The Winter Long (21 page)

“But why?”

“I don't know.” He looked back to the hall. “I was sad when she died, because I remembered her coming to my father's court, but it never seemed important, somehow. It was like it had all happened in backstory, and now the story had actually started.”

“That's a really weird way of putting it,” I said.

“I know,” said Quentin, sounding frustrated. “That's the problem. It's like I always knew how strange it was for me to be a blind royal foster placed in a Duchy that was in the process of recovering from horrible tragedy. Duke Torquill was barely speaking to anyone when I arrived at the court. Duchess Torquill was a ghost, and some nights, Rayseline wouldn't stop
screaming
 . . . why would my parents have sent me there? They had no good reason to banish me to a Duchy that was both provincial and chaotic, but they did.”

“Because Evening told them to,” I said slowly. I had never wondered overly hard at the exact timeline of Quentin's arrival in Shadowed Hills. Maybe I should have: he'd been fourteen when I met him, and he'd been there roughly two years. Luna and Rayseline Torquill had been released from their own captivity two years before I came back to the Duchy. “How did she get Sylvester to agree?”

This time, Quentin's chuckle was almost bitter. “Toby, when the High King tells you to do something, you do it. Even at his absolute worst, Duke Torquill was never so divorced from reality that he forgot
that
.”

“Apparently, reality has taken out a restraining order on me,” I grumbled. Putting a hand on Quentin's shoulder, I asked, “Are you okay? Are you sure you want to stay with us if we're going to be potentially facing your First? You could stay here with Raj while Tybalt and I go on ahead. I wouldn't think any less of you.”

“I'm your squire,” he said, with the note of familiar stubbornness that I'd long since become accustomed to hearing in his voice. “Where you go, I go.”

“Then perhaps you should both prepare yourselves for a long, cold transit,” said Tybalt. I looked up. He and Raj had stopped in front of a plain oak wall, decorated only by a line of hardwood molding along the upper edge. It didn't match the hallway around us, or either of the rooms that it connected to.

I didn't know how anyone could lose a single wall out of their home, and I didn't really feel like taking the time to ask. “This is the border?”

Tybalt nodded. “My Court extends no further.”

“Raj seemed pretty tired after just bringing me from Goldengreen . . .” I said.

“He was running alone,” said Tybalt. “It will be different when he runs the roads at the same time as I do. My presence holds the shadows open as his does not, as yet. I can help him.”

That made me feel a little better about allowing Raj and Quentin to run separately—and after our encounter with the wards at Goldengreen, I wasn't sure that running in a line was any safer. “I'll trust you on that,” I said, moving away from Quentin and stopping next to Tybalt. He held out his hand. I took it, holding on as tightly as I could without hurting either one of us.

“I'll never tire of hearing you say that you trust me, little fish,” he said, and glanced to Raj. “This will be a fair journey. Do you know the way?”

Raj nodded. “Run for Albany, come up for air. Do the same in Orinda. Then dive down into the Summerlands, so that we come up on the grounds in Shadowed Hills, instead of in the mortal world.”

“Good,” said Tybalt approvingly. “We shall take a similar route. When you arrive, if you somehow manage to beat us there, wait among the trees. Do not approach anyone, even if you know them.”

“And if you need to take more breaks than that, do it,” I said. “I don't want anyone else getting hurt today.”

Tybalt smiled at me. For just a moment, nothing else mattered, not Evening, not Simon, not the confusing snarl of overlapping threads that my life had become. Tybalt and Quentin were alive, and we were all together, and we were going to find a way to get through this, because that was what we
did
. We were unstoppable, as long as we were together.

“Take a deep breath,” he said.

I did as I was told, and he stepped into the shadows, pulling me with him into the dark.

We ran in silence and in cold, as we always did, but this time, the trip was broken with flicker-flash impressions of the mortal world, cities flickering into view around us as Tybalt pulled me out of the shadows long enough to catch my breath and lose some of the thin coat of ice that was trying to form on both of us. I recognized the first city we ran through—Alameda, whose ports backed on the San Francisco Bay, making it the perfect target for a short hop. The second could have been any one of the genteel suburbs that thrived in the East Bay, where bedroom communities had become a way of life. It hadn't been that way when I was younger; Lafayette, Walnut Creek, and San Ramon had all started out as farming towns, filled with livestock and with hunger. Now they had housing developments named after the orchards that used to thrive there, and I couldn't tell them apart.

The third city we ran through wasn't technically a city at all. One second we were in the dark, cold reaches of the Shadow Roads, and the next we were running across the interstate, with cars zooming all around us. Horns blared as motorists reacted to our sudden appearance. I gasped, seeing headlights bearing down on me, and Tybalt yanked on my arm—

—and we were back among the shadows, racing toward a destination that I couldn't see, but which hopefully wouldn't come with semis trying to turn me into changeling paste.

We didn't run long after that, thankfully. I was tired, and I didn't imagine Tybalt was that much better, since he was the one providing most of the motive force behind our journey. We tumbled out of the darkness and into the light, landing in a snowbank with me sprawled half on top of him. I sat up with a gasp as snow managed to infiltrate the few parts of me that
hadn't
felt like they were half-frozen.

Beneath me, Tybalt groaned. I rolled away from him, and he pushed himself upright, glowering through ice-crusted lashes. The look didn't seem to be directed at me, and so I raised an eyebrow, beginning to scrape ice sheets off the outside of my leather jacket.

“That was thoroughly unpleasant, and I apologize most profusely for nearly getting us both killed,” he said.

“The highway was a nice trick,” I said agreeably, leaning over to brush the snow out of his hair. “How are you feeling? Heart still beating, not going to drop dead on me again?”

“No, I think not,” he said. There was a thudding sound, accompanied by a yelp, as if two teenage boys had just been dropped into the same snowbank. Tybalt's glower faded, replaced by amusement. “It sounds as if our respective charges have also arrived safely.”

“Thank Oberon for that,” I said fervently, and stood, scanning the snow-choked landscape for a sign of the boys.

We had clearly landed in Sylvester's demesne: the snow was proof enough of that, since no one else I knew was currently hosting a winter wonderland. Trees stood all around us, gray-trunked with translucent blue leaves that looked like they would melt if I so much as touched them. There was a heap of snow near the base of one of the nearby trees. As I watched, two heads poked up out of it, both frosted with snow, one bronze-topped and one russet. I waved. Quentin pulled his arm out of the snow and waved back.

“We're not far from the knowe,” I said, turning to offer Tybalt my hand. He took it, pulling himself easily out of the snow. “We should be able to walk to the back door from here, which is good, since I'm
freezing
.”

“Perhaps the household staff can equip you with something better suited to the season, or at least warmer,” said Tybalt.

“I'd settle for not having half the Pacific freezing against my back, really.” Quentin and Raj were out of their snowbank and tromping across the clearing toward us. Quentin scooped a handful of snow off the ground without pausing. I raised my hand. They both stopped, blinking at me. “Drop it.”

“What?” said Raj.

Quentin sighed and let his handful of snow fall back to the ground. I nodded.

“I know, I never let you have any fun,” I said. “But look at it this way: he would have screamed bloody murder when you put that down his back, and then we would have been explaining things to Sylvester's guards.” Probably including Etienne, which would make it a reasonably easy explanation. It would still take too much time. “You can start a snowball fight with Raj later, okay?”

“Okay,” said Quentin.

“Wait, what?” said Raj.

“Both of you, come on.” I turned, trying not to shiver as I gestured for them to follow me out of the woods and into the gardens that stretched behind Sylvester's knowe.

Nothing moved but us as we made our way through the silent woods, our feet crunching in the snow. Even Tybalt and Raj couldn't keep themselves from making noise as they walked, which was almost a relief, given the circumstances. We reached the woods' edge and continued on, into the frozen gardens. The hedge maze was a skeletal outline, easier than ever to navigate now that it kept no secrets for itself. The rosebushes Simon had visited to gather my warning bouquet were still in full bloom when we passed them, seeming no worse off for having been inexpertly pruned.

“Let me lead from here,” I said quietly, moving to walk a few feet ahead of Tybalt. It wasn't much, but it was enough that I'd be the first person any member of the staff saw. That might buy us time to explain what we were doing, and why we hadn't come in via the front door.

As we passed the rose garden, I stopped. Someone was standing near the ballroom doors, someone tall and thin with fox-red hair. Unfortunately, with Simon in the knowe, there was no way for me to know for sure whether that meant safety or danger. Tybalt moved to stand beside me again. We had been spotted. There was no sense in trying to tailor the first impression when it was no longer ours to make.

The figure started toward us. We held our ground. As he drew closer, I could see that yes, he was definitely one of the Torquill brothers; there might be two people who shared that face, but thankfully, there weren't more. He was wearing a charcoal-colored vest over a white shirt, and he looked worried. At this point, that, too, could have indicated either one of them.

Then he took one more step, and the familiar scent of dogwood flowers and daffodil caressed my nose, bidding me to be calm. I relaxed. “Sylvester.”

“October,” he replied, sounding puzzled. “What are you doing here? You could have been hurt—”

“Your wards have never been set to keep me out, and coming through the woods was easier than using the mortal world, under the circumstances,” I said. “We used the Shadow Roads to get here.”

He blinked. “From San Francisco? That's too dangerous.” His gaze flicked to Tybalt. “I would have trusted some of you to have more sense than that.”

“I'm going to ignore the part where you just implied that you don't expect
me
to have common sense, and cut straight to asking if we can come in,” I said. “It's cold out here, and I can't really feel my feet anymore. I'd like to get warm and tell you why we came, if that's okay.”

“Your timing is excellent,” he said. “I was just about to call you.”

I hesitated, looking at him. Finally, as my stomach sank, I asked, “Do you have company?”

“Yes,” he said. “It's a miracle. October, Evening Winterrose is returned to us. She's alive.”

I closed my eyes.
Fuck.
“You know,” I said, in as level a tone as I could manage, “that's what I was afraid you were going to say.”

S
YLVESTER WAS
Daoine Sidhe. If the feeling of dreamy inevitability Quentin had described experiencing in Evening's presence was an artifact of interacting with your First and not the result of some spell Evening had cast on King Aethlin and his Court, I needed to choose my next words carefully.

Naturally, I didn't do that.

“She's dangerous and you need to get her out of here,” I said bluntly.

“What?” Sylvester frowned. I looked back at him, trying not to shiver. “October, I'm afraid you may be confused. Evening Winterrose, former Countess of Goldengreen,
your friend
, is here. She's alive. It's a miracle.”

“It's a miracle that nearly got us all killed a few hours ago,” I said. “She tried to take back Goldengreen. She closed the wards, and we got slapped off the Shadow Roads into the ocean. We could have died. One of Lily's former handmaids
did
die when Evening started a fight inside the knowe. Are you following me yet? She's dangerous.” I didn't tell him she was the one who'd paid for the abduction of Luna and Rayseline. I was going to have to sooner or later, but this didn't seem like the time. Not when Evening was already in the building. Either he'd call me a liar, or worse, he'd attack her—and I didn't want to see what would happen if he went up against his own First.

Sylvester's frown deepened. “This sounds like a terrible misunderstanding. All of you are shivering—you must be freezing.”

“I'm not,” said Quentin.

“Let's get you inside and have Jin bring you some warm clothes,” said Sylvester, ignoring Quentin completely. “Once you're dry, you can meet us in the receiving hall, and you and Evening can work out whatever issues you're having. I understand her return is probably confusing for you, but, October, just think. This is a miracle. We have been blessed by the oak, ash, and thorn this day, for one of our own has resumed her dancing.”

I glanced at Tybalt, who answered me with a small shake of his head. Whatever we did next was my call. Swell. I love being the person who decides whether or not we let the potential for dry socks lead us to our certain doom. “Oh, goodie,” I said, and stepped past Sylvester, through the open door into the knowe.

Shadowed Hills has always been famed for its roses. Luna's mourning had turned the grounds to winter outside the doors. The end result made the entire knowe smell of something very close to Evening's magic, a mixture of roses and snow that put my nerves instantly on edge. I may be better at detecting individual magical signatures than most people, but even I can't smell a single flower through an entire garden of identical blooms.

Tybalt, Quentin, and Raj followed me inside, with Sylvester bringing up the rear. I studied his face as he shut the door, trying to make my scrutiny as unobtrusive as ever. His eyes were somewhat unfocused, but that could have been a function of concern mingling with the twin surprises of having Evening show up in his knowe and the rest of us appear in his backyard.

Wait. “How did you know we were here?” I asked. “I didn't call.”

“If you'll wait here, I'll get Jin for you,” he said, and walked away, leaving the four of us alone in the hall.

Raj was the first to say what we were all thinking: “I don't like this, and I think we should leave as quickly as possible.”

“That will be difficult, since I am not presently capable of taking October through the shadows, and I doubt you are any more recovered than I,” said Tybalt, giving his nephew a hard look. Raj flushed with embarrassment and looked away. Tybalt turned to me. “I am afraid, however, that we are not safe here.”

“Yeah, I got that. I was expecting Simon. I wasn't expecting this.” I looked at the closed door to the backyard and shivered. Going back out in the cold wasn't a great idea, either. It might get us away from Evening, but it also might result in our freezing to death. We needed to find another option. “Hey, Quentin?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a route through the servants' halls from here to Sir Etienne's quarters?” When all else fails, get someone else involved.

Quentin frowned, turning to look at the smooth hardwood walls around us. There were no visible doorways or tricks in the molding. He was silent for long enough that I was about to say we needed to move when relief washed over his expression and he walked forward three steps, tapping a complicated pattern on a perfectly normal patch of wall . . . which promptly slid open, revealing one of the narrow servants' halls that riddled Shadowed Hills like worms eating through an apple.

“This way,” he said.

“You heard him,” I said. “Let's move.”

I waited for Tybalt and Raj to follow Quentin through the opening before I turned and pulled the back door open, wedging it in place with a chunk of hard-packed snow. By the time Sylvester returned, with or without Jin, the hallway would be empty again, and the wind blowing outside would hopefully confuse our footprints enough to make it hard to tell whether or not we had actually fled the knowe.

Tybalt gave me an approving look as I finally stepped through the opening in the wall. “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” he said, voice low and underscored with a purring thrum that made my ears redden.

“Flirt later, flee now,” recommended Quentin, as he closed the door in the wall. It fit seamlessly back into place. Anyone who didn't know where the openings to the servants' halls were hidden would have a great deal of trouble finding us.

“Who taught you to talk to your elders like that?” I asked.

“You did,” said Quentin.

“Oh, right.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turning on the screen to provide us with a little bit of light as we made our way along the passage. Purebloods can see in the dark, but total darkness isn't exactly friendly to my changeling vision. I held the phone up in front of me, ignoring Tybalt's amused smirk, and elbowed Quentin gently in the side. “Lead the way.”

We traveled through the hallways of Shadowed Hills in silence, only my still-waterlogged sneakers making any sound at all. I stepped as carefully as I could, until the squishing noises coupled with the feeling of my toes in wet socks got to be too much for me and I took both my shoes and socks off, carrying them in one hand as we continued into the dark.

“This should be it,” said Quentin finally, stopping in front of a section of wall that looked like all the rest. He tapped the molding twice, twisted something I would have sworn was a carving and hence untwistable, and pushed aside the panel that came loose. The opening was covered by a tapestry, making it impossible to see what was on the other side. He started to step through. I motioned for him to stay where he was and stepped through instead.

It was the right decision. As soon as I pushed the tapestry aside, a hand grabbed my throat and slammed me backward against the wall. I reacted on instinct, catching the wrist that held me and bending it sharply to the side. “Etienne! Let go! It's me!”

Etienne blinked, the snarl on his face fading into simple puzzlement. He didn't let go of my throat. I didn't let go of his wrist. It wasn't a fair exchange; I wasn't cutting off his airflow. “October?”

“Yes! It's me! Let go!” The conversation was starting to feel repetitive. I heard the tapestry rustle as someone followed me out—probably Tybalt, given that I was obviously in trouble. Hurriedly, I added, “If you don't believe me, you're going to in a second, because Tybalt's behind me, and he's going to introduce you to your own lungs if you keep doing this.”

“October.” Etienne let me go. I returned the favor, and he stepped back, watching warily as I rubbed my throat and Tybalt emerged from behind the tapestry. “What are the two of you doing here? It's not safe.”

“No shit,” I said. “And it's not just the two of us. We have our mini-mes along for the ride.”

“Hi,” said Quentin, poking his head out from behind the tapestry. Raj's head followed a second later. He didn't say anything, just looked Etienne up and down before turning dismissively away to study the chamber in which we were all now standing.

I wanted to do the same—I don't like not knowing where I am—but felt that it was important I keep my eyes on Etienne, who had, after all, replaced the customary “hello” with an attempted strangulation. He was staring at the boys now, his copper eyes wide and startled. Then he turned to me, and demanded, “Are you a fool? Why would you bring them here?”

“Uh, because this is where my liege is, and I wanted to warn Sylvester that Evening Winterrose wasn't dead—please tell me that's why you're so upset, and that we don't have something
else
to deal with today, because honestly, I am about at my ‘threats with no clear solution' limit.” I took my eyes off Etienne to check out the room around us, belatedly realizing that we might not be alone. It was a pleasant-looking sitting room, with large windows that were currently closed against the snow falling outside. A half-knitted blanket was thrown over a chaise longue, apparently abandoned in a hurry. “Where are Bridget and Chelsea?”

“I suggested they might remove themselves to someplace deeper within our quarters while I investigated the sounds coming from the walls,” said Etienne stiffly.

“That would be me, since the people I was with are much better at stealth,” I said. “You didn't answer my question. Why are you upset?”

“Because a dead woman has claimed this knowe, and I have no powers with which to fight her off,” he said. “I will defend my fiancée and child to the death, but I cannot protect my liege if he doesn't want to be protected.”

“Evening?” I asked. Etienne looked at me like I was stupid. “I'm serious. I need to know, for sure, that we're talking about the same dead woman. I've given up on dismissing anything as impossible.”

He sighed. “Yes. The Countess Winterrose arrived an hour or so ago. She just . . . she just walked in, like the wards weren't there at all. The Duke went to meet her, as did I, and Grianne, and a host of others.”

“And?”

“And?” He looked at me bleakly. “All of them agreed immediately that her return was miraculous, and that she was somehow entitled to the hospitality of the Duchy, even though she had entered uninvited, even though she made no explanation of what had happened to her. Men and women I have respected for decades, suddenly slavering like striplings seeking a crumb of praise.”

“But not you,” I said slowly.

“No, not me,” he said. “I moved to the back of the group—no one seemed to see me go—and when I had the opportunity, I slipped away, back to my quarters, and locked the doors. I did not think,” he added, making a sour face, “to lock the servants' doors. I am grateful for the reminder, even as I must ask you all to leave.”

“What?” I blinked at him. “Why?”

Etienne looked at me like I had said something even more stupid than usual. “It is not
safe
here, October,” he said. “But more, if you are here, there is a good chance someone will come looking for you.”

“We knew it wasn't safe here before we came. I called before. Simon answered the phone. I'm guessing he came in with Evening, and then slipped away while everyone was distracted by her miraculous return.”

Etienne stared at me, apparently too shocked to speak. Oh, he was going to love what I had to say next.

“As for someone coming looking for us, we left a false trail and we took the servants' tunnels. Sylvester will hopefully think we snuck out the back door. Besides which, we're cold and exhausted, and I'm not going to run off and leave Sylvester under some should-be-dead lady's spell. Even if she
was
an ally of mine, once upon a time.” I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain the next part of the situation. Finally, I settled for just blurting it out. “Also, she's the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn. I'm almost certain. Ninety percent certain.”

Etienne blinked.

“Let them in, Etienne,” said a female voice from the door at the back of the room. It had a faint Irish accent. I leaned around Etienne to see its source: Bridget Ames, his mortal lover and soon-to-be wife. She offered me a wan smile. “Hello, October. I think we can manage a few dry sweaters, if that's all that you need.”

“Socks would be great, too,” I said, holding up my soggy shoes. “I feel like I'm going to lose a toe.”

“I'll see what we can do,” she said, beckoning for us to follow as she turned and walked back through the door in the far wall, presumably heading deeper into the living quarters she shared with Etienne and Chelsea. I glanced to Etienne to see what he wanted us to do.

He sighed, shaking his head—but his fondness for her was unmistakable. There was a light in his eyes that I'd never seen before Bridget and Chelsea came to live with him, and it infused his voice as he said, “You've done it now. There's no way she'll let you leave until she's sure you're protected from the elements. Couldn't you have reminded her that you heal at a ludicrous pace, and left before you risked Sylvester's anger?”