I nodded, barely, and raised my head.
We were in a large, simply decorated room, with varnished oak walls and plain curtains draping the windows. Sylvester’s tastes have always been simpler than the rest of the knowe implies, and Luna didn’t challenge those tastes in the Ducal quarters. Looking around, I could see what the knowe would have been like without her. It was a very different world.
Luna herself was stretched out on the king-sized bed, looking small and fragile in her ornate gown. A woman sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Luna’s forehead, gauzy mayfly wings vibrating so fast they were barely a blur. The motion cast a haze of sparkling dust through the air around her. I didn’t know her face, but that didn’t matter; the dust told me who she was.
“Jin,” I said. “How is she?”
“Her pulse is too high, she’s severely dehydrated, and her fever isn’t responding.” Jin glanced up, her pale, sharp features framed by a pageboy bob of glossy black hair. A gallows-humor smile ghosted over her lips. “Nice dress.”
“Nice face.” I put the swaddled cup on a shelf before moving toward the bed. Garm glared. I ignored him. “How fresh is the molt? Could it be interfering?”
“Wow, Toby, I didn’t think of that!” she snapped. Then she sighed. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I came out of molt a week ago; my magic isn’t compromised. She’s just . . . not responding.”
I winced. Ellyllon are healers and hedonists. It’s not such a strange combination; both focus on the flesh. Ellyllon use their bodies hard, and Faerie’s eternally creative biology compensates for their self-destructive instincts by giving them an entirely new body every decade or so. They crack open their skins and shrug them off, like insects. A recent molt could have interfered with Jin’s powers. If that wasn’t the problem . . .
“Can you check for poisons?” I asked, half-desperately. “She was drinking something right before she collapsed.”
“That’s part of a standard health-charm. If she’s been poisoned, it’s with something I don’t know how to counter.”
“Then . . . then can you call for her mother? Maybe Acacia—”
“Luna’s the only one who can access the Rose Roads, and she’s not opening any doors right now.”
“Oh.”
Silence fell. It held the room for several minutes, until it was broken by the sound of a door opening. We all turned to see Sylvester step into the room, white-faced and shaking. Quentin slipped in behind him, apparently without attracting his notice. Sylvester’s eyes were focused on the bed.
“Luna?” he whispered. “Luna, please. This isn’t funny. Please, don’t do this.”
If Faerie was like the fairy tales say it is, his words alone would have been enough to break whatever spell Luna was under. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She didn’t move.
Jin stood. “Your Grace—”
Sylvester motioned her to silence. He was crying, tears running unchecked down his face. It felt like the room held its breath, waiting for him to move. Finally, expression bleak, he turned and looked at me. That was all. He just looked at me.
Etienne stepped forward. “Your Grace, there was a disturbance—”
“I was already looking for her.” Sylvester sounded dazed. “The roses screamed loud enough to make the sky bleed when she fell.”
“I . . . ” Etienne looked at me, clearly at a loss for words. I shook my head. Daoine Sidhe aren’t known for speaking the language of flowers, but Sylvester and Luna have been married for a long time. If anyone could teach him, it was her. “Your Grace, the Duchess collapsed without warning, and—”
“Yes. I know.” Sylvester smiled. It was just a reflex. I could see the screaming in his eyes. “Toby, what happened?”
I took a breath. “I was dancing with Connor when I caught a trace of magic that shouldn’t have been there. I told him to call the guards and followed the trace to the terrace, where I found Luna.” Quentin crossed the room while I was talking, falling into position behind me like a squire falling in behind his knight. “She seemed fine at first. Then she collapsed.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine again. She always is.” He moved closer to Luna, bending to smooth her hair with one shaking hand. “What did you follow?”
“The smell of sulfuric acid and oleanders.” Sylvester’s head snapped up. Jin stiffened. Only Quentin stayed where he was, looking puzzled. I made myself meet Sylvester’s eyes. “It was Oleander, Sylvester. She was here. I’m sure of it.”
“But you went after her alone? After everything she did to you? To us? How sure is sure, October?”
“Sure enough that I told Connor to call the guards.” I shook my head, letting the frustration creep into my voice as I said, “I don’t know why I didn’t wait. I should have waited. I just . . . I couldn’t.”
“My wife was outside.”
“I didn’t know. Sylvester—”
“How could you go alone?! ” He straightened, striding around the bed before I could react. Grabbing my shoulders, he jerked me toward him, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “How could you risk yourself—how could you risk my wife?”
“I thought I could catch her!” The smell of daffodils and dogwood flowers was rising around him as his magic surged, responding to his anger. My own magic tried to rise in self-defense. I forced it down. Sylvester had never hurt me.
He’d never grabbed me before, either.
Bringing his face to within an inch of mine, he hissed, “You were wrong.”
Etienne started to step toward us. Sylvester stopped him with a glare before swinging his attention back to me. Suddenly, all those stories from my absence—the ones about “the mad Duke of Shadowed Hills”—didn’t seem so farfetched. I could see the threat of madness in his eyes so clearly it burned.
“Will I lose her every time you’re wrong?” he asked. “Is that all your family is good for? Must you destroy everything you touch?”
“Sylvester?” I whispered.
Jin stepped up behind him, the top of her head not even clearing his shoulder. Wings vibrating more rapidly than ever, she placed a hand against his arm. “Rest, my liege,” she said, words carrying the weight of a command.
His eyes widened. The madness drained out of them, replaced first by confusion and then by a deep resignation. Then his knees buckled and he toppled forward, almost knocking me over. Etienne and Quentin moved to help hold him up.
Jin stepped back. “Tavis, Etienne, get the Duke onto the bed. Try to leave me room to work. Toby . . . ” She hesitated. “I heard that Lily’s sick. Is it true?”
I nodded.
“What do we know?”
“Not much. The Luidaeg says it could be her pearl. I checked with the Tea Gardens before I came here; Lily hasn’t been cogent enough to tell them anything.” I paused, and added, “The Luidaeg says she won’t help me.”
“I don’t know if she could,” said Jin wonderingly. “I’ve never even heard of a sick Undine. Illness in someone with Luna’s . . . constitution . . . is almost as strange.”
The pause before “constitution” was reassuring; it meant she knew Luna wasn’t Kitsune. I took a deep breath. “I should get back to the terrace. There may be something that can help me figure out what’s going on.” Basic investigative procedures are all but foreign in Faerie, where people are used to counting on magic to solve their problems. That makes me damn useful. It also makes them lousy at preserving evidence.
“Not alone,” said Garm, sounding horrified.
I raised an eyebrow. “Did you not know that was your outside voice?”
“He’s right.” Etienne shook his head. “You have to realize that I can’t let you go alone. Given the situation—”
“You mean the part where I’m the one who thinks she spotted Oleander, I was with Luna when she collapsed, and you only have my word that I asked Connor to call the guards?” I sighed. “I get it. Can we leave Tavis to stand watch? I don’t want the Duke and Duchess unguarded.”
&nbs
p; “I’m not much use in a fight, but I can do you one better,” said Jin. “Garm?”
“Ma’am?” he responded.
“Can you please conceal the room when you leave?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Garm turned and stalked to the door, casting a final mistrustful glance my way before he exited.
“I guess that’s our cue,” I said.
Jin nodded. “I’ll call for you if anything changes.”
That would have to be enough. I offered Tavis a shallow bow, collected the cloth-wrapped cup, and turned to lead Etienne and Quentin out the door.
Garm was waiting outside, hands raised. Etienne pulled the door closed before stepping to the side, leaving Garm room to work. I moved to stand beside him, and Quentin moved to stand beside me. Finally, Garm gave a faint nod, and lowered his hands. The air went cold, filling with the scent of moss and still, stagnant water as his illusion began to come together.
The Gwragen are reclusive people who like their privacy even more than the Coblynau. It makes sense that they’re some of the best illusionists in Faerie; a Gwragen-spun illusion can supposedly fool even the Firstborn. I’m certainly not going to argue. The door in the wall grew faint as Garm’s spell took hold, finally vanishing into the stone. The smell of moss and water faded, and Garm turned to face us.
“There are no other entrances,” he said.
“Good,” said Etienne. “Let’s go.”
ELEVEN
WE WALKED IN AN UNEASY FORMATION, Etienne beside me, Quentin slightly behind, and Garm a few feet ahead, occasionally casting glances back at us. I did my best not to glare at him. It wasn’t easy.
Etienne cleared his throat to catch my attention before nodding toward the bundle under my arm. “You said you were being paranoid. About what, precisely?”
“Luna was drinking from this before she fell. If Oleander is involved, she probably poisoned Luna’s drink, and I don’t want to risk anyone coming in contact with the residue. Besides, this may protect the fingerprints.” The fabric would blur some of the prints, but hopefully not all of them; I just had to hope a few would be preserved to a reasonable degree. There’s no database of fae fingerprints, but some investigative techniques have become second nature after years of mortal-world cases.
“Mortal methods,” he said, amused respect tinged with unavoidable worry.
“They’ve worked pretty well for me so far,” I said, and shrugged. Mortal methods let me find the Queen’s knowe. That got me knighted. It also got her started on hating me. The jury’s still out on whether that was a fair exchange.
“I don’t understand why we can’t do this without her,” said Garm, not turning. “This all seems a little too convenient.”
“Garm,” said Etienne, sharply. “My apologies, October. I’ll have words with him later.”
I was starting to put two and two together. “How long ago did he graduate from being your squire?”
“Just after the turn of the year,” Etienne replied. Raising his voice a bit, he added, “Sometimes I wonder about the wisdom of it.”
Garm hunched his shoulders and said nothing.
The fact that Etienne had graduated his squire might mean he was getting ready to take a new one. I glanced at Quentin. He was staring resolutely ahead as he walked, trying to look like he wasn’t listening to our conversation. He was almost succeeding.
Then we reached the place where Luna fell, and all thoughts of squires and knighthoods dropped away.
Grianne was sitting on the railing, with her Merry Dancers spinning around her. Her face was serene as ever, but her skin was glowing a pale green only slightly dimmer than her Merry Dancers, betraying her displeasure. Candela only light up under stress. Several more guards stood along the terrace, protecting the scene from intruders while hopelessly contaminating any evidence. Sometimes the fae ignorance of basic crime scene protocol makes me want to cry.
That wasn’t what made my stomach clench; that honor was reserved for the doors standing open, revealing an empty ballroom, and for Connor, who sat on a chair just outside them with blood covering the front of his tunic.
“What happened?” I asked, voice tight with the strain of keeping myself from running to Connor. I couldn’t lose it. Not now. Later, maybe, but not now.
Grianne gave me an uncomprehending look. One of the other guards said, “With the Duchess indisposed, we ordered the Ball be ended.”
I wheeled on him. “You let people leave?!”
“Er.” He glanced toward Etienne, looking for support. Etienne shook his head, saying nothing. “Why should they have stayed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because there’s a good chance one of them tried to kill your Duchess?” I turned away in disgust, focusing on Connor. He was watching me with pained amusement, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. I walked over and crouched in front of him. “Connor, what happened?”
He managed a weak smile. “I’m not sure. I went looking for the guards, and somebody hit me from behind. I think I hit my nose against the floor.”
“My Dancers found him in a changing room,” said Grianne.
“Oh, for the love of Maeve,” I muttered, casting a glance toward Garm. “Now do you believe I had nothing to do with this?”
“Helpers are not restricted to serving the virtuous,” he replied, standing at attention next to Etienne. “You’ve killed before.”
My eyes widened. “You don’t trust me because I killed Blind Michael?” He didn’t answer. I turned, scanning the assembled guards. “Does anybody else think I might be behind this because I killed a child-stealing monster? Please. Let’s get it all out in the open now, so I can be allowed to do my job.”
No one said anything. But half of them wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I shoved the cup into Connor’s arms, snapping, “Don’t let anyone touch that,” before I straightened and stalked over to the spot where Luna and I were standing before she fell. There were no visible clues. I could smell the sticky-sweet residue of Luna’s wine, but I had no way of knowing whether or not it had been poisoned.
The fact that I could smell the wine at all meant the smell of the roses below wasn’t as strong as it was earlier. I don’t know much about flowers beyond what can be used in simple charms, but I knew Shadowed Hills, and I knew Luna was tied to her roses. If she was sick, they’d be sick, too, out of sympathy.
One thing hadn’t changed; there was no trace of Oleander’s magic. “There’s nothing here,” I said, disgusted. “She didn’t leave a damn thing behind.”
“She who?” asked the knight who’d admitted to clearing the ballroom.
I started back toward Connor, replying, “Oleander de Merelands.”
The guards—except Etienne and Garm, who’d heard it before—erupted into protests. Watching their reactions, I saw a glimmer of logic in sending everyone home. While there was a good chance their actions allowed Oleander to escape, there was a better chance that they had accidentally prevented a riot. Blind Michael might have been a child’s terror, but Oleander was a terror for adults. The record of her crimes goes back centuries. Sure, it’s never been proved that she assassinated King Gilad’s parents, or King Gilad himself; in both cases, other explanations conveniently presented themselves. Too conveniently.
I ignored the arguing guards as I knelt in front of Connor, putting a hand on his knee before I could consider the ramifications of the action. Screw it. If Raysel wanted to start shit with me over touching her husband, she’d just be giving me a target. “Did you see who hit you?”
Connor put his hand over mine. “No. Before you ask, I didn’t hear anything, either.” He shook his head, and winced. “That was dumb. Don’t let me do that again.”
“Gotcha; no head-banging. What happened?”
“I went out to the receiving hall to look for someone I could grab without attracting too much attention. Everything after that is black.”
“Jin’s with Luna and Sylvester now, but you need to have her
take a look at you. You could have a concussion.”
“Just what I always wanted,” said Connor dryly. Touching the back of his head, he winced again. “It hurts like hell. Do you really think you saw Oleander?”
My own head was still pounding, and I didn’t even have a concussion to blame it on. “I didn’t see her. I thought I sensed her magic, and with Luna in something close to a coma, I’m not ready to write the idea off.” I paused, twisting to face Etienne. “Oh, oak and ash. Etienne? Has anyone seen Rayseline? The last time Oleander was here—”
“Sweet Titania,” said Etienne, catching my meaning. Pointing to three of the guards, he snapped, “You! Locate Rayseline, now!” The guards stopped arguing, gave him a uniformly horrified look, and ran.
I turned back to Connor, whose face had frozen in the pained expression of a man who didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. “Hey,” I said, squeezing his knee before pulling my hand away. “It’ll be okay.”
“Liar,” he said softly, and let me go.
I straightened, realizing as I did that the way my dress was hacked off meant I’d been giving anyone behind me a free peepshow. “Where’s May? She can’t have gone home. She doesn’t have the car keys.” What she did have was access to my memories leading up to her “birth,” including Devin teaching me to hotwire damn near anything with wheels. It was better not to think about that too hard.
“She refused to go with the others. She’s in the western antechamber,” said Grianne, cocking her head. “She has sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches.” Grianne nodded. I resisted the urge to yell at her. “Oleander may be in the knowe, and you left May alone with a plate of sandwiches.” If our unknown assailant could get to Lily and Luna, who was to say she or he couldn’t get to a Fetch? Fetches are supposed to be invulnerable. I didn’t want to test it. “Etienne, can you take me to my Fetch?”
“Of course,” said Etienne.
Connor stood shakily, tucking the cup under one arm. “I’m coming with you.” He must have recognized my impending protest, because he added, “Come on, Daye. Do you really think you’ll feel better about my survival chances if you leave me?”
Late Eclipses Page 10
