Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  Dugan laughed, pushing me into the cave ahead of us. The iron had me too dizzy to catch myself. I dropped to my knees before pitching face-first into the icy water.

  “I’m not that worried about you remembering me,” he said. More loudly, he added, “Get her up. We’re late as it is.”

  Hands grabbed my shoulders, hauling me to my feet. The effects of the iron were getting worse. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on, but I wasn’t going to give Dugan the satisfaction of knowing that. I shivered, asking, “Could you calm down? The Queen’s going to be pissed if you kill me.”

  “Why should she care, murderess? You’ve broken Oberon’s law one time too many. You’re finally going to burn for it.” He shoved me again. This time I didn’t even hit my knees before falling straight into the water. I rolled to my side, barely managing to lift my face from the water before I drowned. The guards pulled me up. I hung limply in their hands, choking and gasping as they half-shoved, half-supported me the rest of the way down the tunnel.

  Dugan was right. I broke Oberon’s law when I killed Blind Michael, and the Queen could sentence me for that even if I’d done nothing else wrong. The Queen cleared her debt to me by giving me Goldengreen, technically claiming my fealty at the same time. That meant she could take me from Sylvester’s lands without his consent. I’m not a conspiracy theorist—there’s usually a nice, normal, supernatural explanation for whatever’s going on—but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been set up. The only question was just how high up the conspiracy actually went.

  Dugan gave me a final shove as the guards released me, pushing me through the cave wall and into the Queen’s knowe. I staggered to a stop, barely managing to stay upright as my waterlogged shoes slipped on the marble floor of the audience chamber. Shaking my hair out of my eyes, I gaped at the crowd. It looked like everyone in the Kingdom who wasn’t at Shadowed Hills when I was arrested had come to see this farce of a trial.

  Mitch and Stacy stood at the edge of the crowd, hands clasped tightly together. I was relieved to see that they’d left the kids at home. Tybalt wasn’t far from them. He looked absolutely livid. His eyes narrowed as we entered the room, gaze swinging around to focus on the center of Dugan’s don’t-look-here. He might not see us perfectly, but he knew where we were.

  Dugan planted his hands on my shoulders, shoving me forward and ripping away the don’t-look-here at the same time. A gasp ran through the crowd. I could understand the reasons: I was wet, muddy, and bloodstained. Not the sort of thing one normally sees at Court, even at a murder trial.

  Stacy clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. Even Tybalt was staring at me—Tybalt, who’s seen me in much worse shape. I met his eyes, bewildered. He mouthed a single word: “When?”

  I winced, two hot tears escaping as realization hit me. Everyone who knew me knew that I was a half-blood. The changes Amandine made to save me were too strange to be natural, and unnatural enough to be scary. They sure as hell scared me, and I’d had the time to start getting used to them.

  The guards nudged me into the open space in front of the Queen’s empty throne. Dugan pointed to the floor. “Kneel.”

  I looked at him. I looked at the room. I made my choice. “No.”

  “Kneel. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.” He was starting to look uneasy. I guess he expected a less mixed crowd when he brought me to “justice.”

  Looking at his handsome, weasely face, all I felt was tired. “I won’t kneel for you.” My tone was light, even reasonable, if you ignored who I was talking to.

  “In that case, you can kneel for me,” said the Queen.

  I looked up.

  She was seated on her throne, regal and calm, like she’d been there for hours. She smiled as our eyes met, expression filled with hot satisfaction. Her appearance had changed again, moving from “punk” to “perfection.” Her black-and-white hair was styled in an elegant bob and crowned with a circlet of braided platinum; her fishnets and miniskirt were gone, replaced by a gown made of silver mist. She looked like the pinnacle of glamour, while I looked like something just shy of a natural disaster. I doubted that was an accident, either.

  “Your Highness.” I inclined my head. “Good to see you again.”

  “Is that so?” She pursed her lips. “My man told you to kneel, Countess Daye. Now kneel.”

  The power of the Queen’s Banshee blood made the command impossible to resist. I hit the marble on my knees before I could even try to resist. The compulsion kept pushing until I bowed my head, supplicating myself before her.

  “That’s better,” she murmured. Raising her voice, she said, “We are gathered to witness the trial and sentencing of October Daye, regarding the deaths of Katai Suiyou of the Tea Gardens and Blind Michael, Firstborn son of Oberon and Maeve. She is also charged with the poisoning of Duchess Luna Torquill of Shadowed Hills, with the understanding this crime will only bear sentence of death if the injured dies. October Daye, how do you plead?”

  “Wait—that was really her name?” I lifted my head, electrified. I’d only heard Lily’s real name once before . . . and now I knew, beyond all question, that I couldn’t have been talking to myself. “Highness, you’re making a mistake. Oleander told me—”

  The Queen smiled. That was all: just smiled. “How do you plead?” she repeated.

  “You’re not listening to me, and that’s not a fair question.” Putting Blind Michael on the list forced me to plead guilty. Not to everything—but pleading guilty to anything could condemn me.

  “That isn’t what I asked,” she said. “How do you plead?”

  “Innocent! Highness, you have to listen to me. Oleander—”

  “How can you be innocent when you admit to killing Blind Michael?” One of the guards stepped onto the dais, handing her my belt. She held it up, displaying the scabbards holding my knives to the assemblage. “Tell me, I beg.”

  “Blind Michael’s death was self-defense,” I objected. “Ask the parents of the children he stole whether he deserved to die.”

  “Airs and arrogance aside, you remain a changeling. Your blood is impure. You don’t decide who lives or dies.” She dropped my scabbard. It landed with a clatter. “That’s a job for your betters, not for you.”

  “I didn’t hurt Lily or Luna. Ask the subjects of the Tea Gardens. Ask Sylvester Torquill, or any of his knights! This isn’t fair. This isn’t—”

  She cut me off again. “We have testimony telling us that you’ve taken advantage of his affection for you, convincing him of your innocence.”

  I froze. “Testimony? Whose?”

  “Mine.” Raysel stepped from behind the throne, smiling. “I’ve seen you talk my father in circles. He could watch you pour the poison and still call you innocent.”

  “One voice isn’t enough to convict,” said the Queen. “Is there another?”

  There was a pause almost long enough to let me breathe before Manuel stepped out to join Raysel. “Her lies killed my baby sister. She’s the one who poisoned the Duchess.” The hitch in his voice was slight, but it was there.

  I closed my eyes. Manuel was willing to lie in front of the Queen? I knew he hated me. I’d just never realized how far he was willing to let his hatred take him.

  If Manuel was willing to lie, the Queen was willing to let him. “Two accuse you, and you’ve already lied in your own defense. None will stand for you.”

  In a voice loud enough to rebound off the walls, Tybalt demanded, “How dare you?” I opened my eyes, turning as far as the Queen’s command allowed to see Tybalt striding forward. His shoulders were locked, showing how much effort he was putting into staying even that calm. “Call for her defense! Don’t assume we won’t appear!”

  Seeing him made me realize that neither Dugan nor the Queen had mentioned the deaths at the Cat’s Court. I was willing to bet she didn’t even know. Tybalt’s people lived in her Kingdom, and she was so busy trying to entrap me that she didn’t even realize they were dying.


  The Queen snapped her fingers, jerking my attention back to her. “You overreach yourself, King of Cats,” she said, voice gone honey-sweet. “You have no right to stand defense of her. Or have you forgotten the arrangement made when your people chose to claim a Court outside Oberon’s own?”

  There was a dangerous pause before he said, much more smoothly, “You misunderstand me. There are debts between us. I owe her.”

  “So be grateful I do not intend to claim them as my own upon her death.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Do not presume to dictate my Kingdom as you do yours.” Her tone was still sweet, but it carried a barely veiled warning. Tybalt’s footsteps stopped. “Go, now. This trial is none of your concern.”

  There was another long pause before Tybalt said, “My promises stand. All of them.” There was a soft inrush of air, accompanied by the pennyroyal and musk signature of his magic. Claws clicked on the marble, and he was gone.

  “Does anyone else wish to speak out of turn?” asked the Queen.

  Hesitantly, Stacy called, “Your Highness, might we . . . ?”

  “Say your piece,” said the Queen. “This is meant to be a fair trial.”

  I barely kept from laughing. My exhaustion helped. The iron manacles binding my wrists helped even more.

  “Your Highness, October has always been a good and valiant friend. If she says she’s trying to solve these murders, I believe her.” Stacy sounded frightened but sincere. I didn’t try fighting the Queen’s compulsion this time. I didn’t want to see Stacy’s face.

  “Be that as it may, your friend is a changeling. I hardly need remind you how many changelings have changed as their blood drove them mad. Alas, madness is known to run in her bloodline.” The Queen paused as a murmur ran through the Court. “We can’t assume that who this woman was has any bearing on who—on what—she has become.”

  “That’s not fair!” cried Stacy, startled into forgetting protocol. “How can you ignore her services to this Kingdom? She saved my children! How can you not care?”

  “Changeling madness is always a danger, and it seems clear that October has succumbed. A tragedy, but not an unexpected one.” The Queen smiled benignly. “Your objection is dismissed in the face of existing evidence. Will anyone else speak in this woman’s defense?”

  “How about I speak up to call you a crazy bitch?” bellowed a familiar voice.

  I winced. “Danny . . .”

  Sometimes Danny is an absolute idiot. He strode into my field of view, every inch of his massive frame vibrating with fury. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re pulling, but you’ve got the wrong girl.”

  The Queen looked at him with obvious amusement. “My, such gallant saviors you have. Perhaps I should embrace a life of crime. It might net me men such as these.” Her fingers flicked toward Danny. He froze in mid-step, face going blank.

  I stiffened.

  Catching the motion, the Queen offered me the smallest of smiles. “Your mother’s wicked ways of enticement and deceit live again in you. I’ll be gentle on him, in consideration of that. Now.” She looked back to the crowd, a challenge in her expression. “Will there be anyone else?”

  I listened to the silence. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Tybalt would protect the Tea Gardens. May would live. Walther would cure the subjects of the Cat’s Court, and if Sylvester went to him, Luna might have a chance. Oleander was out there somewhere, but I’d done everything I could to save the people I loved; at this point it was up to them, because I didn’t think my mother could bring me back from the dead more than once. There are limits to everything, and I’d finally found mine.

  “Very well,” said the Queen. “October Daye, rise.”

  My trial—such as it was—was over. The Queen’s binding dissolved, letting me stagger back to my feet. I stole a quick glance around the room. More than half the crowd looked stunned, even frightened; good. They saw the Queen’s madness as clearly as I did. Let her do whatever she wanted to me. She wouldn’t hold her throne if she stayed that careless.

  The Queen didn’t seem to notice the mood of the crowd. “October Daye, you have been found guilty of breaking Oberon’s law. Do you have any last words before your sentence is pronounced?”

  I looked back to her. “I’ve served those who held my fealty as well as I could, and I’ve never willingly broken Faerie’s laws. I didn’t do what you accuse me of, but you’re my liege, and your word is law. Tell me what guilt is mine to bear.”

  Her smile faltered. This was what would be remembered, and she knew it: I was condemned in innocence, and I went bravely, according to the law. When the revolution came, this moment was part of what would be used to take her down.

  Pulling herself straight, she asked, “You understand your fate is mine to choose?”

  “I understand I can’t change your mind. I just hope you’ll choose justice over whatever lies you’ve been offered.” Raysel was standing at the edge of the crowd; I saw her tense, but she didn’t speak. Clever girl.

  “What is true and what is false is mine to decide,” said the Queen.

  “My apologies.” I squared my aching shoulders. “I’m done. The rest is silence.”

  “Very well. October Daye, Countess of Goldengreen, Knight of Shadowed Hills, daughter of Amandine, I declare you guilty of violating Oberon’s law. In three days’ time, you will be taken to the crossroads where the Iron Tree grows, where you will be bound, blinded, tied to the tree, as have been so many criminals before you . . . and burned. This is your sentence. This is what will be.”

  I stared at her, barely able to believe her words. That wasn’t just death; it was torture of the worst kind. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  “Take her away.” The guards grabbed my arms, and she shouted, “See how justice is served?”

  There was a long pause—too long—before the crowd started clapping. Even then, the applause was timid and broken, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. The Queen glared and the applause swelled to more acceptable levels as the guards half-walked, halfdragged me out of the room.

  The sound of it followed us down the hall until the doors slammed shut, blocking the rest of the world away.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE GUARDS DRAGGED ME DOWN THREE halls and a dozen flights of stairs, not pausing to let me rest or recover my breath; my comfort ceased to be a concern when the Queen ordered my arrest.

  I was barely staying upright by the time we reached the iron-barred dungeon door. Gremlin and Coblynau charms were etched into the wood, warding the rest of the knowe from the iron, but that wasn’t enough to wash the taint from the air. The closer we got to the door, the harder it got to breathe. The guards were all in better shape than I was, and they still flinched and paled when we got close to the dungeon door. I found it oddly hard to feel sorry for them. None of them were wearing iron manacles, and I was willing to bet they hadn’t started the day by coming back from the dead, either.

  The door’s handle was rowan wood. It has a dampening effect on iron, making it easier for purebloods to tolerate the stuff. Dugan still pulled a length of silk out of his pocket, wrapping it around his hand three times before he touched the latch. The lucky bastard had probably never known the touch of iron in his life, much less been bound or shot with it.

  Stepping aside, he signaled the guards to pull me forward. I glared, and he smirked, offering a mocking bow as they hauled me past him. He followed us down the increasingly narrow stairs, the pressure from the iron growing heavier with every step we took into the dark.

  The guards were visibly anxious by the time we reached the base of the stairs, and I was starting to wonder which would turn and run first. We came to a second door, this one barred even more thickly with iron, and banded with yarrow. Yarrow wood dampens the magic of those rare races who aren’t bothered by iron. A Gremlin will saunter through an iron seal, but yarrow stops them cold.

  Dugan pressed his hand against a pane
l at the center of the door, avoiding the iron as carefully as he could, and whispered something. The strips of yarrow flared yellow as the door swung open to reveal a square of pure darkness. “Can you walk?” I stared into the dark, shaking my head. “Fine. You don’t have to. Take her.”

  Three of the guards lifted me off the ground and carried me down the last flight of stairs. Down into the dark.

  The hall at the bottom of the stairs was claustrophobically narrow, and the smoky rowan-and-yarrow torches lining the walls didn’t help. Their flickering light was close enough to candlelight to bring me to the edge of panic. We passed half a dozen iron-and-yarrow doors before Dugan waved the guards to a stop. “Here,” he said.

  One of the guards stepped forward, grimacing with disgust as he opened the nearest door, revealing a small, totally dark cell. I could feel the iron permeating it, and I went cold, the enormity of what they were about to do driving itself home. They were going to put me in that room and leave me, alone with the iron.

  By the time they came back for me, burning would be a mercy.

  I panicked, struggling with a strength I didn’t know I still had. One of the guards laughed, smacking me across the back of the head. The world erupted into blinding pain. That was the end of my resistance. I went limp, staying that way as they shoved me into the cell, slamming and locking the door behind me. I landed hard in the dank, half-rotten straw covering the floor.

  The pain faded, replaced by more dizziness. I lifted my head, squinting as I tried vainly to make out any features of the room. It was dark enough that I couldn’t even tell whether my eyes were open, and with my hands manacled and the iron confusing my senses, it was impossible to be sure. Even purebloods can’t see in total darkness. Sitting required leaning back on the palms of my hands to keep my weight distributed enough that I wouldn’t fall. It took four tries. The manacles made balance almost impossible, but I didn’t dare touch the walls; I could already feel the iron in the stone threatening to overwhelm me.