A Red-Rose Chain

“I see,” I said. I looked at him. He looked back, utterly calm. The bastard was practically smirking, he was so delighted to have the upper hand. And there was nothing I could do about it. “I will see to my own people’s comfort, and my sister will be returning to the Mists with us when this is done. If you will excuse me, I must prepare my remaining retinue for dinner.”


“You will tell me before you venture back into the city, will you not, Sir Daye?” Rhys’ voice was mild, but not so mild that I couldn’t recognize the command it contained. “I would hate for this to happen again. Your King of Cats, of course, is free to come and go as he wishes—I wouldn’t want to restrict another monarch in his movements—but it’s safer for the rest of you if you make sure I am aware of your movements.”

“Yes, Sire,” I said. I bowed, as shallowly as I could without giving offense. “May we go?”

“Yes,” said Rhys. This time, he didn’t bother hiding his smile. He had won. He knew it, and so did I.

I turned, Quentin close behind me, and left the receiving room as quickly as I dared without seeming to run from the presence of a sitting King. The false Queen did not reappear. The courtiers tittered and pointed after us, their laughter following our exit, until the doors had slammed on our heels and we were alone in the hallway. Mostly alone: Rhys’ men were still there, flanking the door and watching us with narrow, wary eyes.

“Come on,” I said, unable to stem the growing feeling of dread in my stomach. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” asked Quentin.

I had to force my next words out. Each one was a rock against my teeth. “We have to get ready for dinner.” I’m sorry, May, I thought. We still have to play his game. I’m so sorry.

Quentin looked at me and nodded. Together, we walked back down the hall toward the stairs that would take us to our room. We were in deep trouble, and getting deeper all the time—and, Oberon help me, I had no idea how I was going to get us out of this one.

I had no idea at all.





SEVENTEEN




WITHOUT MAY, GETTING ME ready for dinner was a much simpler, much less elegant process. I pulled a dress from the wardrobe, checked to make sure it didn’t have any visible bloodstains, and retreated to the bathroom to put it on. Tybalt had seen me naked often enough not to care, but I didn’t feel like stripping down in front of Walther and Quentin. I emerged from the bathroom as Quentin was vanishing into his own room to put a clean vest on, and blinked at the sight of Tybalt, already in a clean jerkin, shirt, and black leather trousers, sitting on the bed next to May’s unmoving form.

“How the hell did you get changed faster than me?” I demanded. “Those pants look painted on.”

“I will never reveal my secrets, save to remind you that I have been an actor in my day, and sometimes the turns between scenes are very tight.” Tybalt’s voice was forcedly light, like he was trying to sound like his old, unconcerned self.

“Right.” I walked over to where he was sitting and leaned over to place a kiss on the top of his head, between the black stripes that marked his otherwise brown hair. “Walther, what’s the situation with you? Are you coming to dinner?”

He shook his head. “No. I figure most of Rhys’ men will be there, so I’m going to sneak out to see Aunt Ceres, see if she can’t help me get those roses. Once I can start testing them against the elf-shot that was used on May, we’ll be able to find out pretty quickly whether or not I’m going to be able to come up with a counter.”

“You will,” I said. “I know you will.” I wasn’t as sure as I was trying to sound. I couldn’t imagine a world where Walther failed. May was . . .

May was my sister. She was a part of our family, and there was no way we were going to leave her asleep for the next hundred years. Even if I could justify it to myself, there was no way I could explain the situation to Jazz. “Sorry I took your girlfriend off and got her elf-shot” wasn’t a conversation I had ever wanted to have.