A Red-Rose Chain

“I got better.” I let go of Marlis’ arm in order to touch his, trying to keep my hands gentle. It was hard—I had so little balance, and the world was still so unsteady—but for Tybalt, I would try. “I always get better. You’re better than she is. Don’t do this. Don’t break the Law.”


“No one would ever know,” he snarled. He shook her again. This time, she didn’t waste air on moaning, although her hands continued to scrabble against his grip.

“You would know,” I said softly.

“I have an alternative,” said Marlis.

We both turned to look at her, Tybalt holding the false Queen off the floor and me covered in my own blood. We must have made a pretty pair, because she flushed red, taking a small step backward before straightening her shoulders and holding her ground.

“I have an alternative,” she repeated. She dipped her hand into one pocket of her butcher’s apron, producing a small, leather-wrapped bundle. The Queen began kicking and squirming even harder, her eyes almost bugging out of her head. Marlis ignored her. Instead, she calmly unwrapped the leather, producing a short, stone-tipped arrow fletched in the colors of Silences. She held it out to me. “Let her sleep.”

“I would rather let her bleed,” said Tybalt.

“But the Law says you can let her sleep.” Marlis looked to the false Queen, and there was no softness in her eyes. “Believe me, this isn’t any better.”

“Mercy rarely is.” I reached out and took the elf-shot gingerly by the shaft, careful to avoid the point as much as possible. I looked to Tybalt. “Please.”

“She has hurt you too many times.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Don’t let her hurt me by taking you away.”

He stared at me for a moment, instinct and intellect warring in his eyes. Then he lowered her to the floor, hand still clamped around her throat, and looked away.

The false Queen glared hatred and fury at me as I pressed the arrow’s tip against the skin of her collarbone. “Sweet dreams,” I said, and drove it home.

The tension went out of her instantly as the magic of the elf-shot washed through her body, driving her down into sleep. Tybalt dropped her a heartbeat later, letting her fall to the floor like so much trash. Then he turned to me, took a single step forward, and wrapped his arms around me, crushing me against his chest. He was shaking. The vibrations seemed to radiate out from his center, making them impossible to ignore, and so I didn’t try. I just put my arms around him, and let him hold me until the shaking slowed to something more manageable.

He made a small, unhappy noise when I began to pull away, but he didn’t stop me. He knew better. I left my hand on his arm, unwilling to fully break the contact between us. I needed him as much as he needed me.

“Where’s Quentin?” I asked.

“In the Court of Cats,” said Tybalt. “Jolgeir handed him a stack of graphic novels and told him not to touch anything. We may never get him back.”

“Good. That means he’s safe. Where’s Walther?”

“Still working,” said Marlis.

“That means we only have two loose ends.” I looked at the false Queen, sleeping on the floor, and at the room, where I had been intended to spend the rest of my life bleeding for the King’s pleasure. Then I turned back to Marlis. “Rhys ran. Where did he go? We need to find him, and then we need to find Tia. She betrayed us.” She betrayed all of Silences.

They both needed to pay.

“Why?” Marlis asked. “You’re free.”