A Red-Rose Chain

“That was her own little twist on the formula,” said the Luidaeg. The bitterness was back, and stronger than ever. “She was happy to preserve our brothers and sisters, because Father wanted it, but human-born? They were worse than useless in her eyes. So she made sure that for them, there would be no slumber. Only death.”


“Okay.” I closed my eyes. “That was what I thought.”

“Toby . . .” The Luidaeg sounded hesitant. That was unusual enough to make me open my eyes again. “Are you about to do something stupid?”

“Well, that depends.” I looked at my allies: Walther and Ceres, with their hands full of roses; Marlis, with her bloody arm; Quentin and Tybalt, who I would have willingly followed into the Heart of Faerie itself, if that was what was required of me to keep them safe. “How much common sense do you think I have?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just try not to die, all right? No one gets to kill you but me.” The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, holding it out for Quentin to take. He didn’t quite snatch it from my hand, but it was a close thing. With this small, centering transaction done, I looked to the others, and said, “I was right about who created elf-shot, and I’m right about the rose. You have everything you need. What do we do now?”

Walther smiled, just a little. “Now’s when things get interesting.”





NINETEEN




“WHEN YOU SAID THINGS were going to get interesting, I thought you meant you were going to do a lot of complicated alchemy, not that we were going to break into Rhys’ private morgue,” I hissed, staying close to the wall. Tybalt had stepped into the Shadow Roads, returning in short order with a tank top and jeans from Old Navy. Literally from Old Navy: both had still had the price tags attached. They were the right sizes, too, which had earned him a speculative look. He had answered with a smirk, and I had gone behind a curtain of hanging roses to change my clothes while he got rid of my bloody dress.

I might have done better to stay behind the roses. When I came out, Walther had been waiting with his full kit and a basket of cut flowers. The basket had been pressed into my hands, and Ceres had done what only a Blodynbryd can do, and opened the Rose Road into Rhys’ knowe. All of which led to us walking through a narrow tunnel made entirely of thorns, trying to navigate our way into the heart of Rhys’ knowe without dropping back into the Summerlands proper. Ceres wasn’t going to be able to open a second Road to get us out—she had remained behind in her garden after opening the tunnel. I couldn’t blame her for that. If she got elf-shot for treason, who would take care of her flowers, or the surviving members of the former royal family? She had responsibilities in this Kingdom that needed her to remain above reproach.

But, Maeve’s eyes, we all had responsibilities. Tybalt had a Court to care for; Quentin was going to be the King someday; Walther had his students, who would never know what had happened to him if he disappeared while on a sabbatical to Portland. As for me, I had the people who were walking through the rose-scented darkness by my side, and at least a dozen more who counted on me to be there to save them. I didn’t sign up to be a hero. It just happened. That didn’t mean I could pretend it didn’t matter.

Marlis had also stayed behind. She needed to bandage her wounds, clean off the blood, and prepare to return to the receiving hall, where she would stand right in front of King Rhys and act as if nothing unusual was happening in the knowe. I didn’t envy her the task. I just hoped she was an incredible actress. If she so much as hinted to the King that something was up, we were all going to get caught—and this time when he charged us with treason, there wasn’t going to be any miracle save. He’d have us dead to rights . . . or maybe just dead.