If anyone looked like they’d been modeled on the idea of the perfect Faerie Queen, it was her. She’d grown her hair out again, and it fell in a ribbon of white silk to puddle at her feet, impossibly long, especially since she’d bobbed it less than two years before. Her dress was blue velvet, shading from deep-sea blue at the hem to whitecap gray at the neckline. She was beautiful, as long as you didn’t meet her eyes, which were the moon-mad color of the foam on a stormy sea. That shouldn’t have been a color, but it was. Faerie is nothing if not creative.
My breath caught. Her beauty was not the kind that human hearts—or part-human hearts—were ever intended to deal with. As I breathed in, I tasted the strange cocktail of her heritage on the air. Siren, Sea Wight, and Banshee. How she teleported in and out of the ballroom was anybody’s guess. It’s possible to borrow the magic of others through their blood. There was probably a Tuatha de Dannan on her staff who was willing to bleed for her.
She frowned before looking down her nose at me, one perfect eyebrow raised in what looked like surprise. “Sir Daye,” she said. There was nothing warm or welcoming in that voice. “I did not expect to see you here again.”
Since my visits to the Queen’s Court always seemed to end with things going horribly wrong, I shared the sentiment. Still, I wasn’t foolish enough to say that aloud. I gripped the sides of my transformed skirt and sank into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
She let me hold that position long enough that my thighs began to ache before she said, sounding almost bored, “You may rise.”
I did, forcing myself to lift my head until I was looking at her face. Her beautiful, terrible face. “I came to petition for an audience.”
“Did you?” Her gaze flicked first to Quentin, then to Tybalt. “In the company of your loyal hounds, even. Well. How can I deny such a thoughtful petition? You have your audience. What petty trouble have you brought to lay before my feet tonight?”
I had wanted to do this in private if possible. I should have known the Queen wouldn’t allow it. She never had before, after all. “Your Majesty, as I am sure you’re aware, there has been an increasing amount of goblin fruit in the city of late. It’s appearing everywhere. The dealers—”
“Wait.” She raised a hand, cutting me off. “Have you truly come to ask about the goblin fruit? October, really. I’m disappointed in you. I knew your upbringing left much to be desired, but this seems a new low, even for your bloodline.”
“What?” I blinked at her, my train of thought utterly lost. “What do you mean?”
“I won’t grant you a license to peddle the fruit, October. I’m ashamed for you, that you would even ask.”
It felt like the floor was dropping out from under my feet. “I didn’t come to ask for a license to sell the stuff,” I said slowly. “I came to ask you to help me stop people from selling it at all. It’s dangerous. Changelings—”
“Should know better than to imbibe. Those who do not would clearly have become a danger to Faerie, given the time; better they float away like Ophelia, each to their own private river, and drown in peace, rather than continuing such terribly troubled lives.” A thin smile touched the edges of her lips. “I am doing this Kingdom a service.”
“You . . . you’re the source of the goblin fruit?”
“I am not the source, but I am the channel. Those who had need to know—those whose minds were not closed to the possibilities, whose halls were not choked with mongrels—” Her gaze flicked to Tybalt. “—they knew where to come. Perhaps you should question the worth of your allies if not one of them could tell you that.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just stared at her, trying to wrap my head around the enormity of what she was saying. She was the reason the goblin fruit was showing up on the streets. She was the one allowing it. “But, Your Majesty—”
“This is a difficult time for the pureblood community. The mortal world encroaches at every side, and we need what escapes we can find. Surely you, with your insistence on diving into every trial and trouble, must recognize that, sometimes, dreams are better.”
“Changelings are dying!” I clapped my hands over my mouth and closed my eyes, the echoes of my shout still ringing through the hall. Conversation around me stopped dead, leaving the rustle of fabric and the pounding of my heart the loudest sounds in the world. Fearfully, I cracked one eye open and looked to the Queen.
She was smiling. Somehow, that was worse than her anger could possibly have been. “Oh, October. Silly little October. Whatever made you think that a few changelings would matter to me? We can always make more.”
I lowered my hands, opening both eyes as I struggled to gather the shreds of my composure. “Goblin fruit is bad for Faerie.” If she was going to let my outburst go unpunished, I was going to try to reason with her. “It kills changelings. Your subjects. It makes even purebloods careless. Our secrecy is too precarious right now. I urge you to reconsider your position, and ban the stuff from the Mists.”
“Mmm,” she said, thoughtfully. Then, sounding almost bored: “No.”
“Your Majesty, please. I beg you—”
“You urge. You beg. You raise your voice to me.” Her tone turned suddenly icy as she rose, eyes narrowed, and spat, “I am Queen. My word is law. Not yours, not your allies, mine. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I whispered. Her anger was terrifying, and not just because of the notes of Banshee fury that I could hear wrapping themselves around the words.
But she wasn’t done. “I have tolerated your disrespect time and again. I have tolerated the disrespect of your so-called ‘friends.’ I am done, Sir Daye. I am done listening to your mewling protests, your demands for ‘equality,’ your cries for justice you have not earned. You have three days to put your affairs in order. At the end of that time, I will expect you to be outside my demesne.” Her eyes were cold. “Flee to your liege, if you like; so long as you remain confined within his Duchy, I will not challenge you. I respect his rights as your regent that far. No further. Should you set foot outside the bounds of Shadowed Hills but within the Mists after that time has passed, I will see you brought before my Court on charge of treason. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
I stared at her in horror, trying to absorb what I was hearing. Yes, I had been disrespectful, but I had also saved her Kingdom over and over again. At some point, that should have earned me a little leeway. Instead, it had earned me a faster path to exile.
“That isn’t fair,” protested Quentin. “She never disobeyed you.”
“It is my Kingdom, little fosterling, and I shall ban whomsoever I like from its shores. Watch that I don’t ban you alongside her.” She turned toward Tybalt. “And you? Are you going to argue for her?”
Please don’t, I thought, wishing desperately that he could hear me. Please, please don’t.
“No,” said Tybalt.
“Good. Uncharacteristically wise.” The Queen’s eyes swung back to me. “Have you any other questions, Sir Daye?”
“No, Your Majesty.” I dug my nails into my palms until it felt like they would break the skin. “May I be excused? I have a great deal of packing to do.”
She settled back into her throne. “Yes, you may. You and all your merry little band of sycophants.”
I curtsied again, not trusting my voice. Then I turned and plunged into the crowd, not pausing to see whether Tybalt and Quentin were behind me. I knew they would be, just like I knew that May and Jazz would already be moving toward the exit. We all got there about the same time, moving through the clumps of whispering and pointing people, some of whom weren’t bothering to be subtle about it. My eyes were burning. I resisted the urge to wipe them. I’d be damned before I let the Queen see me cry.
Tybalt caught my wrist before I could charge out into the cave that connected the Queen’s knowe to the mortal world. “Let me see you out,” he murmured. “Please. I wouldn’t put it past her to play some final prank if we were to use her front door.�
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I looked at him, the threatened tears finally beginning to fall, and nodded.
“We shall see you outside,” he said to the others, Quentin included. Then he pulled me into the thin shadow cast by a pillar, and out of the world entirely.
The cold wasn’t as bad this time, maybe because Tybalt didn’t have to focus on pulling two of us through the darkness. He was able to keep me closer to him. My tears froze against my eyelashes. I let them. This wasn’t the time for crying. This was the time for getting pissed.
We emerged into the parking lot after what felt like a dozen steps. Tybalt held on only long enough to be sure that I had my feet under me. Then he let go and took a step backward, giving me my space. I loved him even more in that moment. I’m not sure I could have let him go, if our roles had been reversed.
“October—”
“Not here.” I shook my head, scraping away my frozen tears with the heel of my hand before grabbing a handful of night air and spinning it into a thin human disguise that wouldn’t stand up to any real scrutiny, but would at least keep me from being immediately fingered as inhuman. I was still wearing the gray silk gown the Queen had dressed me in. It matched my mood nicely, although I really wanted a pair of jeans. “We’re going to get the others, and we’re going to go home, and then we’ll talk about this.”
“Speaking of the others . . .” Tybalt draped himself in his own human disguise as he looked past me to the beach. I turned to see May, Jazz, and Quentin running across the sand. I finally realized that May and Jazz were still in the dresses they’d been wearing when we arrived. Apparently, the Queen really did have it in for my wardrobe.
And for me. She’d banished me from the Mists. The idea was too big to wrap my head around. Exile was a threat she’d always held in reserve. It was riskier than either imprisonment or execution, because it was the one punishment that left me free to look for new allies. It potentially endangered her safety almost as much as it hurt me. It was just the only thing that didn’t require real charges; “I don’t like your face” was good enough. I never thought she’d do it . . . and she had. I just wasn’t sure why goblin fruit was the tipping point.
“Toby! Are you okay?” May nearly tripped over her own shoes as she made the transition from sand to pavement. Jazz caught her, both of them looking at me anxiously.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I was crying. I dug the heel of my hand into my eye again, trying to make the tears stop. “We need to get out of here before she comes after you guys, too.”
“Jazz and I will call Danny to come and drive us home.”
I dropped my hand, blinking at May. “I . . . what?”
“You need to go see the Luidaeg.” May shook her head. “Take Quentin with you if you want, or send him home with us. But if anyone will know a way to make this go away, it’s her.”
“I appreciate that you did not even pretend I was going to let her go off without some form of backup,” said Tybalt dryly.
“I may be a composite of multiple dead people, but I’m not stupid,” said May. She kept her eyes on me. “Go see the Luidaeg. Ask her what you should do from here. Because I really don’t have any answers.”
Jazz, who had been silent up until then, said, “And if her answer is ‘there’s nothing to be done,’ come home and tell us. Because we’re going to need those three days to start telling all the changelings in this Kingdom that it’s time to find another place to live.”
My exile meant the goblin fruit trade wasn’t going to stop. Any changelings who didn’t leave the Kingdom would be at risk. I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the enormity of it all. If there was a way that I could beat this, I didn’t see it. Unless the Luidaeg had some kind of magical solution for me . . .
I didn’t see any options at all.
FOUR
WE DIDN’T LINGER ON THE BEACH. We were too close to the Queen’s knowe for comfort, and the night was slipping through our fingers, already skating down the long slow slope toward dawn. I put my leather jacket back on, drawing it tight. Then Tybalt, Quentin, and I piled into the car while May produced her cell phone from somewhere inside the candy confection of her dress, raising it to her ear. I didn’t worry about them. Danny would get them safely home.
Quentin sat quietly in the backseat for the first part of the ride, mirroring Tybalt, who sat stiff and silent next to me. I was just starting to consider turning on the radio when Quentin said, in a careful tone, “Toby? Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did, but you can ask another one.” Anger and dread were warring for control of my emotions, and it felt like they were negotiating a team up. I had to find a way to fight this. If the Luidaeg couldn’t help me, I still had to come up with something. But what? She was the Queen. I was a changeling with some weird skills and a bunch of allies that I cared way too much about. What if she decided to go after them? Tybalt couldn’t abandon his Court. Sylvester wouldn’t abandon his Duchy. They were going to be sitting ducks if I was forced to leave.
I didn’t want to be in this situation. She hadn’t given me a choice.
“Why do you hate goblin fruit so much? I mean . . .” Quentin paused, choosing his words more carefully before he said, “I mean you hated it even before you knew for sure that people were dying. Lots of things can kill people. You don’t hate them all.”
“Most deadly things come with a choice. A changeling who tastes goblin fruit once—just once—doesn’t get any choice after that.” I frowned at him in the rearview mirror. “You’ve been watching me chase the stuff all over the Bay Area for months. I thought you’d know this by now.”
“Yeah, but you started when you were still . . .” His voice faltered as he realized he’d almost mentioned Connor. He glanced guiltily at Tybalt. Tybalt, bless him, didn’t say anything.
Purebloods don’t like to think about death much. It upsets them to remember that people aren’t eternal. Connor’s death nearly broke me. But he died to save my little girl, and I couldn’t shame him by refusing to go on with my own life. “The goblin fruit started showing up on the streets after Connor died,” I said. “I was looking . . . I don’t even know what I was looking for. I was looking for trouble. I found it.”
“I thought you were going to die, too,” Quentin admitted in a small voice. I stared at his reflection, shocked. That was something he’d never said out loud, no matter how much his behavior told me he was feeling it. He looked down at his hands, twisting them together in his lap, and said, “It’s why I kept telling Tybalt where you were going, and how much danger you were putting yourself in. I hoped maybe you’d listen to him, even if you wouldn’t listen to me.”
Tybalt nodded, confirming Quentin’s story. I winced.
“Oak and ash, Quentin, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” He raised one shoulder and let it drop again in a classic teenage half-shrug. “When I had to break up with Katie, I sort of felt like dying for a little while. I guess having someone you love die has to be a whole lot worse.”
“It is,” I said honestly. “It’s the worst thing you can imagine.” I glanced at Tybalt, who was still looking straight ahead, letting us talk without him. I took my right hand off the wheel and placed it on his knee, earning myself a quick, almost grateful look. “But it gets better.”
“That’s good. It’s just . . . you never told me why you started hunting goblin fruit the way you have been. I’m your squire, Toby. I’m supposed to support you while you train me, and I can’t do that if you never tell me what’s going on. It’s my job to be here for you.” He sounded profoundly frustrated. “People are dying. I get that. I could have helped, if you’d let me.”
I took a deep breath, pulling my hand from Tybalt’s knee and raking the hair out of my face. Finally, I said, “Let me ask you something. Have you ever tried goblin fruit?”
There was a long pause before Quentin answered, “No. I mean. Some of the older courtiers back home had tried it, but I wasn’t old enough when I
came here, and Duke Torquill doesn’t allow the stuff in his Court.”
Quentin was originally from Canada—somewhere near Toronto, if I placed his faint and fading accent correctly. Where near Toronto was something I didn’t know. He was a blind foster to the Duchy of Shadowed Hills, which made his parentage and title, if any, a secret until such time as his fosterage ended or his parents chose to reveal themselves. “So you’ve never had any, but you’ve talked to people who have. What do they say about it?”
“That it’s like going to the deeper lands of Faerie, even if it’s only for a little while.” Quentin’s tone turned disdainful. “I’ve been to the deeper lands. I didn’t like it much.”
I had to fight the urge to laugh. It would just have offended his dignity, and it wouldn’t have been fair: I didn’t like the deeper lands much either. Tybalt wasn’t so restrained. He snorted. All three of us had wound up in Annwn, a realm that’s supposed to be long-sealed. Our stay had involved a lot of bleeding, mostly on my part, and a lot of pain, for everyone. I was just as glad to be home. “Yeah, but I bet it sounded pretty appealing before you knew what the deeper lands were like.”
“I guess so,” admitted Quentin.
“Now imagine how amazing that sounds to changeling kids. They’re on the outside looking in. They’re never going to have as much magic as everybody else. They’re not going to live as long as everybody else. Hell, half the courtiers I knew when I was a kid said even setting foot in the deeper lands would strike a changeling dead.” It was pure pixie-crap, of course. The first changelings came about because the fae insisted on abducting mortals and carrying them away to their enchanted castles under the hills. If changelings couldn’t survive the deeper lands, we’d have known that millennia ago. “Can you see how goblin fruit would sound appealing?”
“Well, sure, but goblin fruit is deadly to changelings. Everybody knows that.”
I sighed. Sometimes my squire was such a pureblood that it hurt. “Quentin, believe me, changeling kids get used to being lied to by people who want to keep the best things for themselves. There’s always someone who thinks the whole ‘it’s deadly’ thing is one more lie to keep them from being happy. There’s always someone willing to try one little taste. And one is all it takes.” No one evangelized for goblin fruit like a changeling on their first high, before the first pains of withdrawal hit them. They were true believers, each and every one, and they’d convince all their friends that the warnings were false.
Chimes at Midnight: An October Daye Novel Page 4
