A Red-Rose Chain

“No. They’re my responsibility. If this stuff doesn’t require magic to use, let me do it. I can take a lot more damage than you can.”


Walther paused for a moment, said, “Good point,” and handed me his mortar. It was filled with a white, faintly luminescent dust, like embossing glitter. “Just blow a pinch of this in their eyes and they should snap out of it. It’s a broad-spectrum anti-hypnotic, which means it’ll work on a dozen different kinds of base enchantment, but some of them will leave them not remembering anything that’s happened since they were whammied.”

“Which is why there might be hitting, got it,” I said. “Step back.”

Walther stepped back.

I set the mortar down on the table next to the bed and placed a pinch of powder in the palm of my hand, where it created a glittering white smear. It didn’t have a smell, but it chilled my skin slightly: the mark of Walther’s magic. Once I was sure I had enough I bent, just a little, and blew the powder into Quentin’s eyes.

The effect was instantaneous. Quentin’s pupils snapped back to their normal size and shape, his shoulders went from drugged stiffness to his normal, natural good posture, and he punched me in the face without hesitation. There was a resounding “crack” as the cartilage in my nose gave way. It was accompanied by a bolt of pain and a sudden hot gush of blood from both nostrils, which coated my chin and soaked into the front of my dress as Quentin was pulling back to hit me again. I was ready for him this time, and caught his wrist before he could begin his swing.

“You’re safe, you’re with me, stop hitting,” I said. My voice was mushy and distorted by the damage he’d done. I couldn’t help feeling a little bit proud. My squire was all grown up and breaking noses. I just wished he wasn’t breaking mine. “Now stop punching me and help me set this before it heals all crooked and weird.”

“Toby?” His eyes widened as he realized who he was hitting, shock transforming almost immediately into guilt. “Oh, oak and ash, Toby, I’m sorry! I didn’t know who you were! I thought—”

“You thought I was the King, or one of the King’s men, I know. It’s okay.” Quentin didn’t look like he was going to help me set my nose any time soon. That was probably asking a little much. I placed my index fingers to either side of the break, feeling for the places where things were out of alignment, and shoved until everything lined up. This was accompanied by another bolt of pain, even more vivid than the first, and a fresh gout of blood. The pain faded almost immediately. My body was already putting itself back together, healing with the ludicrous speed gifted to me by my heritage.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” said Quentin, sounding miserable. “I would never ever hit you. Please believe me.”

“Kiddo, it’s okay. You don’t need to convince me that we’re friends, and sometimes friends have to hit each other in the process of discharging our duties. Remember all those times I slapped Tybalt?”

“I certainly do,” said Tybalt dryly. I turned to find him behind me, a resigned expression on his face. “I leave for half an hour and return to find you covered, head to toe, with blood. Perhaps you would be better suited to be a Bannick’s wife. At least then you could be cleaned via supernatural means, rather than depending on the vagaries of the laundry.”

“I’m surprisingly good at getting blood out of cotton,” I said. “Velvet may be a little harder. It’s an adventure. Come here. My hands are all bloody, and we still need to snap May out of it.”

“Why are you covered in blood?” pressed Tybalt.

“Quentin broke my nose,” I said. I couldn’t keep the pride out of my voice.

“Sorry,” said Quentin.

Tybalt blinked slowly. Then he sighed, and said, “Each time I tell myself you have reached the summit of your strangeness, you find a way to climb still higher.”