A Red-Rose Chain

The blood I sucked from my fingers tasted darker than it ever had before. My death had seeped into it, flavoring it until it was barely recognizable as my own. I still swallowed greedily, pulling it back into my body and yanking out every last scrap of strength. I could feel my heartbeat, steady and strong and slightly frantic, like it was as angry as the rest of me.

I opened my eyes. I reached down and ripped the spike out of my stomach. I sat up. I had been lying on a bier like the ones in the dungeon. There were channels cut into the stone to coax my blood toward the bowls Rhys had set up at the corners. I ran my fingers through one of them as I swung my legs over the side of the bier. The blood that had pooled there was still half liquid, and stuck to my skin. Good. I was going to need it.

“You stabbed me,” I said, eyes going to Rhys and the false Queen. She was standing so that his body shielded her from me. That was probably smart; I wanted to strangle her more than I had wanted anything in a long time. It was too bad I was also too weak to stand. “I didn’t expect that. I didn’t appreciate it, either.”

Marlis was standing behind the pair, the heavy jeweled chalice still in her hands. She met my eyes and nodded, almost imperceptibly. I didn’t dare return the gesture. I just hoped she would take apparent disregard as agreement.

“I am a diplomat from the Kingdom of the Mists,” I said, sliding slowly off the bier. I kept my hands braced against the stone, trying to look like I was just steadying myself, and not holding myself up completely. It wasn’t an easy balance to strike. “I am here in the name of Her Majesty, Arden Windermere, Queen in the Mists. And it is not nice to stab your diplomats.”

“You troublesome little bitch,” said Rhys wonderingly. He took a half step forward, one hand going to the pocket of his apron.

He was still reaching when Marlis hit him across the back of the head with the chalice. I could hear bone crack from across the room. Rhys wobbled, looking startled. And then he fell, opening a portal beneath himself as he dropped, so that he fell through the floor rather than crashing into it. The former Queen of the Mists stood frozen for a few precious seconds, eyes gone wide and pale with terror, before she whirled and bolted for the door. She grabbed it, slamming it open—

—and ran straight into Tybalt’s open, outstretched hand. She screamed, and the sound was cut off as his fingers closed around her throat. His face was contorted into a twisted mask, more feline than human. I couldn’t hear him snarling. That was probably not a good sign. The louder he was, the easier it was to talk him down.

“Tybalt!” I took a step forward, and almost fell as my legs tried to buckle underneath me.

His eyes flicked to me, widening in concern. Some of the feral fierceness went out of them, leaving the man I loved visible in the face of the furious King of Cats. Then the false Queen squirmed, and his attention snapped back to her, eyes narrowing again. He tightened his grip, lifting her off the floor. Her feet kicked helplessly, finding no purchase, while her hands clawed at his arm, trying to make him let go. It wasn’t going to happen. Unlike him, she had no actual claws: she couldn’t hurt him enough to get what she wanted.

He was going to kill her. He was going to kill a former monarch of the Divided Courts in front of me, and I wasn’t going to be able to stop him.

“Don’t do this!” My legs were still weak, but I was standing, and that was enough for me. I half-walked, half-fell toward him, gaining strength with every step, until I was virtually running. Marlis appeared next to me, offering me her arm, and I took it. She had attacked her King for me. At this point, I would have trusted her even if she hadn’t been Walther’s sister.

“Why not?” Tybalt gave the false Queen a shake. She moaned, the sound garbled and distorted by the pressure of his hand against her throat. “She earned this. She paid for every scrap of it. She hurt you.”