” The way she turned her head made it clear that she was done talking to me: Tybalt was her patient and her first priority, and the rest of us could go hang.
I closed my eyes for a split-second, allowing myself a silent moment of gratitude, before opening them and turning toward Luna. She was standing next to Sylvester, as pristine and untouched by the chaos around her as he was, while Tybalt, Jin, and I were surrounded by blood. There was probably something about the symbolism there that I should have caught on to sooner.
