Connor barked a laugh. “Things stay interesting when you’re around.”
“Since I’m always around myself, I don’t find that at all reassuring.” I lowered my hand. “So what, we’re supposed to just wait here?”
“Etienne’ll bring Sylvester, so yeah.” Connor walked over and dropped himself onto the bed, tucking his hands behind his head. He looked perfectly at ease, calling up memories of hot summer nights spent sitting on the beach, mapping one another with our hands. He shot me an encouraging look, kindling a low fire in my stomach. Maybe I wasn’t the only one remembering those nights. “At least nobody’s trying to kill us.”
“If only Danny and the Barghests could say the same.” I started toward the bed, pausing as I heard a faint scraping sound from the wall behind me. Someone was moving a hidden panel. I stiffened, motioning for Connor to hush as I kept walking. It wasn’t Melly or Ormond—they’d have announced their presence—and it wasn’t Etienne. He trained me. He’s not dumb enough to sneak up on me.
Great. A mystery attacker was just what the day needed, and unless I moved, Connor couldn’t see whoever was approaching. I make a better door than a window. If I did move, he might get some bright idea about “defending” me. I had to hold my ground.
Still motioning an increasingly alarmed-looking Connor to silence, I pulled the pillow from beneath his head and clutched it to my chest, trying not to let my tension show. From behind, it would have looked like we were getting ready to get physical. I was—just not in the expected way.
Soft footsteps to my left marked the position of our “guest” as he or she crept up behind me. Whoever it was didn’t sneak up on people very often, or they’d have known to remove their shoes before coming in. They also didn’t have a ranged weapon, or I’d have already been shot in the back. That gave me a chance, especially if they didn’t realize they’d been heard. The footsteps came closer.
“Okay, darling,” I said sweetly, stooping forward like I was leaning in to deliver a kiss. Then I whirled, slamming the pillow at what I estimated to be chest height.
I was wrong; the person behind me was shorter than I’d expected, and I caught him full in the face. That was a good thing, because I also caught the knife he’d been about to slide between my ribs. The shock of the impact caused him to drop his personal invisibility spell, and I glimpsed golden hair behind the flurry of motion and freed feathers. Manuel.
The blade drove deep into the pillow. I heard Connor scrambling to his feet as I twisted hard to the side, yanking the knife away. Manuel gaped, giving me time to jerk the knife out of the pillow and into my own hand. His eyes widened and he lunged—a gesture I interrupted by hitting him again with the pillow. I dropped the pillow while he was dazed and slid my arm around his neck, holding the knife an inch from his throat. He froze.
The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds. “Hi!” I chirped. “Nice of you to visit. Are you going to bring us a new pillow?”
Manuel swallowed before whispering, “Be careful with that.” His voice was a child’s, frightened and alone.
“Don’t you want a closer shave?” I brushed the flat of the blade against his skin. “They can’t execute me twice. Now tell me why I shouldn’t hurt you.”
“Careful!” he squawked. “It’s poisoned.”
“Is it?” I said, without surprise. “Gee, Connor, did you hear that? I love getting poisoned presents. You’re such a great friend, Manuel. What are you doing here?”
“I was here to … to …”
“To kill me?” He nodded wordlessly. “To kill us both?” Again the nod; I heard Connor gasp. “Why am I not surprised? Who sent you?”
Manuel licked his lips. “If I tell you, will you let me go?”
“I’ll consider it.” I brought the knife carefully closer. “Talk.”
“It was Oleander. She gave me the knife.”
“Oleander.” I sighed, letting go of him and stepping back toward Connor. “You idiot. I suppose she offered you wealth? Power?”
Manuel jumped away, turning to glare at us when he was halfway across the room. “Revenge,” he spat. “The power was for Rayseline. I just wanted you to pay for what you did to my sister.”
“You idiot,” I said, resisting the urge to check on Connor. He didn’t make a sound when Manuel spoke his wife’s name. He always knew she was crazy. Getting proof still had to hurt. “You let Raysel use you so you could hurt me for something I didn’t do.”
“You didn’t save her!”
“Neither did you.” I looked at him levelly. “Devin would never have let us go, not any of us. He was going to kill me and make you into a murderer. Do you think he would’ve let Dare live if she kept challenging him? I don’t. I think he would have made you pull the trigger when he ordered her death. He was using you, Manuel, the way he used everyone else. We’re both responsible for her death, but we didn’t kill her.”
Manuel started to cry. “I … you … I …”
“I know.” I put the knife on the dresser before sliding my arms around Manuel again—embracing, not restraining. He hugged me back, sobbing against my shoulder. I didn’t stop him. I had a feeling he hadn’t let himself cry for a long time.
He let go and stepped away several minutes later, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Connor moved up behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I covered it with my own, asking, “Feel better?” Even I couldn’t have said which I was talking to.
Manuel sniffled, nodding. “A little bit. I … ”
“I know.” I laced my fingers with Connor’s. “Did Oleander salt the roses?”
“What?” Manuel blinked, obviously thrown, before stammering, “No.”
It was Connor who asked the next question in a voice gone dead and dull with resignation, like he already knew the answer: “So who did?”
Manuel glanced between us, and said, “Rayseline.”
“Crap,” I said, looking quickly toward Connor. He’d turned his face away, staring at the wall. “Connor—”
“Don’t.” A pause. “Please.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Manuel, sounding baffled. “The salt’s not going to do any permanent damage. It was just to keep the Duchess out of the way while we … while they … took care of things.”
“No, Manuel,” I said wearily, biting back the urge to slap his oblivious little face. “Salt kills plants. If the soil doesn’t get cleansed, Luna’s going to die.”
“But Rayseline said—”
“She lied to you.” Connor yanked his hand from mine, turning to face Manuel. I’d never seen him look that angry. “Don’t you get that? She’s trying to kill her mother.”
Manuel looked as stricken as if I actually had slapped him. “Kill?”
“That was probably the goal all along.” I glanced at Connor. He was glaring at Manuel like he thought looks alone could kill. “Oleander likes to cause as much damage as she can. Using Luna’s daughter as the murder weapon is the sort of thing she’d love.”
“But … ” Manuel bit his lip. “Raysel was going to go sit with her mother while I took care of you. For an alibi, she said.”
I stared at him. “Raysel’s alone with Luna? And you’re just telling us now?”
“She’s not alone! She took one of the serving girls.”
My head snapped up. “Which one?” Manuel must have seen something in my face that he liked even less than Connor’s glare; he took a step backward. “Which one?!” I demanded again.
“The new one—Nerium. I—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. I grabbed his arm, leaning back to snatch the poisoned knife from the dresser. “Connor, come on!” I shouted, and dragged Manuel behind me as I took off through the panel he’d opened in the wall.
The concealed door led into the maze of hidden hallways and servants’ corridors winding through the knowe. Like the kitchens, those corridors don’t move much—they need to stay consistent for the sake of the household staff. I ran as fast as I co
uld, taking the turns half on instinct, praying I wasn’t already too late. Luck wasn’t on my side; I knew that. Neither was time.
Manuel followed without fighting, letting me lead the way. He didn’t understand yet, but he would, and one way or another, he’d find that understanding over a corpse. It might be mine, and it might be Oleander’s; I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t Luna’s.
There was nothing I could do but hope, and so I hoped. And I ran.
THIRTY-TWO
ONE ROOM BLENDED INTO THE NEXT, the rooms blurring around us until even I was forced to admit that I was lost. “Connor!” I looked back without slowing down. “Where are we?”
“Not a clue,” he wheezed. He was clearly having trouble keeping up, although he was doing his best. Selkies aren’t built to be endurance runners.
Manuel grabbed my elbow and dug his heels into the floor, jerking me to a halt. Connor slammed into us from behind, knocking Manuel and me both forward a step. “Look!” said Manuel, pointing to a heraldic rose carved at the top of the nearest wall. “We’re three halls over from the solarium.”
“You can tell your way around the knowe by the roses?” I said, feeling suddenly stupid. The look on Connor’s face told me he was feeling something similar. The staff always appeared where they were needed, like magic. I should have remembered that sometimes magic is just a convenient excuse for not looking any deeper. It’s no replacement for common sense.
“Well, yeah,” said Manuel, like it was self-evident. “It’s a heraldic rose, so we’re on the northern side of the hall, and it has five petals, so we’re in the eastern part of the north side. The rest is in the notches on the petals and the way the rose is tilted. I’m not as good as the Hobs, but I’m learning.”
Connor leaned against the wall, struggling to get his breath back. I cast him a sympathetic look before asking, “So which way is it to Luna’s room?”
“From here?” Manuel turned in a slow circle. I flexed my hands, resisting the urge to shake him until he answered. I’d already rushed off half-cocked once; I wasn’t going to do it again. He stopped and pointed down a side hall. “That way, right, left, and two more rights. We’ll come out in the library next to the Ducal quarters.”
“Then let’s go.”
We started off again, jogging until Connor was breathing better, and then breaking into a run. The knife I’d taken from Manuel was my only weapon, and if I used it, it would be to kill, not wound; Oleander’s poisons were too well-made for me to assume they’d leave people alive. If I struck out, even to defend myself, I really would be breaking Oberon’s law.
I’d worry about that when the time came … and after I knew that Luna was safe.
We ran for about ten minutes. Manuel took the lead, calling out the turns as we came to them. I wasn’t tired. I should’ve been, just like the hide-and-seek spell should’ve left me reeling from magic-burn. This wasn’t like the Luidaeg’s transformations; this wasn’t going to wear off. Tybalt seemed to think I could undo it myself—but that wouldn’t make me Daoine Sidhe. Whatever I was, it was something I was going to have to learn to live with. Of course, that was assuming I survived to live with anything at all.
“Here.” Manuel waved us to a stop.
I reached for the door he indicated. “If this is a trick …”
“I never wanted Luna to die.” He looked from me to Connor. Streaks of pixie-sweat were drying on his cheeks and forehead, making him look as young as Dare was when she died. “I just wanted to avenge my sister.”
“I believe you. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay,” I said, and opened the door.
Light flooded the hall, filling my vision with bright spots. I blinked them away and saw that we were exactly where Manuel said we’d be: the library next to the Ducal quarters. Connor followed me, and Manuel brought up the rear, tapping the door behind himself. It slid closed, becoming a simple decorative panel.
Manuel offered the ghost of a smile when he caught my expression. “A lot of the servants’ entrances are hidden. It’s so we won’t disturb people.”
“Right,” I said. Kerry showed me the servants’ halls when we were kids, but I forgot about them once I grew up. Oleander wouldn’t have been that careless, and if she knew about the secret doors, she could have come and gone with ease. Shadowed Hills mostly employs Hobs; the knights and pages aren’t technically “servants.” All she had to do was pay attention and she could avoid them all.
Manuel kept smiling, almost desperately. He still wanted me to approve of him. Hell, after everything he’d been through, he probably didn’t care who approved of him, as long as someone did. Dare had been his only living relative, and Devin never taught his kids how to grow up. No wonder Oleander and Raysel were able to convince him to go along with their plan. They just had to give him their attention.
“It’s cool,” I said. His smile brightened, losing its anxious quality. “Now come on. We have to get to the Duchess.” I took Connor’s hand, pulling him along at a fast trot as we followed Manuel out of the library and down the hall to the filigreed silver gate leading to the Ducal quarters.
Manuel stopped, looking dismayed. “It’s closed. We can’t get in.”
“Let me,” said Connor. He released my hand and reached for the door handle, turning it—or trying to, anyway. It remained firmly shut. Connor scowled. “That’s weird. It’s supposed to open for family.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Connor, with everything that’s happened … do you really think Raysel would leave the locks open?”
“I guess not.”
“Let me try.” I stepped forward, ignoring Manuel’s startled stare as I rested my forehead against the door. “Me again,” I murmured. “Sorry, but I need another favor.”
Manuel snorted. “Quiet,” I said, sharply, before turning my attention back to the knowe. “Sorry about the interruption. Your Duchess is in danger. I know I’ve been asking a lot lately. But please, let us in.” I stepped back.
“Was that a spell?” asked Manuel. “I didn’t feel any magic—”
“Hush,” I said. Then I repeated: “Please.”
The door swung open, revealing the garden on the other side.
I cast a smile at the ceiling before grabbing Connor’s hand and running through the open door. Manuel followed us, demanding, “How did you—”
“Just run!” I said, passing the fountain. There were two smaller, freestanding gates on the other side. One would take us to Luna’s room, and the other would take us somewhere else in the Ducal quarters. I just didn’t know which was which. “Connor?”
“This way.” He pulled me forward, taking the lead as we passed through the gateway on the left and into a small, round room filled with lights.
The vast bed where Luna slept still dominated the room, but the rose goblins covering every surface were new. They were on the bed, the floor, even twining their way between the lamps and candles. Spike was curled in the middle of Luna’s chest. It raised its head as we entered, chirping a greeting.
I smiled. “Hey, guy. Good to see you.”
Manuel stopped next to me, and frowned. “Toby, where’s Luna?”
“She’s right here.” I stepped closer to the bed, a strange mixture of love and regret catching in my throat. I could see her breathe when I stood this close. She wasn’t dead yet.
“No, it’s not,” objected Manuel.
“Yes. It is.” I leaned down to touch her cheek. She wasn’t burning up anymore, but she was still warmer than she should have been. I understood Manuel’s confusion, because the woman in the bed looked nothing like the Duchess of Shadowed Hills. She looked like Luna, Blodynbryd daughter of Acacia and Blind Michael.
She was taller than the Duchess we knew, thinner, and more fragile-looking. Her skin was the alien white of new marble, and her hair was a long tangle of pink and red. The fox ears and tails she’d worn so proudly were gone, her second, stolen heritage burned away b
y the resurgence of her first. We might save her life, but we couldn’t save the skin she’d worn.
“I don’t understand,” said Manuel.
“You don’t need to,” said Connor. “Where’s Rayseline?”
“I don’t know. She said she was coming here.”
I straightened, turning to face him. “What did she say, exactly?”
“That she was going to see her parents. To get to the root of things.”
“The root of things?” I stared. Connor had gone milk-pale. “Oh, oak and ash. Come on!” I ran back out the door, almost stumbling as my feet hit the cobblestone path, and charged straight through the other gate. Connor was close at my heels, and Manuel wasn’t far behind.
Every child in Faerie learns the sacred symbols of our world. It’s the fae equivalent of Sunday school, packed with useless knowledge and bits of history that humans take for fairy tales. We’re taught to swear by the sacred woods, by Titania’s rose, and Maeve’s tree, and by the root and the branch—Oberon and his children. Oberon is the root of Faerie. By that same archaic, undeniable interpretation, Sylvester is the root of Shadowed Hills.
The gate led to a terraced hall, laid out like the walkway of a Spanish villa. Arches branched off to the left and right, but I kept running, following the curve of the main hall. Connor was gasping. He was close to the end of his endurance, but we couldn’t afford the risk of slowing down.
Manuel shouted, “Wait! Where are you going?”
“To Sylvester!” We were chasing blind again, but there was no other option. These were the Duke’s private apartments; Connor and Manuel didn’t know them any better than I did. Quieter, I muttered, “Come on, come on. We need the Duke.” If Shadowed Hills had ever been my friend—if a hollow hill could have friends …
A door opened to the left. I spun and dove through it, moving so fast I nearly fell before I’d finished taking in the scene in front of me.
The walls were adobe with deep insets every five feet filled with plumed gray-and-purple ferns, turning the room into an indoor garden. Wicker chairs irregularly placed around the floor created an effective barrier to swift movement; trying to run through them would mean tripping over them. Sylvester sat in one of those chairs, hands tucked between his knees, talking earnestly to Raysel. Raysel reclined in her own chair, nodding in time with his words, looking every inch the dutiful daughter.
Late Eclipses od-4 Page 29
