Late Eclipses (42 page)

“How
dare
you attack our liege?” Etienne snarled. Wisely, I refrained from trying to defend myself. It wasn’t like I had enough air to talk, anyway. “I trusted you! I believed you when you said you were trying to help! How
dare
you?”

Mildly, Sylvester said, “Please don’t kill her. She’d be difficult to replace.”

Etienne looked over his shoulder. That was the opening I needed. Balling my right hand into a fist, I punched him in the jaw. It’s not easy to swing a good punch when you’re flat on your back and fighting to breathe, but it was enough to throw him off-balance. Using both hands, I shoved him away and scrambled to my feet. Connor immediately grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back.

Etienne glared. I glared back. “Your Grace, she was holding a sword on you!”

“No, she was simply holding a sword. It was nowhere near me. I should know, as I was the one who handed it to her. It would’ve been rude of her to drop it. Toby, please stop punching Etienne in the head. It’s not helping.”

“He started it,” I said.

“That’s nice. It’s finished now.” Sylvester bent to retrieve my sword from the floor. “Is either of you hurt?”

“She hit me!” said Etienne.

“You body-slammed me,” I countered.

“You were holding a sword on the Duke!”

“He
gave
it to me!”

“Do I need to send you to your rooms?” Sylvester stepped between us. “Etienne, Toby wasn’t attacking me. We’re here because I’d rather we weren’t wandering around without weapons when Oleander de Merelands is loose in the knowe. Toby, Etienne was trying to defend me. Please refrain from treating his head like a punching bag. Connor, you may release my knight now.”

“Gotcha,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” Connor said, and let go of Etienne.

Etienne was too busy staring at Sylvester to move. “Oleander?”

“Yes. October was right.” Sylvester sighed. “Rayseline is working with her.”

“Truly? But we watched her. She gave no sign.” Etienne looked almost painfully amazed. The Tuatha don’t deal well with the idea of treachery; that’s why the Daoine Sidhe rule most of Faerie, while the Tuatha support the throne. They’re not sneaky enough to stage a coup.

“Yeah, Raysel,” I said, rubbing my sore hip with one hand. “Next time you knock me over, make sure I land on something soft. Like your head.”

“Toby—” Sylvester said, in a cautioning tone.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“I believe it’s likely to get longer.”

“Raysel’s working with Oleander?” Etienne said, not moving past that point.

“It’s a big whirligig of fun,” I muttered, taking the scabbard Sylvester was offering and belting it around my waist.

“Yes,” said Connor. Etienne gaped at him, while Sylvester wordlessly handed me the sword. If there was going to be any explaining, it looked like I was going to do it.

Lucky me. “Oleander convinced Raysel and Manuel to help her poison the Duchess.” I slid the sword into the scabbard. “They salted the earth around the roses.”

“I knew that,” he said impatiently. “That’s why we’ve had that man from the Tea Gardens here all week.”

“His
name
is Walther,” I said. “Has her condition improved?”

“Yes,” Sylvester said. “But she’s reverted to her original form, and it seems . . . unlikely . . . that she’ll be able to change back, given the nature of her original transformation. A thing, once broken, is difficult to restore.”

“Damn.” Shaking my head, I said, “I think Oleander targeted Lily partially to frame me, and partially because she and Simon failed to kill me in the Tea Gardens.”

“If October and Connor hadn’t arrived when they did, I doubt we’d be having this conversation,” added Sylvester. At Etienne’s look, he explained, “I was about to be poisoned when Toby broke in. Her timing saved my life.”

“Didn’t do much for Manuel,” I said, looking away.

“Manuel?” said Etienne. “What about him?”

Sylvester answered before I could: “He was working with Oleander and Rayseline. They said they could get him revenge for his sister’s death. Unfortunately, he was a very angry young man, and he believed them.”

“He wasn’t working for them at the end,” I said.

Etienne paled. “Does that mean . . . ?”

“Manuel Lorimer died a Knight of the Shadowed Hills,” said Sylvester, tone leaving no room for argument. “My daughter may not have held the knife, but she’s as responsible for this as Oleander was. They’ll both pay for what’s been done.”

“We’re wasting time,” I said. “Etienne, we’re afraid Rayseline will try to convince the guards that I’m trying to kill the Duke.”

“She already has,” he said grimly. “Grianne has her Merry Dancers scouring the gardens, and Garm has gone to the mortal side of the park to check the entrances.”

It’s a sign of my respect for Sylvester that I didn’t deck Etienne again. “
What?
”

“She was persuasive, October. I tried to argue, but you’d already run from the Queen’s justice, and it seemed you’d slipped Ormond’s hospitality . . .” He had the good grace to look embarrassed. That was the only thing that prevented me from kicking him in the shins. “They sent me to the armory because we needed weapons to hunt you with.”

“Oh, for Maeve’s sake.” I put a hand over my face. “Sylvester—”

“Don’t get huffy at me,” said the Duke, taking several knives off the wall and tucking them into his doublet. “I warned you she was going to do that.”

“Yes, but . . . ” I stopped, sighing. “How bad is it?”

“There are two search parties combing the knowe for you, in addition to Garm’s group.” Etienne recovered his composure enough to take a knife off the wall for himself. “I’m supposed to lead the third.”

“Goody,” I said.

“This is still manageable,” said Sylvester. “Etienne, do you know the way to the Garden of Glass Roses?”

“Yes, if it hasn’t been moved recently.”

“It hasn’t.”

I nodded, getting the gist of where he was going. “Meet folks there and explain?”

“Exactly.” Sylvester slid another knife into his sleeve. I’d be surprised if he didn’t clatter when he walked. “We’ll simply explain, and they’ll side with me.”

Etienne and I exchanged a glance. “How can you be sure?” he asked.

“This is my Duchy, Etienne. I hold the fealty of everyone here, and unlike my daughter, I’m not presently insane.” Sylvester’s expression hardened. “I love Rayseline, but she hurt Luna on purpose, and that’s the one thing I can never forgive. Anything else, she might have been able to get away with—I’m sorry, Toby, but she might even have escaped the punishment for killing you—”

“Forgiven,” I said. Connor didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. The fury in his expression was enough.

“I thought it might be,” Sylvester said, and smiled a sad, short-lived smile. “She could have gotten away with anything but what she did. This isn’t forgivable. One way or another, she’s going to pay.”

“You heard the man.” I looked to Etienne. “Get the others and meet us in the garden as soon as you can.”

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“We’re going to fix this.”

“But what are we going to
do
?”

I sighed. “Whatever it takes.” I just had to hope we’d all survive the experience.

 

 

 

E
XPLAINING THE SITUATION TO SYLVESTER’S knights took almost fifteen minutes. It would probably have taken longer if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to slap an illusion over myself before we went to the Garden of Glass Roses. Not a human disguise: a disguise to make me look the way I did before Amandine twisted the balance of my blood.

It took eight tries and active coaching from Connor for me to spin a convincing version of my own face. It wasn’t something I’d ever needed to do before, and even as I shaped the spell, my instincts were insisting that looking like myself meant dropping the disguises, not constructing new ones. Unfortunately, we needed people to listen, not ask questions I didn’t want to answer, and that meant keeping the focus on the situation.

Even with my masks up and Connor struggling to mediate, it seemed everyone had a question or a comment to make before they were willing to pay attention. Herding the fae really is a lot like herding cats, only pointier and less rewarding. Normally, Sylvester would have cut the discussion short and ordered them all to start looking for Oleander . . . but this wasn’t a normal situation, and sending them off before they really understood what we were up against would be a good way to get a lot of people killed.

Tavis cracked his knuckles, drawing himself up to his full height. Many breeds of fae trend toward “tall,” but Bridge Trolls are tall
and
built like linebackers; when Tavis stood all the way up, it was like watching a wall decide to get involved. “When do I get to hit someone?” he demanded.

“You can hit Oleander if you find her, but you might want to use a net instead,” I said. “She’s enough of a snake that I wouldn’t be surprised if she spits poison.”

“Assuming she’s there at all,” muttered Garm. That was enough to set the room shouting again. Only Grianne stayed silent. Her Merry Dancers were expressive enough to make up for it. They’d been spinning wildly when we started, flashing a variety of garish colors that telegraphed her doubts. Now they were bobbing in the air on either side of her, glowing a steady green. That was reassuring. If we could convince Grianne, we could convince anybody . . . or at least, Sylvester and Connor could.

Sylvester made inspiring pleas for cooperation. Connor provided support and a second voice arguing for my innocence. I just stood there trying to look harmless—whatever that meant. I was mostly fighting not to squirm. Disguises make my ears itch. After the third iteration of things I already knew, I backed away, moving to sit on one of the nearby benches. I was close enough to be visible, but maybe taking me out of the conversation would finally make it end. I could hope, anyway.

The light in the garden slanted through the roses around the bench, casting tiny prisms around me. I leaned on my hands, letting my attention drift. I’ve always loved the Garden of Glass Roses. It’s soothing, and sometimes, I need to be soothed.

The argument had moved on to how Sylvester’s guards were supposed to find a killer in a space the size of Shadowed Hills. Tavis was pointing out—with increasing volume—that if we didn’t start looking soon, it wouldn’t matter. The Queen would send someone to collect me, and we’d be done discussing.

The shouting was loud enough that I didn’t hear Etienne coming until he sat beside me, folding his hands in his lap. I kept my attention on the roses. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, until finally, quietly, Etienne said, “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t look at him. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.”

“I saw the sword, and I thought—”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” I glanced back to the group. Sylvester seemed to be getting the crowd under control. “Poor guy.”

Etienne followed my gaze. “The Duke?”

“Raysel’s in this to her eyebrows. Being willing to admit that, and to deal with it . . . imagine having to sacrifice your own daughter.”

Etienne stood, giving me a sidelong look. “What do you think he did when he stood by and let the Queen’s guard have you?” he asked, before walking back to the others without waiting for an answer. I stared after him, speechless.

Sylvester’s not my father. He’s the man who pulled me out of the mortal world, and who kept Mom’s secret for decades, watching me struggle to be Daoine Sidhe when he knew damn well that I wasn’t.

He’s also the man who took care of me when Mom wandered off on her little “expeditions.” The man who watched me grow up, got me knighted, and made sure I would always have a place. He was “Uncle Sylvester” long before I understood that we weren’t related. In all the ways that mattered, he’d been my father for a long time. It wasn’t like his real daughter had set the bar particularly high. “At least I’m not planning to murder my mom,” I muttered.

“October?” I looked up. Sylvester was gesturing me back. A consensus had apparently been reached, because the crowd dispersed as I stood, breaking into smaller groups and moving toward the door. Some offered me nods or fleeting smiles as they went, but none paused to say good-bye.

After less than a minute, only a few of us remained: Sylvester and Etienne, with matching grim expressions on their faces; Garm, looking quietly terrified; and Connor, who looked simply and deeply weary. Only Grianne had no expression to speak of, sitting frozen as a statue while her Merry Dancers flickered around her like strobe lights.

I turned to Sylvester, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“The others have gone to begin the search,” said Sylvester. He sounded as worn-out as I felt. “They’ll call if they see Rayseline or Oleander.”