The Winter Long (28 page)

I looked to the trees. The girl with the gold-red hair was stepping into view, wearing a dress the color of corn husks, a candle in her hand. I recognized its mottled calico pattern. She'd gotten it from the Luidaeg. She lingered for a moment, looking around herself like she was waiting for a sign. Then she continued forward, disappearing into the tree line.

“When August was . . . lost . . . we both dealt with our grief in our own ways,” said Simon haltingly. His words sounded strange at first, until I realized there were traces of an almost British accent seeping into them, like some long-buried wound was being torn open. He was focusing so hard on what he was saying that he didn't have the energy to focus on how it was being said. “Your mother was . . . it's hard to be of the First, and she had it harder than her siblings, because she was born so soon before Oberon and his wives left us. Her father was not here to teach her how to manage her strengths, or how to compensate for her weaknesses. She was unprepared for the reality of a situation she couldn't change.”

“Parental abandonment seems to run in the family.” I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. To be fair, I didn't try that hard.

Simon took a sharp breath. I waited for him to say I was being unfair, but he didn't; he just let it out again, and said, “Be that as it may, she couldn't handle the shock of losing our daughter. She began rattling at doors, making bargains, trying anything and everything she could think of in her mad quest to bring our little girl home. And I . . .” His voice trailed off, turning weak and broken.

The forest in front of us blurred, replaced by a room I knew all too well: the receiving room at Goldengreen, back when it had belonged to Evening. Back when it had been cold.

“I thought it was wrong to leave my wife—my love, my
Amy
—to sell her soul while I kept mine. So I went to the devil I knew, and I asked if she could help me.” His voice dropped even lower. “I was a fool.”

I hated to prod at what was clearly still an open wound, but I had to know. “Your daughter disappeared, and you went to Evening for help.”

“Yes,” said Simon. The word was soft, and somehow broken. His voice gained strength as he repeated, “Yes, I did, and I would do it again, even knowing her as I do now. What she offered me was worth the cost. I will not deny that.”

“Was it?” I looked back to the empty forest. The faint smell of cider hung in the air. “Was it really? Because your daughter's still missing, and my mother's still on a one-way trip to wherever the hell it is her mind's been going for the past twenty years. It doesn't seem like you got anything out of the deal at all.”

“I got power.” The scene flickered, twisted: became the Japanese Tea Gardens. Any pity I had been starting to feel for the man dissolved, replaced by the sheer terror of returning to the place where my life had ended once already. I tried to step away. He grabbed my wrist, and the smell of smoke filled the air, mixed with a muddled combination of cider and rotten oranges. What felt like a rope of woven wind slithered around my throat and pulled itself tight—not choking me, but making the point that it could, at any moment, if that was required. Simon continued implacably, saying, “I got the strength to do whatever needed doing, and all I had to give up was my autonomy, my integrity, and the love of my brother, which I had never done a thing in my life to earn. There's something tempting about power, October. I know you know that. I can see it in your eyes. They're so much paler than they used to be. You're burning your humanity on the pyre of your ambitions, because we're so much stronger than they are, aren't we? Sometimes it's good to be the strong one.”

“Let me go,” I said softly. “Simon, you need to let me go right now, or Oberon help me, I'm going to see if I can make every drop of blood in your body come out of your eye sockets.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't I?”

There was a long pause. The smell of smoke and oranges was so thick that it was becoming difficult to breathe. The smell of cider was completely gone. And then, to my surprise and annoyance, Simon started to laugh.

“Something funny?” I asked tightly.

“Peace,” he said, and the ropes dropped away. “I simply wanted to test—”

I whirled and punched him square in the nose.

Simon stumbled back, looking startled. I hadn't been sure that would work. He was just a blood magic construct, after all. But then again, so was I, and magic is really remarkable sometimes.

“I'm not your daughter, Simon,” I said quietly. “My father was a human man, and he died thinking he'd lost me forever, but he's never going to lose me, because I'm always going to remember him and honor his memory. I could never have been yours. Even if my mother had let you bring Evening's stinking corruption to her bed, I would never have been yours.”

Simon's gaze hardened. Still, there was something satisfied there, like I was saying the wrong words with the right inflection. “I see.”

“Here's how this is going to be, Simon,” I said. “You have no allies. You've turned against Evening. Your own brother wants you punished for your crimes. Luna . . . I think Luna would gut you and use your blood to fertilize her roses if she got the chance, and hell, maybe Sylvester would give it to her. If you want to stay alive, you need to stay on my good side. That means no more tests. No more sneak attacks or attempts to test your boundaries. If you so much as think about using your magic on me, I won't stop myself from hurting you. And don't be concerned about the penalties we'd face for breaking Oberon's Law. That only applies when someone gives enough of a shit to report your disappearance to the authorities.”

Simon touched his bruised nose and smiled. “You are your mother's daughter after all.”

“And never say that to me again.” I glared at him.

“As I was saying, power,” said Simon, after a pause. “The Daoine Sidhe have always had the potential to be among the most powerful people in Faerie. It's simply that many lack the stomach for what must be done.”

I knew what he meant. “You're talking about borrowing other people's magic through their blood,” I said.

“Yes,” said Simon. “Blood magic is so much more flexible than most could ever dream.”

“Uh-huh,” I said curtly. I knew full well what blood magic was capable of. I had seen Duchess Treasa Riordan use blood magic to force Chelsea Ames to rip open doors in the walls between the Summerlands and Annwn. I had borrowed the teleportation magic of both Windermere siblings—Arden when she was being controlled by the false Queen of the Mists, and Nolan when Tybalt and I were at risk of dying in a room made almost entirely of iron. I could see the appeal of having all the powers in Faerie at your beck and call. I just wasn't sure the need to drink other people's blood was a worthwhile tradeoff.

“You think you know everything, October, but I assure you, you have so much more to learn. Things even your mother never took the time to learn. E—” He stopped before he even finished the first syllable of Evening's name, making a thin wheezing noise. Finally, the sound tapered off. Simon coughed and amended, “My benefactor taught me so many things that you could never even dream of.”

“Was it worth it?” I cocked my head. “Because it sounds to me like you're trying to convince yourself almost as much as you're trying to convince me right now.”

“I admit, things didn't go exactly as planned.” Simon sighed. “I thought I would beg a boon of someone more powerful than I, and be asked to give my life—or at least my fealty—in exchange for what I received. Instead, I found myself indentured against future rewards. I did whatever I was asked to do. I was a willing slave, and every morning I went to sleep with the faces of my wife and daughter in my heart, reminding me of what I did this for.”

“And uh, where does Oleander fit into your nice little story of nobility and self-sacrifice? Because for a married man, you seemed awfully fond of her.”

“The Lady de Merelands—for she was a lady once, even if she left her title years and miles behind her—had been a servant of our mutual benefactor's for a long time. A service was apparently performed for her once: I do not know what it was. She never told me, and after a time, I stopped asking. It . . . amused Oleander to be with a man who had been with your mother, and by that time Amandine and I were separated. So I was asked to go to Oleander's bed, to warm her and to show that I was truly willing to do anything for the sake of my daughter's return.” Simon spoke calmly, methodically, like he was giving a deposition in court. In a way, I suppose he was. “I won't claim not to have enjoyed my time with her. She was capable of her own form of sweetness, when she felt the need, and I have never done well alone. But I did not seek her out. She was given to me, and I to her, by the one who held our loyalty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The circumstances—” began Simon.

I cut him off. “I don't give two fucks about the circumstances. Yes, it sucks that my sister,” the words were still strange, “disappeared, but you don't
sell your soul
because your kid is missing. You find another way. You go to the Luidaeg. You ask Luna to appeal to her parents. You walk away the minute the person you're asking for help says ‘sure, but you have to pledge fealty to me and sleep with this lady who we're pretty sure murders people for fun and also maybe some other stuff and the whole time your kid will
still be missing
, because I'm not getting her back for you until you prove yourself to me.' How did you even know Evening could do what she was promising you?”

“Not all of us are the darlings of the world's remaining Firstborn, and with Amy lost to me, I had few options,” said Simon. There was a hint of bitterness in his tone. “I did what I had to do.”

“Uh-huh.” The throne room was beginning to blur around us, fading under a veil of red. The memories my magic could draw from Simon's blood apparently didn't extend to actually letting me see Evening's face. “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me before I lose my grip on this?”

“I am . . .” He took a breath. “I know this isn't what you want to hear from me, October. But I am so proud of who you have become. I only wish I could have been there to help you grow.” The smell of smoke and oranges was getting stronger.

My head was spinning. Something wet was on my lip. I raised my hand to touch my face, and my fingers came away bloody. Simon looked at me, eyes full of sorrow. I frowned. I wobbled.

“You tricked me,” I said, and then I collapsed, and the world went from red to black before it went away entirely, taking Simon, and the smell of rotting oranges, with it.

I
SAT UP WITH
a gasp. The quality of light in my living room had changed, going from the brittle brightness of early morning to the deeper, calmer light of the afternoon. My lips felt sticky; I wiped them and my hand came away dark with blood. Still more blood cracked and fell away from my mouth, long since dried into a hard crust. I looked down. My fresh shirt was even bloodier than the last one had been, courtesy of what appeared to be a multi-hour nosebleed.

My brain was waking up slower than my body. I blinked at my bloody shirt for several seconds, trying to remember why a nosebleed that lasted for several hours was a bad thing—apart from the obvious dizziness and mess. Tybalt was going to be so annoyed when he saw that I had managed to get myself covered in blood
again
—

And just like that, I understood what was wrong. My heart plummeted into my stomach as I scrambled to my feet, looking wildly around the room. “Tybalt? Tybalt, are you here?” He wouldn't have left me voluntarily, he would
never
have left me voluntarily, not with me bleeding and Simon in the house. He had to be hurt, or missing, or—Oberon forbid—I couldn't even finish the thought. “Tybalt!”

“Pipe down, he's fine.” The voice was familiar, yet so incongruous I couldn't quite wrap my head around it until I had finished my turn and saw the Luidaeg standing in the living room door. “Your kitty-cat is in the kitchen, sleeping off Simon's whammy. I tried to stop the bleeding a few times, and then I realized your body was purging whatever that Torquill asshole had done to you, so I let you be. You really shouldn't drink people's blood unless you're sure you're stronger than they are, October. That's what got you into this mess in the first place.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out which of my questions I should ask first. None of them wanted to coalesce into anything coherent.

The Luidaeg frowned, the gesture calling my attention more properly to her face. She looked as human as ever, but her bone structure was subtly different, and her eyes were the driftglass green she normally wore when visiting her Selkie step-descendants. There was something different about the texture of her skin, and when I realized what it was, my eyes got even wider.

She no longer looked like she was on the verge of becoming something else. She looked, instead, like she was only and entirely herself. Somehow, she had settled in her own skin.

“Toby, are you listening to me? Tybalt is
fine
, but you've lost a lot of blood, and you need to eat. Come on.” She turned and walked back out into the hall. I stayed frozen for a few seconds more and then hurried after her. The kitchen door was swinging, and so I pushed it open, stepping through.

The kitchen smelled of hot soup and fresh-baked bread. Tybalt was curled on the table in cat form, sleeping in a nest formed by my leather jacket. The Luidaeg was standing between us. As soon as the door swung shut behind me, she whirled, moving too fast for me to react, and clasped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight and uncharacteristic hug. I froze, blinking, unable to make myself return the gesture—unable to make myself do anything, honestly, except stand there.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. My eyes got even wider, until it felt like they were going to fall clean out of their sockets. The Luidaeg pushed me out to arm's length, looking at me gravely. “You have no idea what you did for me. Thank you. I owe you a debt that I may never be able to repay. You understand that, don't you?”

I kept staring at her. Between the hug and the forbidden thanks, it felt like something inside my brain had broken.

“You need to say you understand,” she said, some of the old familiar impatience seeping into her words. “That's how you accept the debt.”

“I—I understand,” I stammered.

The Luidaeg sagged, making no effort to conceal her relief. “Oh, thank Mom.”

“Luidaeg, how did you . . .”

“I can't get into the Court of Cats under my own power, but I can get
out
,” she said. “I thought you might need the backup. Since I got here to find you bleeding out and the cat unconscious on the floor, I was right. Do you know who you're up against yet?”

“Evening,” I said. “She's not dead.”

“She never was,” agreed the Luidaeg, nodding enthusiastically, like a teacher trying to prompt a reticent pupil. “She can die—anyone can die—but Devin's method was never going to succeed. He didn't have certain information, and without it, there was no way he would have used the right tools for the job.”

“He needed iron
and
silver,” I said, eliciting another nod. “But . . . how can you tell me this? I thought you said the geas still held.”

“Oh, it does, it does,” said the Luidaeg, with almost giddy gleefulness. “I can't say her name. I can call her all sorts of unpleasant things, as long as they've never been her
name
. But I don't need to. You figured her out.”

“I didn't have much of a choice,” I said.

The Luidaeg sighed. “She's always been a pushy one. Most of my half sisters are, or were, but she was the worst of a bad lot. It's because her mother encouraged that sort of behavior. ‘Prove you're worthy of my love' and all that crap.” She walked over to the stove, where a large pot of something that smelled like rosemary and fish was simmering. “When's the last time you ate?”

“Tybalt fed me before we came here,” I said.

She turned to give me an assessing look. “Uh-huh. And was that before or after you spent half a day bleeding on your living room floor? That shirt's ruined, by the way.”

“You could have at least stuffed some tissues in my nose,” I snapped, and walked past her to run a hand along Tybalt's side. He was breathing regularly, and stretched in response to the touch. “Hey. Wake up. I need to know that you're okay, and you need to keep me from killing the Luidaeg. Again.”

She snorted in amusement. “I'd like to see you try. How did he get you to sit still and eat?”

“I fainted,” I admitted. “I sort of did too much blood magic on too little sleep and even less food.”

“I swear, October, my sister's not going to need to have you killed. You're going to kill yourself and save her the trouble.” She took two bowls from the cabinet, moving as easily as if this had been her kitchen for years. “Wake up your kitty. You're going to eat while we talk.”

“Because food is more important than stopping Evening?” I snapped.

The Luidaeg glanced at me again, a wave of blackness moving across her driftglass eyes like a shadow crossing the moon. Then it passed, and they were just eyes again. “No. Because when you're at war, you eat every time you get the chance. There's no way of knowing when you'll have another opportunity. Now sit, and I'll tell you everything the geas allows.”

“We don't have time for this,” I grumbled, and stroked Tybalt again. “Wake up.”

He lifted his shaggy tabby head, opening his eyes, and blinked at me blearily. Then he blinked again and flowed to his feet, jumping to the floor where he became a man. A naked man. I'd seen it all before, but the Luidaeg hadn't, and she whistled appreciatively.

“Very nice.”

Tybalt whirled. “Luidaeg! You're—”

“Go put on pants, please, for the love of Maeve, I cannot have this conversation if you are not
wearing any pants
,” I snapped, pushing him toward the door before he could get over the shock of the Luidaeg's appearance and notice that I was once again covered in blood.

Tybalt glanced back, eyes narrowing. Oh, great. He'd noticed the blood. “I will return,” he said ominously, and stepped into the hall.

“I hate this, I hate this—
why
wasn't he wearing pants?” I bolted for the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, attempting to scrub off the worst of the blood.

“Because for Cait Sidhe, transforming their clothes takes focus and will, and he didn't change forms voluntarily,” said the Luidaeg, getting down another bowl. “I found him on the floor when I got here. I thought I would do well to keep an eye on him.”

“Good plan,” I agreed grudgingly, as I dropped my wad of bloody paper towels into the trash. My shirt was a lost cause. I slouched to the table and sat, too tired and dizzy to argue with her. “We need to be figuring out how to stop Evening, not sitting here and eating soup.”

“If we don't sit here and eat soup, you're going to collapse,” said the Luidaeg, setting a bowl of what smelled like fish chowder in front of me. “You lost more blood than you realize. You need to get your strength back up.”

“It's been a bleeding sort of day,” I grumbled, and took the spoon she handed me.

The kitchen door swung open as Tybalt returned, now fully clothed. “You are
covered
in blood,” he accused, pointing at me.

“I noticed,” I said.

“She noticed,” the Luidaeg said. “Everyone noticed. Now sit down. You need to eat some soup.”

Tybalt blinked at her, nonplussed. “I beg your pardon?”

The Luidaeg groaned. “You know, sometimes I miss the days when all I had to do was tell people to do something and they did it, out of fear that if they didn't, their skeletons would be outside of their bodies. The soup is going to help. Simon whammied you both, and his magic is all over you. This will purge it. It will also taste delicious, because I have been making medicinal chowder longer than either of your family lines has been alive. It's my own recipe. Toby, I used all your potatoes.”

“Um, that's okay,” I said, and took a bite of chowder. It was, as promised, delicious, sweet and savory at the same time, with chunks of potato swimming in the creamy broth. I thought I'd eaten too recently to be hungry, but my stomach roared at the taste, making it clear that my body had other ideas. Also, as promised, I started feeling better almost immediately.

“While you were asleep, I took the liberty of redoing the wards on your house,” said the Luidaeg. “My beloved sister won't be able to tell that I'm here. And you shouldn't need to recast them for a century or so.”

“So your magic has returned?” asked Tybalt.

“My magic never went anywhere,” said the Luidaeg. “I wasn't dead long enough for the spells I've been maintaining for years to collapse, thank Dad. There are some lovely palaces at the bottom of the sea that would have dissolved into foam, and at least one Cetacea who's currently enjoying life on two legs who would've stunned the crowds at Sea World. Until the night-haunts came for me, there was still a chance. My beloved sister did a great job of killing me. October did a better job of bringing me back.”

“It's always nice to be good at something.” I took another bite of chowder, swallowing quickly. “Luidaeg—”

“I don't think you understand what you've done.” The Luidaeg pulled out a chair and sat down at the other side of the table, looking at me gravely. “It's been a long time since anyone in Faerie raised the dead. It isn't something we do often, or that should ever be done lightly.”

“Technically this was my second time,” I said. “Alex Olsen was dead too.”

“That was your little Gean-Cannah?” she asked. I nodded. “That was different. He was a living man sharing a body with a dead woman. I was a dead woman sharing my body with no one. Bringing me back was a larger step than you could have known, or you might not have done it. Please, don't get me wrong,” she held up her hand, palm turned toward me, “I'm grateful. I'd rather be alive than dead, and I have a great deal left to do. But you've tampered with the order of things. Keep that in mind, and don't let this become a habit.”

I scowled at her. “How about you don't let dying become a habit, and I won't need to bring you back again?”

“Fair enough,” said the Luidaeg. “About my sister. She's harder to kill than anyone you've ever dealt with. It's part of her nature. She seems to die, and then she comes back stronger, like a weed.”

“Well, right now, that weed is taking root at Shadowed Hills, and I need to know how willingly her descendants will follow her orders, and how much control she has over people who aren't descended from her,” I said grimly. “Sylvester didn't bat an eye when she showed up and said that she wasn't dead and needed him to let her in. Dean Lorden was more resistant. He's also only half Daoine Sidhe. But a lot of the other people at Shadowed Hills who aren't Daoine Sidhe seemed perfectly willing to let her tell them what to do.”

“My sister can control almost anyone if she puts her mind to it. As for Sylvester's people, she's playing on their fealty,” said the Luidaeg. “They're sworn to Sylvester, Sylvester is of her line; all she has to do to control them is control him. Didn't you ever wonder why the Daoine Sidhe aspire to power the way they do? No other line holds so many thrones, or wants to wear so many crowns. The Daoine Sidhe would rule the world if they could, and all for the sake of that beautiful spider at the center of their web.”