The Brightest Fell Page 9

  By becoming someone else. The Simon Torquill who had taken an arrow to save me, even knowing that it would put him to sleep for a hundred years, at least remembered what it was to care. But the Simon who had turned me into a fish and left me was someone else, someone colder, who didn’t care about anything but himself.

  It was the second Simon who was speaking now. He wasn’t going to beg for forgiveness or explain himself. If he was about to die, he was going to die with dignity, and if he had any regrets, he wasn’t going to share them with the likes of us.

  “Your century is not up,” said Sylvester. “If it had been my decision, you would still be sleeping, and I would be hoping every hour of every night you lived was filled with the foulest of dreams.”

  “My only nightmare in this moment is the quality of the mattress you saw fit to place me on,” said Simon. “Really, brother, have you never heard of lumbar support?”

  “Kinda surprised you have,” I said.

  Simon glanced my way, his icy demeanor cracking for an instant. Once again, I was struck by how similar the brothers were, and how different. He looked at me the way Sylvester did, like I was something he needed to nurture and protect. But while Sylvester’s protection had always been built on a foundation of love, Simon’s looked like it was built on regret. Odds were good that not all of it was for me. Whatever his motives, he had been a very bad man for a very long time.

  “Literacy in the ways of mortals has been important this past century,” he said. “Things change so quickly where the humans are concerned that sometimes even they get lost. Unless I wanted to start disguising myself as one of their elders, I needed to maintain my understanding of current trends.”

  “In lumbar support,” I said blandly.

  Simon shrugged. “It was a factor.”

  “Your vanity will be the end of you yet,” snapped Sylvester.

  “No, brother.” Simon turned back to him. “If I make myself over to look like an eighty-year-old human man, and am forced to flee, to run, to do something physically beyond the reach of what I appear to be, what then? Vanity would be making myself the most beautiful of men. Sanity is preventing myself from betraying that I am something more than I appear by maintaining all aspects of a good disguise. Why am I awake?”

  “Because Oberon has no mercy,” said Sylvester.

  A hand grabbed my arm and yanked. I glanced to the side. Raj was standing there, eyes narrowed, looking like he was about to start biting people. It would have hurt, too. He was currently sporting the kind of dentition a tiger would envy, and when he spoke, it was with a faint lisp, words distorted by the size of his teeth.

  “Make them stop talking and start finding,” he snarled. “My uncle is missing.”

  “I am the last person in the world who is going to forget that, believe me,” I said, voice low. “I’m letting Simon get his bearings back. If we rush this, he might refuse to help.”

  “Excuse me?” The voice was Simon’s. I turned. He was looking at me, a small frown on his face. “I’m right here. I can hear you both, and as my brother seems intent on being the least pleasant conversationalist in the room—and that includes you, Sir Etienne, don’t think I can’t see the way you’re looking at me, like you’d enjoy nothing more than the chance to crop my ears—I’m inclined to listen. What’s going on?”

  “I was thinking more of gelding you,” muttered Etienne.

  I took a deep breath, ignoring him. Ignoring everyone except for Simon, because he was the one I needed to convince. “Mom came to see me,” I said.

  Simon’s eyes lit up. “Amandine is here? My Amandine?”

  He sounded . . . younger, or less tarnished, at least, when he said my mother’s name. There was a light in his eyes that I’d only seen in memories of him, like he suddenly believed the world was a kinder place.

  “No,” I said, and watched that light go out again. “She didn’t come to Shadowed Hills: she came to my house. You remember, the house where you attacked my friend?”

  Simon grimaced, looking abashed. “I am sorry about that. I needed to make my exit without being delayed, and I knew you would be able to care for her. Is she well?”

  “Care for her how, by putting her in a bucket?” demanded May, shoving her way forward. I remembered belatedly that the memories she’d taken from me when she was “born” included my transformation—our transformation, since we both remembered it like we were there—and abandonment. What Simon had tried to do to Jazz was even more personal for May than it was for me. “You tried to turn her into a fish, you sick asshole!”

  “It’s a spell I’ve woven enough times that I don’t have to prepare it,” he said, not flinching away from May’s rage. Maybe he wasn’t afraid of her. Or maybe he thought he’d earned it. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough,” she said, and burst into tears.

  Oh, this was going well. I put my arm around her, pulling her against me, and said, “Simon, Mom has asked me to find August, and she’s taken our loved ones as collateral against her request. Please, will you help me?”

  Simon sighed heavily. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he said.

  SEVEN

  FOR A MOMENT, everyone froze. It felt like the room was holding its breath. Just as quickly, the moment passed, and I had my hands full keeping May from lunging for Simon’s throat, while Quentin fought a similar battle with Raj. If the Prince of Cats transformed into his feline form, he could escape my squire, but he seemed to be too angry to think of that: he twisted and spat, held back by a solid arm-lock and Quentin’s greater mass.

  Simon put a hand over his eyes. “Oh, sweet Titania. I apologize. I was not intending to say it was time for Amy to kidnap your friends. I can see why you would take insult at the insinuation.”

  “If you’d ever learned to watch your words, you would spend less time apologizing,” said Sylvester.

  “If you had ever learned to say anything of relevance, you would spend less time swinging a sword at people like it was a substitute for intelligent conversation,” said Simon. It sounded automatic, almost, like he’d been insulting his brother for so long that he no longer knew how not to.

  “Can everyone please stop taking swings at each other for a second, and listen to me?” I demanded. May wasn’t fighting anymore. I let her go, trusting her not to lunge at Simon. “Amandine has taken the local King of Cats and a representative of the local Raven-may flock captive. She’s forced them to transform into their animal forms, and she’s said she won’t give them back until I find August and bring her home. I need help. I need someone who knows August. I need you.”

  Simon actually looked surprised. “That’s why you woke me—because you want me to help you? After everything I’ve done? What’s to stop me knocking you out and running away?”

  “Try it,” suggested Sylvester, almost sweetly.

  “Ah,” said Simon. “You’ve laid a geas on me. Clever thinking, brother, although I didn’t think you knew how.”

  “I had the same training you did.”

  “In the beginning, yes, but you never focused on your magic. Too busy playing knight in shining armor. What are my limitations?”

  “You cannot raise a hand against October, nor a blade, nor your magic,” said Sylvester. “If you try—”

  “I get the picture,” said Simon. “Why only her?”

  “The family connection,” said Sylvester stiffly.

  “And your blood magic has never been what it should have been, because you refuse to practice,” said Simon. “Why not bind me to help her?”

  “Because I wanted you to come willingly,” I said. “August is your daughter. I thought you’d want her back.”

  Simon went still, all the false arrogance draining from his face, leaving only a sad, lonely man behind. “Want her back?” he asked. “Everything I’ve do
ne has been in the name of getting her back. Every line I’ve crossed, every crime I’ve committed, every atrocity I have allowed to unfold, has been in the name of bringing my August home. Don’t question, even for a second, how much I want her brought back to me.”

  “So you’ll help me,” I said.

  “I have conditions,” Simon replied.

  Raj hissed. Quentin tightened his grip.

  “I’m not sure you’re in a position to set conditions,” I said.

  “Perhaps not, and yet here I am, setting them,” said Simon.

  I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. He was right. Damn his eyes, but he was right. Sylvester hadn’t compelled Simon to help me, because I had asked him not to. I wanted Simon to come willingly, to give me the kind of help that only happened when it was unforced.

  He had a better self in there. He had to. I wanted him to find it again.

  “What do you want?” demanded Sylvester.

  Simon smiled. “First, I stay awake. I’m not going on some mad quest with your darling protégé only to return here and be put back to bed for a century. I don’t know how you woke me early, and I don’t entirely care, so long as you understand that when the first of you comes near me with an arrow, I’ll stop playing nicely.”

  “Done,” said Sylvester.

  “Your lovely lady wife no doubt wants my head on a platter, and while I can’t say I blame her, I need my head where it is, especially if we’re bringing my daughter home. August will want her father close at hand to help her adjust to the way the world has changed. So that, then, is my second demand: that you not allow the lovely Luna to seek revenge against me.”

  “You, who have never once been able to control your wife’s actions, would tell me to control mine?” Sylvester asked.

  Simon shrugged. “A demand’s a demand.”

  “I promise to try.”

  “Swear it. On our sister’s name.”

  Sylvester narrowed his eyes. “In September’s name, I swear.”

  “That will be good enough for me. I trust the mercy of our courts much more than I ever could have trusted hers.” Simon turned to me. “My third demand is simpler than it seems. If I am going to help you—if we are going to undertake a ludicrous quest for the most precious of prizes—you must try to forgive me. I did what I did in the name of saving you, however it may have looked at the time, and your bad opinion of me smarts. I won’t ask you to promise that you will. I try never to deal in the impossible when there’s another choice. But I will ask you to try.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Then we have an accord.” Simon slid off the bed, to his feet. May flinched. He looked at her and sighed. “The Fetch. You are lovely, lady, and I am grateful for your existence.”

  May frowned, wary and confused. “Why is that?”

  “Because on the day Oleander came to me and told me Amandine had got herself a changeling girl to ease the sting of what we’d lost, I knew that one day, that girl would cease to be. Changelings always do, and a changeling of Amy’s descent, well. For such a child, the Choice would be a real one. But you wear the face October was born to, and you wear it with undying grace, that one changeling in all of Faerie should not be forgotten.”

  May stared at him. I stared at him. Sylvester rolled his eyes.

  “Your silver tongue does you no favors here,” he said.

  “My tongue is golden, as befits a man of my standing,” said Simon. He turned his attention to me. “I am at your service, Sir Daye, and I hope that by the time we find what we seek, I will have earned that forgiveness from your lips.”

  “I don’t even know where to start,” I said.

  “Then, if I may be so bold as to offer suggestions, start by assessing your resources,” said Simon.

  “Whatever you need is yours,” said Sylvester.

  “I know. I know. I just . . . hang on.” I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. Too often, I rush into things half-cocked, not planning for what I might face along the way. In my defense, that’s usually because everything falls apart so fast that I don’t have a choice. When the ground is crumbling beneath your feet, you don’t look for the right path. You just jump and hope you land safely.

  Finally, I lowered my hand and said, “I have Simon. He knows where August was seen last. He knows her magic. I have Quentin. He can watch my back in case Simon finds a way around the binding, and I can watch his, since the binding doesn’t cover him at all.”

  “You have me,” said Raj.

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  He stared at me, eyes wide and pupils narrow, until they were almost lost in the glass-green depths of his eyes. “What?”

  “Raj, you’re the Prince of Cats, and your uncle is missing,” I said. “If someone attacked the Court right now, there wouldn’t be anyone there to defend it. Honestly, I shouldn’t have let you come here. Your people need you.”

  “But . . .”

  “When I agreed to marry your uncle, we both knew there’d be times when his position would come between us. Times when he had to put the needs of the Court of Cats before me. It hurt. It still hurts. Right now, it feels like it’s killing me.” All that time we could have spent together, and hadn’t, because he’d had a duty to uphold. I had my own life, my own job to do, but suddenly it all seemed like such a waste. “While he’s gone, the Court of Cats needs you.”

  Raj’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t want to,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Bring him home.” He darted forward, flinging his arms around my waist for one heart-rending moment. Then he tore himself away and ran for the door, shifting into feline form as he went. He was faster on four legs. He would reach the edge of the wards and disappear, heading back into the shadows, back to the Court of Cats.

  I let out a shuddering breath. “All right,” I said. “All right. We should—”

  “If I may,” interjected Simon. “As this seems to be the time when you set the members of our party, I recommend your fair Fetch remain here.” He nodded toward May.

  She recoiled. “What?” she demanded. “No! Why? No!”

  “There are spells that can be woven—spells I can weave, and you can trust, so long as my brother’s binding limits the damage I can do—to let blood call to blood.”

  May and I blinked in unison. I was the first to speak. “Okay, first, I’m not sure what that means, and second, if blood can call to blood, why can’t you use that to find August? We could all go home and actually get some sleep.”

  “I’ve been sleeping for some time,” said Simon.

  “Not long enough,” muttered Sylvester. Louder, he said, “We tried blood charms to bring August home. Wherever she is, she’s outside their reach, or something is blocking them. My brother is proposing using your Fetch as an anchor. Your blood calls to hers, no matter how far apart you are, and if we make that calling . . . louder . . . she will be able to know more of where you are. She would know immediately if you were in danger, and we could send aid.”

  “Why not just, I don’t know, take aid with her in the first place?” asked May.

  “There are many reasons, but the simplest is that a smaller force moves faster,” said Simon. “Send a hundred knights and all you’ll do is slow us down. But that doesn’t mean I’m refusing to be sensible. Anchoring her to you, and leaving you here with my brother to serve as an early warning system, only makes sense.”

  May looked at me, silently pleading for me to disagree. And I wanted to—sweet Maeve, I wanted to. May had as much right to bring her lover home as I had to go racing after mine.

  At the same time, May’s combat experience was all borrowed from my memories, and while she had knowledge, she lacked muscle memory. She couldn’t drive—not well, anyway—couldn’t sharpen a knife, couldn’t do anything that required her to have actually done t
he things she remembered doing. All my sword training had come after her creation. She didn’t have any of it. She was indestructible, but she healed as slowly as I had before my blood was shifted.

  “I need you here,” I said, and my words were a betrayal: I could see it in her eyes.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “But you bring them home. You bring them both home. If I find out you saved Tybalt over Jazz—”

  “I won’t,” I said. “You know I won’t.”

  “But I won’t be there,” she said, and burst into tears.

  I put my arms around her. She buried her head against my shoulder, weeping loudly. Looking over her head to Simon, I asked, “Is this really necessary? Can’t she come?”

  “We are going to travel to places that are not safe,” he said. “There’s no one else to serve as anchor to your blood.”

  “Sylvester can serve as anchor to yours, can’t he?” I felt May stiffen in my arms, waiting for his response. This could be the solution: a way for May to come with us while still having an early warning system on the ground at Shadowed Hills.

  “Yes, and you could slit my throat in a fit of pique,” said Simon. “It’s safer if we’re both anchored.”

  “I don’t care. She needs to be there.” May was a liability in every sense imaginable, except for the one that counted: she loved Jazz more than she loved anyone else in the world. If I had been left behind while someone else went to rescue Tybalt, it would have devastated me.

  May pulled away, sniffling. “No,” she said, voice thick with tears. “He’s right. I can’t help. I can’t fight, I can’t pick locks, all I can do is get between you and anyone who wants to stab you, and you don’t really care if you get stabbed.”

  “I’m getting used to it,” I said dryly.

  She laughed, voice unsteady. “See? You’ll be all right. Let me be the anchor, so we can find you if things get bad. Can I do that?”