The Winter Long

by Seanan McGuire

  “I’d settle for not having half the Pacific freezing against my back, really.” Quentin and Raj were out of their snowbank and tromping across the clearing toward us. Quentin scooped a handful of snow off the ground without pausing. I raised my hand. They both stopped, blinking at me. “Drop it.”

  “What?” said Raj.

  Quentin sighed and let his handful of snow fall back to the ground. I nodded.

  “I know, I never let you have any fun,” I said. “But look at it this way: he would have screamed bloody murder when you put that down his back, and then we would have been explaining things to Sylvester’s guards.” Probably including Etienne, which would make it a reasonably easy explanation. It would still take too much time. “You can start a snowball fight with Raj later, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Quentin.

  “Wait, what?” said Raj.

  “Both of you, come on.” I turned, trying not to shiver as I gestured for them to follow me out of the woods and into the gardens that stretched behind Sylvester’s knowe.

  Nothing moved but us as we made our way through the silent woods, our feet crunching in the snow. Even Tybalt and Raj couldn’t keep themselves from making noise as they walked, which was almost a relief, given the circumstances. We reached the woods’ edge and continued on, into the frozen gardens. The hedge maze was a skeletal outline, easier than ever to navigate now that it kept no secrets for itself. The rosebushes Simon had visited to gather my warning bouquet were still in full bloom when we passed them, seeming no worse off for having been inexpertly pruned.

  “Let me lead from here,” I said quietly, moving to walk a few feet ahead of Tybalt. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that I’d be the first person any member of the staff saw. That might buy us time to explain what we were doing, and why we hadn’t come in via the front door.

  As we passed the rose garden, I stopped. Someone was standing near the ballroom doors, someone tall and thin with fox-red hair. Unfortunately, with Simon in the knowe, there was no way for me to know for sure whether that meant safety or danger. Tybalt moved to stand beside me again. We had been spotted. There was no sense in trying to tailor the first impression when it was no longer ours to make.

  The figure started toward us. We held our ground. As he drew closer, I could see that yes, he was definitely one of the Torquill brothers; there might be two people who shared that face, but thankfully, there weren’t more. He was wearing a charcoal-colored vest over a white shirt, and he looked worried. At this point, that, too, could have indicated either one of them.

  Then he took one more step, and the familiar scent of dogwood flowers and daffodil caressed my nose, bidding me to be calm. I relaxed. “Sylvester.”

  “October,” he replied, sounding puzzled. “What are you doing here? You could have been hurt—”

  “Your wards have never been set to keep me out, and coming through the woods was easier than using the mortal world, under the circumstances,” I said. “We used the Shadow Roads to get here.”

  He blinked. “From San Francisco? That’s too dangerous.” His gaze flicked to Tybalt. “I would have trusted some of you to have more sense than that.”

  “I’m going to ignore the part where you just implied that you don’t expect me to have common sense, and cut straight to asking if we can come in,” I said. “It’s cold out here, and I can’t really feel my feet anymore. I’d like to get warm and tell you why we came, if that’s okay.”

  “Your timing is excellent,” he said. “I was just about to call you.”

  I hesitated, looking at him. Finally, as my stomach sank, I asked, “Do you have company?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s a miracle. October, Evening Winterrose is returned to us. She’s alive.”

  I closed my eyes. Fuck. “You know,” I said, in as level a tone as I could manage, “that’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”

  SIXTEEN

  SYLVESTER WAS Daoine Sidhe. If the feeling of dreamy inevitability Quentin had described experiencing in Evening’s presence was an artifact of interacting with your First and not the result of some spell Evening had cast on King Aethlin and his Court, I needed to choose my next words carefully.

  Naturally, I didn’t do that.

  “She’s dangerous and you need to get her out of here,” I said bluntly.

  “What?” Sylvester frowned. I looked back at him, trying not to shiver. “October, I’m afraid you may be confused. Evening Winterrose, former Countess of Goldengreen, your friend, is here. She’s alive. It’s a miracle.”

  “It’s a miracle that nearly got us all killed a few hours ago,” I said. “She tried to take back Goldengreen. She closed the wards, and we got slapped off the Shadow Roads into the ocean. We could have died. One of Lily’s former handmaids did die when Evening started a fight inside the knowe. Are you following me yet? She’s dangerous.” I didn’t tell him she was the one who’d paid for the abduction of Luna and Rayseline. I was going to have to sooner or later, but this didn’t seem like the time. Not when Evening was already in the building. Either he’d call me a liar, or worse, he’d attack her—and I didn’t want to see what would happen if he went up against his own First.

  Sylvester’s frown deepened. “This sounds like a terrible misunderstanding. All of you are shivering—you must be freezing.”

  “I’m not,” said Quentin.

  “Let’s get you inside and have Jin bring you some warm clothes,” said Sylvester, ignoring Quentin completely. “Once you’re dry, you can meet us in the receiving hall, and you and Evening can work out whatever issues you’re having. I understand her return is probably confusing for you, but, October, just think. This is a miracle. We have been blessed by the oak, ash, and thorn this day, for one of our own has resumed her dancing.”

  I glanced at Tybalt, who answered me with a small shake of his head. Whatever we did next was my call. Swell. I love being the person who decides whether or not we let the potential for dry socks lead us to our certain doom. “Oh, goodie,” I said, and stepped past Sylvester, through the open door into the knowe.

  Shadowed Hills has always been famed for its roses. Luna’s mourning had turned the grounds to winter outside the doors. The end result made the entire knowe smell of something very close to Evening’s magic, a mixture of roses and snow that put my nerves instantly on edge. I may be better at detecting individual magical signatures than most people, but even I can’t smell a single flower through an entire garden of identical blooms.

  Tybalt, Quentin, and Raj followed me inside, with Sylvester bringing up the rear. I studied his face as he shut the door, trying to make my scrutiny as unobtrusive as ever. His eyes were somewhat unfocused, but that could have been a function of concern mingling with the twin surprises of having Evening show up in his knowe and the rest of us appear in his backyard.

  Wait. “How did you know we were here?” I asked. “I didn’t call.”

  “If you’ll wait here, I’ll get Jin for you,” he said, and walked away, leaving the four of us alone in the hall.

  Raj was the first to say what we were all thinking: “I don’t like this, and I think we should leave as quickly as possible.”

  “That will be difficult, since I am not presently capable of taking October through the shadows, and I doubt you are any more recovered than I,” said Tybalt, giving his nephew a hard look. Raj flushed with embarrassment and looked away. Tybalt turned to me. “I am afraid, however, that we are not safe here.”

  “Yeah, I got that. I was expecting Simon. I wasn’t expecting this.” I looked at the closed door to the backyard and shivered. Going back out in the cold wasn’t a great idea, either. It might get us away from Evening, but it also might result in our freezing to death. We needed to find another option. “Hey, Quentin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there a route through the servants’ halls from here to Sir
Etienne’s quarters?” When all else fails, get someone else involved.

  Quentin frowned, turning to look at the smooth hardwood walls around us. There were no visible doorways or tricks in the molding. He was silent for long enough that I was about to say we needed to move when relief washed over his expression and he walked forward three steps, tapping a complicated pattern on a perfectly normal patch of wall . . . which promptly slid open, revealing one of the narrow servants’ halls that riddled Shadowed Hills like worms eating through an apple.

  “This way,” he said.

  “You heard him,” I said. “Let’s move.”

  I waited for Tybalt and Raj to follow Quentin through the opening before I turned and pulled the back door open, wedging it in place with a chunk of hard-packed snow. By the time Sylvester returned, with or without Jin, the hallway would be empty again, and the wind blowing outside would hopefully confuse our footprints enough to make it hard to tell whether or not we had actually fled the knowe.

  Tybalt gave me an approving look as I finally stepped through the opening in the wall. “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” he said, voice low and underscored with a purring thrum that made my ears redden.

  “Flirt later, flee now,” recommended Quentin, as he closed the door in the wall. It fit seamlessly back into place. Anyone who didn’t know where the openings to the servants’ halls were hidden would have a great deal of trouble finding us.

  “Who taught you to talk to your elders like that?” I asked.

  “You did,” said Quentin.

  “Oh, right.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turning on the screen to provide us with a little bit of light as we made our way along the passage. Purebloods can see in the dark, but total darkness isn’t exactly friendly to my changeling vision. I held the phone up in front of me, ignoring Tybalt’s amused smirk, and elbowed Quentin gently in the side. “Lead the way.”

  We traveled through the hallways of Shadowed Hills in silence, only my still-waterlogged sneakers making any sound at all. I stepped as carefully as I could, until the squishing noises coupled with the feeling of my toes in wet socks got to be too much for me and I took both my shoes and socks off, carrying them in one hand as we continued into the dark.

  “This should be it,” said Quentin finally, stopping in front of a section of wall that looked like all the rest. He tapped the molding twice, twisted something I would have sworn was a carving and hence untwistable, and pushed aside the panel that came loose. The opening was covered by a tapestry, making it impossible to see what was on the other side. He started to step through. I motioned for him to stay where he was and stepped through instead.

  It was the right decision. As soon as I pushed the tapestry aside, a hand grabbed my throat and slammed me backward against the wall. I reacted on instinct, catching the wrist that held me and bending it sharply to the side. “Etienne! Let go! It’s me!”

  Etienne blinked, the snarl on his face fading into simple puzzlement. He didn’t let go of my throat. I didn’t let go of his wrist. It wasn’t a fair exchange; I wasn’t cutting off his airflow. “October?”

  “Yes! It’s me! Let go!” The conversation was starting to feel repetitive. I heard the tapestry rustle as someone followed me out—probably Tybalt, given that I was obviously in trouble. Hurriedly, I added, “If you don’t believe me, you’re going to in a second, because Tybalt’s behind me, and he’s going to introduce you to your own lungs if you keep doing this.”

  “October.” Etienne let me go. I returned the favor, and he stepped back, watching warily as I rubbed my throat and Tybalt emerged from behind the tapestry. “What are the two of you doing here? It’s not safe.”

  “No shit,” I said. “And it’s not just the two of us. We have our mini-mes along for the ride.”

  “Hi,” said Quentin, poking his head out from behind the tapestry. Raj’s head followed a second later. He didn’t say anything, just looked Etienne up and down before turning dismissively away to study the chamber in which we were all now standing.

  I wanted to do the same—I don’t like not knowing where I am—but felt that it was important I keep my eyes on Etienne, who had, after all, replaced the customary “hello” with an attempted strangulation. He was staring at the boys now, his copper eyes wide and startled. Then he turned to me, and demanded, “Are you a fool? Why would you bring them here?”

  “Uh, because this is where my liege is, and I wanted to warn Sylvester that Evening Winterrose wasn’t dead—please tell me that’s why you’re so upset, and that we don’t have something else to deal with today, because honestly, I am about at my ‘threats with no clear solution’ limit.” I took my eyes off Etienne to check out the room around us, belatedly realizing that we might not be alone. It was a pleasant-looking sitting room, with large windows that were currently closed against the snow falling outside. A half-knitted blanket was thrown over a chaise longue, apparently abandoned in a hurry. “Where are Bridget and Chelsea?”

  “I suggested they might remove themselves to someplace deeper within our quarters while I investigated the sounds coming from the walls,” said Etienne stiffly.

  “That would be me, since the people I was with are much better at stealth,” I said. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you upset?”

  “Because a dead woman has claimed this knowe, and I have no powers with which to fight her off,” he said. “I will defend my fiancée and child to the death, but I cannot protect my liege if he doesn’t want to be protected.”

  “Evening?” I asked. Etienne looked at me like I was stupid. “I’m serious. I need to know, for sure, that we’re talking about the same dead woman. I’ve given up on dismissing anything as impossible.”

  He sighed. “Yes. The Countess Winterrose arrived an hour or so ago. She just . . . she just walked in, like the wards weren’t there at all. The Duke went to meet her, as did I, and Grianne, and a host of others.”

  “And?”

  “And?” He looked at me bleakly. “All of them agreed immediately that her return was miraculous, and that she was somehow entitled to the hospitality of the Duchy, even though she had entered uninvited, even though she made no explanation of what had happened to her. Men and women I have respected for decades, suddenly slavering like striplings seeking a crumb of praise.”

  “But not you,” I said slowly.

  “No, not me,” he said. “I moved to the back of the group—no one seemed to see me go—and when I had the opportunity, I slipped away, back to my quarters, and locked the doors. I did not think,” he added, making a sour face, “to lock the servants’ doors. I am grateful for the reminder, even as I must ask you all to leave.”

  “What?” I blinked at him. “Why?”

  Etienne looked at me like I had said something even more stupid than usual. “It is not safe here, October,” he said. “But more, if you are here, there is a good chance someone will come looking for you.”

  “We knew it wasn’t safe here before we came. I called before. Simon answered the phone. I’m guessing he came in with Evening, and then slipped away while everyone was distracted by her miraculous return.”

  Etienne stared at me, apparently too shocked to speak. Oh, he was going to love what I had to say next.

  “As for someone coming looking for us, we left a false trail and we took the servants’ tunnels. Sylvester will hopefully think we snuck out the back door. Besides which, we’re cold and exhausted, and I’m not going to run off and leave Sylvester under some should-be-dead lady’s spell. Even if she was an ally of mine, once upon a time.” I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain the next part of the situation. Finally, I settled for just blurting it out. “Also, she’s the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn. I’m almost certain. Ninety percent certain.”

  Etienne blinked.

  “Let them in, Etienne,” said a female voice from the door at the back of
the room. It had a faint Irish accent. I leaned around Etienne to see its source: Bridget Ames, his mortal lover and soon-to-be wife. She offered me a wan smile. “Hello, October. I think we can manage a few dry sweaters, if that’s all that you need.”

  “Socks would be great, too,” I said, holding up my soggy shoes. “I feel like I’m going to lose a toe.”

  “I’ll see what we can do,” she said, beckoning for us to follow as she turned and walked back through the door in the far wall, presumably heading deeper into the living quarters she shared with Etienne and Chelsea. I glanced to Etienne to see what he wanted us to do.

  He sighed, shaking his head—but his fondness for her was unmistakable. There was a light in his eyes that I’d never seen before Bridget and Chelsea came to live with him, and it infused his voice as he said, “You’ve done it now. There’s no way she’ll let you leave until she’s sure you’re protected from the elements. Couldn’t you have reminded her that you heal at a ludicrous pace, and left before you risked Sylvester’s anger?”

  “Nope, because now we need to grill you on why Evening’s whammy got everybody but you,” I said amiably, as I started after Bridget. “You said Grianne was there?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “So we know it doesn’t just work on Daoine Sidhe.” Grianne was a Candela. Her race was primarily claimed by Maeve, which meant she couldn’t make a valid case for being a child of Titania—Oberon might have descendants by both Queens, but the Queens had never had any children with each other. Evening’s ability to sway people to her side could move across the barriers of bloodlines. That wasn’t a good thing. “How about Luna? Was she there?”

  “The Duchess was not present, no,” said Etienne, a bit of the old, familiar stiffness slipping back into his tone as he paced me. Quentin, Raj, and Tybalt followed close behind.

  I glanced over my shoulder, meeting Tybalt’s eyes, and nodded once. He caught my meaning immediately, and stopped walking, putting a hand on Quentin’s shoulder to signal my squire to do the same. Returning my attention to Etienne, I asked, “Did Evening say anything unusual when she walked in? Anything that struck you as odd?”