Chimes at Midnight Read online

  The Queen cocked her head to the side, saying something I didn’t hear. I smiled bitterly. She frowned. Apparently, that wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting.

  “You started it,” I said, and charged.

  The Queen stared at me for a few precious seconds, too stunned to sing her next command. Then she opened her mouth, and the people around her moved.

  Good. That was what I’d been hoping for. The Queen could command my allies, but she couldn’t grant them any free will—not if she wanted to keep her hold on them. That meant they were limited to the tactics she could think up. Sylvester had a brilliant military mind. He’d won his Duchy fairly. And now he was marching toward me like a windup soldier, sword raised, ready to start hacking.

  At the moment, he wasn’t my primary concern. That honor went to Danny, who could crush me if he managed to get hold of me. I’d heal, but it would hurt like hell, and it would slow me down until my bones managed to set. Keeping away from him was my first priority. Getting to Arden was my second. Grianne reached me first. She drew her sword and swung for me with none of her normal grace. I ducked under the swing, letting her momentum carry her into Sylvester’s path. The two collided. I kept running.

  Danny was charging toward me, the floor shaking with every step he took. On the plus side, this was causing the Queen’s other puppets to scatter in order to avoid him, which kept them from forming a shield wall between me and her. At the same time, this meant there was nothing between me and the homicidal Bridge Troll.

  I turned and ran. “I hate this I hate this I hate this,” I chanted under my breath. Madden lunged out of nowhere, his teeth bared in a snarl. I grabbed Melly’s discarded broom from the floor, sparing a half-second’s thought for where Melly herself might be, and slammed the point of the handle into his exposed belly. He yelped and fell back. I kicked him hard in the muzzle, and he went down. Guilt swept over me. I was going to be apologizing for this fight for a while.

  But I was almost there. Arden was right—

  Tybalt. Standing in front of me, his incisors showing and his hands curled into claws as. I skidded to a stop. I couldn’t hear a damn thing, but I was certain he was snarling, that low, almost subsonic sound that served as the last warning before a Cait Sidhe attacked.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I whispered.

  He leapt.

  TWENTY-NINE

  THERE WAS NO WAY FOR ME to get out of the way once Tybalt was in motion; Cait Sidhe are almost too fast to see when they pounce. I had a split second to decide what I was going to do—and in that split second, I lowered both my knife and my stolen dagger, letting him crash into me. His claws found my neck, ripping through skin and muscle as if they were paper. Only the fact that I was slightly turned kept him from ripping my throat out.

  I dropped the dagger, aware that I was mirroring May the way she’d always mirrored me, and clapped a hand over the wound. There was no way to stop the gushing blood, and so I didn’t try. Instead, I took a staggering step forward, trying to look like I was about to collapse. It wasn’t hard. With the amount of blood that I was losing, even my body was having trouble putting itself back together.

  I could feel the flesh growing back beneath my fingers. I kept my hand clamped down, keeping the Queen from seeing my recovery. She didn’t know how fast I healed. Why should she? I was her little changeling enemy, and I was no threat, especially not now, wounded, still staggering toward her like there was a damn thing left for me to accomplish.

  Arden hadn’t moved. I reached out with the hand that held my knife, trying to make the motion look like a supplication. And then, before the Queen could react, I sliced a narrow cut across Arden’s shoulder, grabbed her, and pressed my lips to the wound.

  Using Nolan’s magic while he was asleep had been hard. Using Arden’s while she was enthralled was a cakewalk by comparison. I had enough time to see the Queen start to rise, an expression of shock and fury on her face, before I was falling into the hole I’d forced Arden to open, hauling the Princess with me—

  —and landed on my ass, Arden still clasped firmly in my arms. She began to struggle almost immediately. I didn’t let her go, instead looking around to try and figure out where we were.

  The fight was nowhere to be seen. I was sitting in the middle of a freshly-polished hardwood floor. There was a four-poster bed nearby, carved to match the wardrobe I’d seen in Arden and Nolan’s basement home. Arden’s flailing nearly caught me in the chin. I let her go, rolling to my feet, and raised a hand to check the status of my wounded throat. It didn’t feel pretty, but at least it felt nearly intact.

  Arden was shouting something. I shook my head. “I can’t hear you, I have sap in my ears.” Digging it out with bloody fingers was no easy matter, but I managed.

  “—that bitch, she just started singing and we were all putty in her hands,” Arden snarled.

  “That’s what Sirens do,” I said. My voice sounded strained. Tybalt’s claws must have nicked my vocal cords. That said something truly disturbing about how deep they’d gone. “She’s part Siren.”

  Arden paused, eyes going wide. “Oh, sweet Titania, your sister . . .”

  “Will be fine. May can’t be killed, remember? She’s probably totally recovered by now.” I wasn’t as sure of that as I was trying to sound. I’d never known her not to have a pulse before. “We can’t worry about her now. I have Nolan, and he’s safe, but we have to stop the Queen. Can you help me?”

  “That depends on whether or not we’re letting you leave here breathing,” said a sweet, familiar voice behind me. I turned. Melly and Ormond were standing there, armed with a mop and a broadsword respectively.

  It says something about Hobs that I was more worried about the mop. “You got away!”

  Melly’s eyes widened. “October, your throat.”

  Only Ormond remained completely calm. “Prove it’s you.”

  “I’m the one who stole all the peppermint brownies before the Midwinter Festival,” I said, without hesitation.

  “Which year?” Ormond shot back.

  “Uh, every year.”

  To my relief, he chuckled and lowered his sword. Melly did the same with her mop. “You are you. But October, your throat . . .”

  “The Queen seized control of everyone else.” I frowned. “Why didn’t she get the two of you?”

  “I ran when I heard the singing start, and I dragged young Melly with me,” said Ormond. “We’re deep enough into the knowe that she can’t reach us here, and we cleared the branches off as many of the remaining booby-traps as we could.”

  “So anyone trying to follow won’t know where they are,” I said. “Slick.” Also damned dangerous: the Queen was controlling our friends and allies. If she controlled them into one of Oleander’s traps, they’d probably wind up dead.

  “I’m really sorry to interrupt this reunion, but we need to be reclaiming my knowe and my Kingdom right about now,” said Arden. “October. What is it that you wanted me to do?”

  “We need to block your ears with something,” I said, and held up my own ball of now-bloody sap.

  “We have sealing wax,” said Melly.

  “Good, that should work even better than the sap I scraped off the trees outside.” I shook my head, fighting the urge to rub my throat, which itched as it healed. “Once you’re safely unable to hear, I need you to gate me back into the receiving hall. Do you think you can land us behind the throne?”

  “Why? You’re not going to kill her, are you?” Her mismatched eyes narrowed. “Because that would be too easy, after what she’s done.”

  It was comforting to know that that was her only argument. “No, and I promise, what I am going to do isn’t very nice.”

  Melly stepped toward Arden, bobbing a seemingly automatic curtsy as she held out a small tin of sealing wax. “For milady.”

  “Cool,” said Arden, smiling her thanks as she dug out a ball of wax and stuffed it into her ears.

  “Ready?” I ask
ed, tucking the sap back into my own ears.

  Arden looked at me uncomprehendingly.

  “At least I know she can’t hear me,” I muttered, before flashing an exaggerated double thumbs-up at her.

  This time, Arden nodded her understanding and began to transcribe a circle in the air. Melly caught my arm as I started forward.

  “Be careful?” she mouthed, voice muffled by the sap.

  “I’ll try,” I said, and kept going. The smell of Arden’s magic rose around us, and together, she and I stepped through the gate.

  Her aim was good: we appeared behind the throne, where the Queen was standing, gesturing wildly at her thralls as her mouth moved in silent instruction. May was still lying facedown on the floor. I hoped she was just playing possum, although there was no way for me to check.

  “Hey,” I snapped, stepping around the throne and grabbing the Queen by the arm. My fingers left spreading red prints on the sleeve of her gown. “Miss me?”

  The Queen turned to stare at me, moonstruck eyes gone wide with surprise and a note of genuine fear. She yelled, probably demanding someone come and save her. I ignored her, raising my other hand to my mouth and sucking the still-damp blood from the space between my thumb and forefinger. Then, before she could pull away, I pulled her close, locking my arm around her neck, and drove my knife into her shoulder.

  She held me like that once, when she was threatening my life. But she didn’t actually stab me, and she certainly wouldn’t have started kissing the wound if she had. My magic rose around us and she screamed, putting every bit of her Banshee heritage into the sound. It was loud enough that I heard her even through the sap.

  That still wasn’t loud enough to matter.

  The only way to break a Siren’s spell was to remove the Siren. There were two ways I could do that. I could break Oberon’s Law, and kill her . . . or I could pull the Siren out of her and set them all free. It seemed like a terrible choice to make for someone else. She hadn’t left me any other options. Reaching deep into her blood, I found the pieces of her heritage, the places where Banshee and Siren and Sea Wight collided. And I began to work.

  The threads were so tangled that it was almost impossible to find the place where one ended and the next began. There was more Sea Wight than anything else, and so I started with that, pulling and stretching the shape of it as I pulled the Siren away. There was Banshee in the mix, and I hesitated. Removing that would have made her harmless . . . but it would have taken this from a necessary invasion to a violation. I left her Banshee blood intact, and kept working.

  The Queen screamed, struggling against me. I’d done this twice before, but both times, my subjects had been willing. The Queen was fighting me, in every sense of the word. That didn’t matter. That couldn’t matter. Now that I’d started, I had to win. I still felt bad for her. Having your blood changed is always painful.

  The last threads of Siren were tangled deep. I took a breath, bracing myself, and got a mouthful of her blood—something I’d been trying to avoid, even as I mingled her blood with mine.

  She’ll kill me when she knows; she’ll kill me, and this changeling bitch won’t even care . . .

  I forced the veil of her thoughts aside, grabbed the last threads, and pulled. The fight went out of her; the Queen went limp in my arms. She felt smaller somehow, frailer. I raised my head, spitting to try to clear away any traces of her blood before I could be hit with another wave of her memories. Then I looked around the room.

  Everyone was staring at me.

  “What?” I dug the sap out of one ear with my free hand. “Haven’t you ever seen that trick before?” I spat again. “Anybody have any mouthwash?”

  “October . . .” Tybalt approached cautiously, looking like he expected me to cut and run at any second. I swallowed back a sudden twinge of fear, remembering his claws at my throat.

  “Hey. Take her, will you?” I pushed the unconscious Queen toward him. He caught her easily, hoisting her onto the throne. My assessment had been correct: it looked like she’d lost at least a foot in height, becoming slimmer and even paler, impossible as that seemed. What little color she’d had must have come from the Siren side of the family. “Has anybody checked on May?”

  “Jin is with her now,” said Tybalt. “Toby . . .”

  “Good.” I turned to scan the room. Everyone seemed to be in one piece—mostly, anyway. “Can you go and get Lowri and Nolan? I think Arden’s going to want to see her brother.”

  “All right,” said Tybalt, sounding defeated.

  I glanced back to watch him walk away. And then I moved toward Arden, who was still standing behind the throne, looking stunned. “She violated Oberon’s Law, even if it didn’t stick,” I said. “She attacked you in your home.”

  “What did you do to her?” she asked.

  “I made her stop.” I shrugged. “It’s what my line is good for. We’re like hope chests with thumbs.”

  Arden started to respond, but stopped as she looked past me, eyes widening. “Nolan!” she cried, and took off running. I turned. Tybalt was dragging the Queen’s guards who had been at the door. Lowri was carrying Nolan, her hooves slipping in the pools of blood that covered the floor. The receiving room looked like a slaughterhouse. Between me and May, we’d basically bled our way into a private abattoir.

  This was my life. One compulsion-induced torn throat didn’t change that. I ran after Arden, veering off at the last moment to bring myself into collision with Tybalt, rather than with Lowri and Nolan. Tybalt blinked at me, clearly startled. There was a moment of hesitation, a shadowed fear in his eyes. Then he beamed and dropped the guards onto the bloody floor, catching me in his arms as I flung myself at him and kissed him like the world was on the verge of ending.

  There was a lot of cleanup left to do, both literally and politically. The former Queen would have to be contained, and Arden’s claim to the throne would have to be formally recognized. I needed to find out where Tybalt had put the hope chest, and return it to the Luidaeg, who should have had it in the first place. Comfort would need to be given, questions would need to be answered, and wounds would need time to heal. But right here, right now, it was over.

  Tybalt locked his arms around my waist and kissed me again, and everything was right with the world.

  THIRTY

  MAY HUMMED AN OLD ENGLISH FOLKSONG about decapitated women as she fussed with her hair, which was streaked with white, blue, and electric green for the occasion. I eyed her before going back to checking the fit of my own spider-silk gown in the mirror. I didn’t need to bother—the dress fit like it was made for me, and always would, because that’s what spider-silk does. It was the most formal dress I owned, black with gold and silver highlights, cut straight across the chest and with a knee-length skirt. I’d worn that dress the night I first met Patrick and Dianda Lorden. It was my “try to avoid a war” dress. It seemed appropriate to the occasion.

  “You weren’t decapitated, you know,” I said. Stacy had done my hair, curling it gently before pulling it off to one side with a ribbon. Somehow, it didn’t make me look like an escapee from a 1980s teen comedy. It was elegant, simple, and perfect.

  “Close enough,” said May. Her dress was rainbow taffeta, likely rescued from a thrift store somewhere in the Mission District. It didn’t match the black velvet band she had tied around her throat. She was healing, but slowly. It would be months before she could go out in public without either fabric or illusions covering her.

  There was a knock at the door. I turned to see Sylvester standing there, in full formal regalia, looking embarrassed to have interrupted. “Are you ready?” he asked. “I’m trying to gather everyone who needs to be on time.”

  “I’ll catch up,” said May.

  “Then I’m ready.” I walked over and placed one gloved hand on Sylvester’s arm, allowing him to lead me from the room.

  A week, and all the Hobs from the old Queen’s knowe—under the ecstatic instruction of Melly and Ormond, who felt
they had first claim—had worked wonders. The Windermere knowe was a gleaming showpiece, all polished wood and glossy floors. The less public areas would need more time, but it was already suitable for habitation, which was a good thing, since Arden, Nolan, and Lowri hadn’t left since the old Queen was defeated. Lowri was serving as the head of Arden’s guard, which was made up half of defectors from the old Queen and half of recruits who had shown up looking for a place to serve.

  Faerie is like that. Create a vacuum, and we’ll rush to fill it. Just in time, too. In the confusion of our allies waking from the Siren song and our enemies figuring out whether they were still our enemies, the old Queen had escaped, aided by loyalists who had managed to sneak in, hidden amongst the more sincere defectors. We needed the extra security now if we wanted to be sure of Arden’s safety.

  We stepped out of the hall and into the receiving room, which was filled almost to capacity. Sylvester’s Court was in full attendance, as was the portion of Dianda’s that could survive on land. Tamed Lightning and Dreamer’s Glass had sent emissaries, as had many of the other smaller fiefdoms. I didn’t recognize everyone. I knew enough of them to know that some were here to curry favor, and some were here to see what they believed would be a righting of past wrongs. The Luidaeg wasn’t present. I hadn’t heard from her since she’d gone looking for Mother’s tower. One more thing to worry about; one more thing to deal with later.

  Arden was on her throne, wearing a simple green gown and chewing on her thumbnail. I let Sylvester pull me through the crowd to a spot at the front, where Quentin and Tybalt were waiting.

  “Hey, you,” I said, kissing Tybalt on the cheek. Then I ruffled Quentin’s hair. “Also, hey, you. You nervous?”