Late Eclipses od-4 Page 3
I felt my cheeks go red.
Growing up around the Daoine Sidhe left me severely desensitized to “pretty.” Pretty is cheap in Faerie. Beauty is even cheaper. Tybalt has more than beauty. He has … presence. He can catch and hold a room without even seeming to try.
I’d have an easier time ignoring him if he’d stopped at pretty.
Ironically, the things about him that appeal to me are the ones that make most non-Cait Sidhe purebloods view him as “common” or “savage.” His face is eyecatching but too strong for most fae tastes; his hair is brown with tabby-streaks of black, cut practically short to display the subtle points of his ears. His canines are a bit too sharp, more cat than man no matter what shape he’s in.
Qualifiers aside, Tybalt’s one of those people who’d look good in a burlap sack. He could probably make burlap the hot new thing, and what he was wearing that night was a long way from burlap. Skintight brown suede pants and a crisply-cut white linen shirt made him look like a modern interpretation of a Victorian gentleman. His boots and vest were darker brown leather and fit just as tightly. I wasn’t sure he could breathe in that outfit. A tiny, traitorous corner of my mind whispered that the effect was worth losing a little oxygen.
I batted the thought forcibly away. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“Tonight’s festivities sounded like fun,” he said. “I like fun.” Something in his eyes conflicted with his smile, cautioning me not to dismiss him.
“Fun,” I echoed.
“Indeed.” Eyes locked on mine, he added, “For someone, anyway.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
Tybalt and I have always had what’s politely called a “strange” relationship. He used to hate me on general principles: I was half-human, and I annoyed him, and that was enough. Hate somehow gave way to grudging respect … and then things got really strange. Lingeringlooks-and-cold-showers strange, at least on my side. Not that it can ever go anywhere. Tybalt’s a King of Cats, and I’m, well, me.
Our current pattern looked a lot like our old one, from the outside. He smiled more than he used to; I smiled back more than was necessarily wise. There was just one problem: Tybalt kept insisting someone was lying to me about something major enough that I wouldn’t believe it unless I figured it out for myself. And he was refusing to get any closer until I knew what it was.
The man can be insufferable when he wants to. Just like every other cat I’ve ever met.
He offered his arm with perfect courtly grace. “The Lady of the Mists will be calling Court soon.” He wouldn’t call her “Queen,” but he was smart enough to be polite inside her domain. “May I stand as your escort?”
I glanced sharply at him, looking for any trace of mockery. It wasn’t there. Just the smile, and the guarded caution.
“I guess so,” I said, and slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow.
His smile grew, briefly chasing the caution from his eyes. “I know you object to others choosing your attire, but the gown suits you. You should wear red more often.” My cheeks burned. He laughed. “Not quite what I meant, but the compliment stands.” Standing straight and proper, like the gentleman his clothes proclaimed he was, he turned to lead me to the front of the room. I watched him as we walked, trying to figure out what he was up to. His expression didn’t offer any clues.
Tybalt pulled his arm away when we reached the edge of the crowd, and the bow he offered wasn’t mocking in the least. I offered a curtsy in automatic response, my blush rising once more. He glanced to the side while I was straightening from my curtsy, and for a moment, I thought his cheeks were as red as mine. Just a trick of the light; when he turned back toward me, he was as composed as ever.
“You’ll have a better view from here,” he said.
“Uh, right.” I frowned. “Tybalt, what are you up to?”
“Oh, no,” he said, waving a finger as he stepped closer. “Don’t question your betters. It’s not attractive.”
That was the Tybalt I knew. “Right,” I said. “You’re here to piss me off.”
“You seem to view it as one of my strengths, and I like playing to my strengths.” Suddenly serious, he stepped toward me again, stopping well within what I considered my personal space. Dropping his voice to a near-whisper, he said, “The Lady of the Mists is planning something. Take care, little fish; she has no love for you.”
“Tybalt—”
“I need to leave you with anger on both sides. I’d rather she had no cause to think us friends.” His smile dimmed, turning wry and sincere at the same time. “You’ll do better if you keep me in reserve.”
I blinked. The Queen was plotting against me? It wasn’t totally surprising—I couldn’t stay off her radar forever. Lacking better instructions from my brain, my mouth seized on the point that seemed the strangest, asking, “We’re friends?”
Tybalt’s laughter was so soft it would have been inaudible if I hadn’t been close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin and smell the faint pennyroyal undertones of his magic. “When I can bear your company. And in the interests of friendship, I hope you’ll forgive me what I’m about to do.”
“Forgive you wha—”
My sentence was cut off as he clamped his mouth over mine, kissing me deeply.
Well. That was new.
THREE
TYBALT’S HAND SOMEHOW FOUND ITS WAY to my hip, giving me something to brace myself against. That was considerate of him, since my knees were shaking so hard I could barely stay upright. Every nerve I had was on fire. The fact that we were standing in the middle of the Queen’s Court seemed utterly inconsequential. So did the fact that we were surrounded by courtiers, even though part of me was sure I’d regret that later. Most of me was busy kissing Tybalt, and as long as he was kissing me back, I was going by majority rule.
On the few occasions when I’d considered what it might be like to kiss Tybalt, I always assumed he’d be pushy, the kind of man who makes it clear that he’s entirely in charge and you’d better just go along with things. This kiss wasn’t anything like I’d imagined. It was firm, yes, and he was definitely making a case for its continuation … but it was also soft, and a lot more considerate than I would have expected. I’m not sure what that says about me.
Tybalt’s free hand skated up my back to the bare skin between my shoulders. I leaned into him, deepening the kiss. His lips tasted like pennyroyal. His hand slid still farther up, finally pausing on my shoulder.
Then he shoved me away.
I staggered back, my shocked stare meeting his icy, familiar sneer. In a tightly controlled voice pitched loud enough for everyone around us to hear, he said, “There. Our accounts are settled. Good evening, Sir Daye.” He turned on his heel and stalked off into the crowd before I could recover enough to ask what the hell he was talking about.
The courtiers parted to let him pass, closing the gap behind him. The less considerate ones smirked in my direction, their expressions telegraphing the belief that I was getting just what I deserved.
My instincts said to stay put until my knees stopped shaking, while the lessons on courtly behavior Devin and Sylvester worked so hard to drill through my thick skull told me that was the worst thing I could do. I straightened my shoulders, trying to emulate my mother’s default expression of superior unconcern as I beat a decorous but hasty retreat to the safety of the nearest pillar. Seeing that I wasn’t going to provide further entertainment, the crowd turned away, leaving me free to fade into the shadows. I sagged against the wall, rubbing my forehead as I waited for my heart to stop pounding. Life was a lot simpler when Tybalt just sniped at me all the time.
“Guy troubles?” asked May, walking up and leaning next to me.
I eyed her. “Did you miss what just happened?”
“Nope, and it’s about time,” she said, with disturbing relish. “I caught the whole thing. Is he a good kisser? I know you’ve wondered.”
“May!”
“What? I’m just aski
ng. I mean, sure, maybe it’s not important that Tybalt kissed you. And I’m sure it doesn’t matter that he’s leaving, and you look like someone stole your puppy.” She paused. “Maybe ‘stole your kitten’ would be a better comparison.”
“Can we not have this conversation?”
“Okay,” said May, amiably. “It’s no skin off my nose if you want to ignore the hottie making ‘pick me up and take me home’ eyes at you.”
“It was just a ploy.” A ploy that felt an awful lot like a kiss. There was no way he’d ever kiss me like that and mean it, but for a moment, it felt like …
“You’re not that dense. You have to know he digs you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Would I lie to you?” She grinned. “Watching the two of you is fun, in a sick, sad, voyeuristic sort of way.”
“Get a life.”
“I’ve got yours. Now come on. Don’t you want to get snuggly with him?”
I didn’t have to find a way to answer that. The scent of rowan sliced through the air, washing away all traces of lesser magic and casting an anticipatory hush over the Court. My shoulders locked with a whole new type of tension.
“Whoa,” said May.
I turned toward the dais at the head of the room, and stared.
The Queen had made some changes to her image. When I brought her the hope chest Evening Winterrose died to protect, the Queen was an ethereal siren, as elegant and regal as a Tolkien wet dream. Now she looked like the bastard daughter of Titania and Alice Cooper. Kohl ringed her eyes, blue lipstick coated her lips, and her formerly floor-length ivory hair was chopped in a ragged bob, streaked with black and vivid blue. She was wearing fishnet stockings, a ripped white top, and a black leather miniskirt too short to be decent. But it was her. There was no mistaking the moonstruck madness in her sea-foam eyes.
She studied the room before dropping onto the throne, bracing her elbow on the armrest and propping her chin on her knuckles. She looked as casual as a teenager getting ready to settle in for an evening of mindless television. Only this “teenager” was the most powerful Faerie monarch in Northern California. She waved a hand, still casual, and said, “The Court of the Mists is now in session.”
That seemed to be all the fanfare we were going to get. Courtiers stepped forward and started reading from scrolls as they made proclamations, clarified prior judgments, and generally made a lot of noise about nothing. The Queen didn’t say a word. She just sat there, studying her black-enameled fingernails.
This went on for about an hour, long enough for Danny to find us, May to start sniping in a whisper about the Queen’s fashion sense, and me to start relaxing. The Queen looked up, almost as if she’d sensed my guard beginning to drop, and said, “Will Sir October Daye of the Kingdom of the Mists, Knight of Lost Words, daughter of Amandine of Faerie, oath-sworn to Duke Sylvester Torquill, please stand forth?”
She was using my full title, something that has never, in my experience, been a good sign. I schooled my face into a neutral expression as I stepped away from the pillar and walked through the silent crowd, finally stopping in front of the dais.
The Queen’s gaze stayed on me throughout my approach, her own expression cool and calculating. I dropped into a deep curtsy, holding the position until she said, “You may rise.”
I straightened, keeping my eyes focused on the floor. I never look at the Queen when I can help it. I have enough mortal blood in me to make her type of inhuman beauty dangerous.
“We have summoned you to discuss your recent actions.” Each word was cold and precise as cut crystal. “Raise your head, if you please.”
I winced, looking up. The sight of her face was just shy of physically painful. “My actions, Highness?”
“Yes, October.” She sat up and crossed her legs languidly. “Do you remember the last time you stood before me in this Court?”
That would be the time she’d thrown me out for daring to tell her that Evening was dead. Oh, yeah. I remembered. “Yes, Highness.”
“You returned the hope chest which had been in the keeping of the Lady Goldengreen before her … departure.” She pursed her lips. Most purebloods consider it a faux pas to admit that they can actually die. “You haven’t been to see me since then. I must wonder why.”
“I’ve been busy, Highness.”
“So you have. The Countess O’Leary tells me you spent some time in her lands, and brought the efforts of—” again the moue of disapproval “—a dissident to an end, preventing a possible war.”
“Yes, Highness,” I said. The Countess O’Leary in question was April, not January; that was one more murder the Queen wasn’t mentioning. I wasn’t sure where she was going with all of this, but it wasn’t helping my nerves.
“It pleases me to know your memory remains excellent,” she said dryly. A nervous giggle rose from the crowd, stopping when her gaze flicked in its direction. Looking back to me, she said, “I am informed you are the reason Blind Michael’s Hunt has vanished. Is this true?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Excellent.” She leaned back in her throne. “There have been many requests for the custodianship of Goldengreen since the departure of the Countess Winterrose. Some of the petitioners were quite compelling in their arguments.”
I frowned, not sure I liked where this was going. “Highness?”
“The decision was complicated by the fact that the Countess left no heir, placing the burden of choosing a proper custodian on my shoulders.” Her smile was as triumphant as it was bitter. “By my power as Queen of the Mists, Regent of these Western Lands, I name you Countess of Goldengreen. Welcome to the peerage, Lady Daye.”
The Court erupted in excited whispers. I stared at her, too stunned to speak. Changelings don’t inherit titles, not even from their parents. What was she trying to pull?
The Queen uncrossed her legs and stood, still smiling. “This Court is closed. If any still have petitions, they will be heard next week.”
“Highness, wait—” I began.
“Good night, Lady Daye. Your mother must be so proud.” The smell of rowan filled the air as a thick mist rose around her. When it cleared again, she was gone.
Great. Just great.
The Court kept whispering as I walked back to May and Danny. More than a few hostile looks were shot in my direction. Just what I needed: more enemies. At least May and Danny didn’t look angry. Surprised and confused, yes, but not angry. I slumped against the pillar between them, putting a hand over my face. “Oberon’s hairy balls.”
“Damn,” said May.
“Yeah,” I said. “Damn.”
“I mean damn.”
“I think she gets the point, May,” said Danny. One huge hand settled gently on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“I have no idea,” I said, resisting the urge to break into hysterical laughter. It seemed like the only suitable response to the situation. “She set me up.”
“Can’t you get out of it?” demanded May.
“I don’t think so.”
“That sucks.”
I sighed. “Tell me about it.”
“October!” Tybalt came shoving through the crowd toward us. There was no amusement or false mockery in his voice now. His face was composed, but his pupils were narrowed to hairline slits that telegraphed his agitation. “A word, if I may.”
“Tybalt? What’s wrong?” I stepped forward before remembering the way he’d kissed me. Danny and May clearly hadn’t forgotten, because they moved to flank me, both watching him carefully. “I thought your little show was so people wouldn’t think we were willing to be seen together in public. Or did I miss something?”
“Things have changed. We have to talk.” He grabbed my wrist, starting to pull me toward him. “Come with me as quietly as you can. I don’t think you fully understand what’s just happened.”
I froze, looking at his hand. “You might want to let go of me now.”
“Toby, you don’t—”
“Please.” He squeezed my wrist before releasing it. He didn’t step back. Neither did I. “You need to come with me. This is a trap. You have to trust—”
A commotion spread through the crowd to our left, distracting us both at practically the same time. Tybalt stepped forward, half-shielding me from whatever was coming. “What’s going on?” asked May, sounding more interested than concerned.
Danny and Tybalt exchanged a glance, briefly united by dismay. My Fetch got my memories, but she didn’t get the instinct for trouble to go with them, and I didn’t know how far her newly-demonstrated ability to sense danger extended. Tybalt moved again, this time putting himself between May and the commotion. I shot him a grateful look, which he answered with a nod.
“Any idea what this is?” asked Danny.
“Not yet, but I’m really wishing I wasn’t unarmed right now,” I muttered. I was giving serious thought to grabbing May and heading for the door when Marcia—the quarter-blood changeling who served as a handmaid in the Tea Gardens—shoved her way through, followed by a Tylwyth Teg man in conservative, incongruously modern clothes. He looked exhausted.
“Toby!” Marcia wailed, almost knocking Tybalt over as she lunged to grab my arm. Her eyes were wide and glassy within their rings of faerie ointment. A necessary cosmetic, at least for Marcia; her blood’s too thin to let her see most of Faerie without it.
“Marcia?” I put my hand over hers. “What’s wrong?”
“You have to come,” she babbled. “You have to come right now, please—”
“What is it? Calm down and tell me.”
She froze, eyes filling with tears, and whispered, “It’s Lily. She’s sick, Toby, she’s really sick, and we don’t know what to do.”
The world came to a sudden crashing halt. “Lily’s sick?”
Lily was Marcia’s liege, the Lady of the Tea Gardens—and an Undine. The Undine are biologically weird, even for Faerie, since their bodies are made entirely of water. Water doesn’t understand illness. It can get polluted, but it can’t get sick. Which meant that if Marcia was right, something was terribly wrong.