Late Eclipses od-4 Page 9

  “No. They’re not.” She took an abrupt gulp from her goblet and grimaced like she’d tasted something bitter. “Maeve’s teeth, I have no idea what convinced our steward to stock this vintage … Undine are born of water, they live by water, and they don’t get sick. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Right.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Medicine gets a lot more complicated when half the people involved aren’t technically “alive” by any normal standard of measurement. “Would your mom know anything?”

  “No, October.” Luna actually sounded amused. “Her children are plants. We drink water, we’re not made of water.”

  I lowered my hand. “I had to ask.”

  “I know. I’ll send word to Mother, see if she might have encountered this sometime in the past. It’s a long shot, but since we can’t ask my grandmother … ”

  “Yeah.” I laughed sourly. “There’s a quest for some other idiot: looking for Maeve so they can get medical details for all her descendants.” Our King and Queens have been missing for hundreds of years. Someone’s eventually going to have to go and find them. Personally, I have other problems to deal with.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Luna agreed, rubbing her forehead. “It’s a very warm night. The summers were never this warm when I was younger.”

  “If you say so,” I said. California has a reputation for strange weather patterns, but the Summerlands are in a league of their own. I’ve seen snowstorms in July and heat waves in December. “I’m going to be at the Tea Gardens for a while, and then … well, I don’t know where I’ll be after that. Check with May. If she doesn’t know where to find me, check with—check with Tybalt. He usually seems to know where I am.”

  Luna’s smile was brief and knowing. “Yes, he does go out of his way to keep tabs on you, doesn’t he? One might think he cared.”

  I groaned. “Don’t you start, too.”

  “You should be flattered. He’s a sweet man, in his way.” She paused before adding, “My daughter’s mad, you know.”

  I stared at her.

  Unheeding, Luna continued, “People think I don’t see it because I’m mad, too, in a quieter way, but madness isn’t blindness. I lived with my father. I know what she is. I can’t blame her. I still can’t help feeling she had as much choice in her madness as I had in mine, and chose the wrong path.”

  “Luna, what are you—”

  “I was afraid for her. That’s why we found her a husband. Saltmist was begging for a treaty, what with that madwoman Riordan sniffing at the borders of Roan Rathad and them so restricted from intervention, and Raysel needed an anchor.” Her eyes were far away; she wasn’t talking to me anymore. “We were trying to save her the way my parents never saved me.”

  “Luna?” I put a hand on her shoulder, jerking it away almost immediately. “You’re burning up!”

  “I don’t feel well.” She wiped her forehead again, giving me a pleading look. “Can you tell Sylvester to turn the summer down?”

  “You’re shaking.” I caught her hand. Her fingers were so hot that they felt like they might blister my skin. “Come on. We need to go inside.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, trying to tug away. “It’s just warm.”

  “You have a fever. That’s not fine.” Purebloods almost never get sick. When they do, it’s either a laughable thing, over in a matter of hours, or serious enough to be incredibly scary. Luna’s parents were Firstborn, making her blood purer than most. If she was sick, it wasn’t going to be the easy kind of illness.

  “It’s not?” she asked. The color was draining from her cheeks, leaving her pale—too pale. Whatever was happening to her couldn’t be entirely natural.

  “No. Come on, now. We need to find Sylvester.”

  “If you say so,” she said, and reeled, knocking her goblet to the terrace as she slumped toward me. The heat from her skin was intense. “Is there time for me to faint?”

  I slid an arm around her, propping her up. She turned wide, haunted eyes toward me. Threads of pink and yellow were lacing through her irises, eroding their familiar brown. “Oh, oak and ash,” I whispered.

  “Has my father heard us? Is he coming?”

  “Luna—” Luna couldn’t escape her father in the shape she was born in, and so she stole the skin of a dying Kitsune and fled to the Summerlands. I’d seen the colors bleed into her eyes twice, and both times she was under such stress that she almost reverted back to her original form.

  “I forgot my candle,” she said, in a voice as thin and strained as wind through the trees. Then she went limp, eyes closing. I staggered, trying not to drop what was suddenly a dead weight.

  “Luna?” There was no reply. I lowered her to the terrace, fumbling for a pulse. “No. No, not you, too. Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I slid her head into my lap in the vague hope that it might help her breathe, and looked frantically up and down the terrace. There was no one in either direction.

  Taking a deep breath, I tilted back my head and screamed for help.

  TEN

  I’D BEEN SHOUTING FOR A GOOD FIVE MINUTES when a tipsy Hind staggered out of the ballroom. She had a champagne flute dangling precariously from one hand, and was already starting to scold me for making too much noise when she realized what was happening in front of her. Her cloven hooves clattered as she staggered to a stop.

  The sound barely registered; it was her champagne flute shattering against the terrace floor that snapped me out of my panic, like the breaking glass somehow flipped a switch inside my brain. I sat up straight, ordering, “Go inside and send the first person you can find wearing the Duke’s livery to me,” in my best “I am a Knight of this Duchy, do not fuck with me” tone.

  I turned my attention back to Luna as the Hind turned and fled. She was still breathing, but her fever seemed to be getting worse, and that couldn’t possibly be good. I reached for her goblet, intending to use whatever was left of its contents to cool her down, and paused.

  Purebloods almost never get sick. Oleander’s weapon of choice was poison. The two weren’t necessarily connected, but did I really want to take that chance?

  I was staring at the goblet like I expected it to turn into a snake and bite me when a wonderfully familiar voice demanded, “Tree and thorn, October, what in the name of Oberon’s honor is going on out here!”

  There’s just one man in Shadowed Hills—maybe just one man in all of Faerie—who can say things like “in the name of Oberon’s honor” and sound like he believes what he’s saying. Not even Luna’s condition was enough to quash my relief as I twisted around to face him. “Etienne. Root and branch, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Etienne stopped and stared.

  I had to admit that the scene was strange; not even the weird training exercises he put me through when I was new to my knighthood approached finding me on the ground in a ball gown with an unconscious Duchess in my lap. Rendering Etienne speechless has been a goal of mine for years, and under any other circumstances, I might have savored the moment. Sadly, this was neither the time nor the place to enjoy my little sideways victory.

  “Luna has a fever. She won’t wake up.” I was trying to be as clear and concise as possible. Maybe that way, I wouldn’t start crying. “We need to get her inside.”

  “Sweet Maeve,” he breathed. “What happened?”

  “Not yet. Explanation time comes after getting-Luna-inside time. Please.” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking on the final word.

  That was enough to galvanize him into action. “Stay where you are,” he snapped, before wheeling to run back into the ballroom.

  I stayed where I was.

  I didn’t have to wait long; it seemed like only seconds before he returned with three people in tow. I knew two of them—Tavis, a Bridge Troll who entered Sylvester’s service about six months after I did, and Grianne, a thinfaced Candela who rarely spoke without prompting. The third was unfamiliar: a tall, thin man with grayish skin and moon-white eyes. I took not
e of them and dismissed them in the same breath, turning back to Etienne.

  “We need to—”

  “I know what we need,” he said, cutting me off. “Tavis, take her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tavis rumbled. All Bridge Trolls are big, but Tavis is a veritable mountain, nearly ten feet tall. His shoulders don’t fit through most human doorframes. He shambled toward me, offering a genial, worried nod as he lifted Luna from my lap. “Evenin’, Toby.”

  “Hey, Tavis.” I caught his elbow as he straightened, letting him lift me to my feet. I stepped back and pulled my silver knife in the same motion.

  Etienne raised an eyebrow. Grianne frowned. Tavis didn’t even blink. It was the one I didn’t know who stiffened and started forward, stopping when Etienne placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Peace, Garm. I’m sure Sir Daye wouldn’t have called for help if she merely wanted witnesses to assault.”

  “Got that right.” I bent, starting to hack off my skirts just above the knee. A moment’s work left me with an armload of velvet and a “dress” that was more like a tunic with delusions of grandeur.

  “Then what is she doing?” demanded Garm.

  “Hopefully? Being paranoid.” I knelt to wrap my severed skirt around Luna’s goblet before standing again. “Where are we taking her?”

  “Jin is meeting us at the Ducal chambers.” Etienne gave the bundle in my hands a sidelong look. “Will you accompany us? I’m certain the Duke will have questions.”

  I nodded. “Does he know?”

  “My Dancers are retrieving him,” said Grianne. Her voice was soft as wind rattling through tree branches, and just about as human.

  Each Candela is accompanied by two or more balls of self-aware light called Merry Dancers. They can be sent on simple errands—like fetching a Duke—but if someone extinguishes a Candela’s Dancers, the Candela dies. Not exactly what I’d call a fair trade for never needing to call a page.

  At least Grianne’s Dancers meant we didn’t need to wait around. We gave the area one last glance before starting down the terrace, Luna in Tavis’ arms, the possibly poisoned goblet in mine.

  Etienne dropped back to walk next to me as we climbed a narrow stairway to the battlements, where we could cut across to the Ducal quarters. Garm stuck to him like a second shadow. I stayed quiet, waiting for one of them to start the conversation. My throat hurt, my head hurt, and I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  Fortunately, Etienne’s never been in the mood for small talk. “I need your report, Sir Daye. What happened?”

  “One of two things,” I said. “Either the Duchess has come down with a sudden cold, or she’s been poisoned. I’m voting the latter, in case you wondered. Why the hell didn’t you come sooner? I told Connor to call the guards.”

  Etienne eyed me. “No one called for the guards. The first I heard of the situation was when I was summoned to the terrace.”

  My throat went tight. “Etienne, has anyone seen Connor?”

  “Not in some time.” He paused, eyes widening as he caught my meaning. “Grianne, has the Duke been summoned?”

  Grianne cocked her head, like she was listening to something the rest of us couldn’t hear. Then she nodded. “Yes, sir. He plans to meet us at the Ducal chambers.”

  “Good. I have a new task for you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Master O’Dell is missing. Find him.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Grianne, and bowed before turning and flinging herself off the edge of the walkway. There was a flare of greenish-white light, and she was gone.

  “Never get used to that,” muttered Tavis.

  “Try hanging out with the Cait Sidhe,” I said. “They do something similar, but they skip the fireworks and just sort of show up.”

  Tavis grimaced. “Charming.”

  “Yeah.” I looked to Etienne. “I told Connor to call the guards because I thought we had an intruder. Now that Luna’s sick, I’m sure of it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “Oleander. She’s back.”

  Silence greeted my announcement, finally broken when Tavis asked, “Can someone get the door? My hands are full.”

  “I have it,” said Garm, pushing forward in an obvious hurry to put some distance between us. He opened the door in the battlement wall, holding it open for Tavis and Luna to pass through. Etienne nodded for him to follow. Lips drawn into a disapproving line, Garm went.

  I took a deep breath, turned to face Etienne, and waited.

  “Support your claim, Daye.”

  “I smelled her magic in the ballroom.”

  “While no one else caught any trace of her?”

  “You know that doesn’t matter. I’ve always had a good nose for spells.” Mother used to say having a nose for spells was connected to having a nose for blood.

  “Fair.” Etienne continued to study me, eyes grave. “October … ”

  I didn’t want to hear what he had to say until I’d seen Sylvester. “Let’s go catch up with the others,” I said briskly, and stepped through the tower door. Reality did another dip-and-weave as I crossed the threshold, this time disorienting enough that I had to catch myself against the wall and duck my head, waiting to see if I was going to vomit. My stomach seemed determined to join my head in its rebellion against the tyranny of not being in pain. Gritting my teeth, I forced the nausea down one sickening inch at a time.

  “October?” asked Etienne, from beside me.

  “It’s not normally that bad,” I managed. Understatement of the night. Travel through the knowes hasn’t been that bad for me since I was a kid. “Where are we?”

  “We’re here,” Etienne replied.

  I nodded, barely, and raised my head.

  We were in a large, simply decorated room, with varnished oak walls and plain curtains draping the windows. Sylvester’s tastes have always been simpler than the rest of the knowe implies, and Luna didn’t challenge those tastes in the Ducal quarters. Looking around, I could see what the knowe would have been like without her. It was a very different world.

  Luna herself was stretched out on the king-sized bed, looking small and fragile in her ornate gown. A woman sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Luna’s forehead, gauzy mayfly wings vibrating so fast they were barely a blur. The motion cast a haze of sparkling dust through the air around her. I didn’t know her face, but that didn’t matter; the dust told me who she was.

  “Jin,” I said. “How is she?”

  “Her pulse is too high, she’s severely dehydrated, and her fever isn’t responding.” Jin glanced up, her pale, sharp features framed by a pageboy bob of glossy black hair. A gallows-humor smile ghosted over her lips. “Nice dress.”

  “Nice face.” I put the swaddled cup on a shelf before moving toward the bed. Garm glared. I ignored him. “How fresh is the molt? Could it be interfering?”

  “Wow, Toby, I didn’t think of that!” she snapped. Then she sighed. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I came out of molt a week ago; my magic isn’t compromised. She’s just … not responding.”

  I winced. Ellyllon are healers and hedonists. It’s not such a strange combination; both focus on the flesh. Ellyllon use their bodies hard, and Faerie’s eternally creative biology compensates for their self-destructive instincts by giving them an entirely new body every decade or so. They crack open their skins and shrug them off, like insects. A recent molt could have interfered with Jin’s powers. If that wasn’t the problem …

  “Can you check for poisons?” I asked, half-desperately. “She was drinking something right before she collapsed.”

  “That’s part of a standard health-charm. If she’s been poisoned, it’s with something I don’t know how to counter.”

  “Then … then can you call for her mother? Maybe Acacia—”

  “Luna’s the only one who can access the Rose Roads, and she’s not opening any doors right now.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence fell. It held the room for several
minutes, until it was broken by the sound of a door opening. We all turned to see Sylvester step into the room, white-faced and shaking. Quentin slipped in behind him, apparently without attracting his notice. Sylvester’s eyes were focused on the bed.

  “Luna?” he whispered. “Luna, please. This isn’t funny. Please, don’t do this.”

  If Faerie was like the fairy tales say it is, his words alone would have been enough to break whatever spell Luna was under. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She didn’t move.

  Jin stood. “Your Grace—”

  Sylvester motioned her to silence. He was crying, tears running unchecked down his face. It felt like the room held its breath, waiting for him to move. Finally, expression bleak, he turned and looked at me. That was all. He just looked at me.

  Etienne stepped forward. “Your Grace, there was a disturbance—”

  “I was already looking for her.” Sylvester sounded dazed. “The roses screamed loud enough to make the sky bleed when she fell.”

  “I … ” Etienne looked at me, clearly at a loss for words. I shook my head. Daoine Sidhe aren’t known for speaking the language of flowers, but Sylvester and Luna have been married for a long time. If anyone could teach him, it was her. “Your Grace, the Duchess collapsed without warning, and—”

  “Yes. I know.” Sylvester smiled. It was just a reflex. I could see the screaming in his eyes. “Toby, what happened?”

  I took a breath. “I was dancing with Connor when I caught a trace of magic that shouldn’t have been there. I told him to call the guards and followed the trace to the terrace, where I found Luna.” Quentin crossed the room while I was talking, falling into position behind me like a squire falling in behind his knight. “She seemed fine at first. Then she collapsed.”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine again. She always is.” He moved closer to Luna, bending to smooth her hair with one shaking hand. “What did you follow?”

  “The smell of sulfuric acid and oleanders.” Sylvester’s head snapped up. Jin stiffened. Only Quentin stayed where he was, looking puzzled. I made myself meet Sylvester’s eyes. “It was Oleander, Sylvester. She was here. I’m sure of it.”