A Red-Rose Chain

“A week,” said a voice from my left. I turned. Walther was standing there, looking exhausted but pleased with himself. He raised one hand in a small wave. “Hi. Welcome back to the land of the living.”


“You did it?” I raked my hair out of my face with one hand, staring at him. “You actually did it?”

“You mean did I, Walther Davies, find the solution for elf-shot? Yeah. I did.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of what to say after that. I settled for looking down at myself and confirming that yes, once again, my clothes had been changed while I was unconscious: my tank top and jeans were gone, replaced by a long white chemise that probably wouldn’t stay white for long, if my recent adventures were anything to judge by. I recognized the bed as the one I had been given when we arrived in Silences. I looked up. “We’re still here? Where are May and Quentin? Did we ever find Tia? Is she still on the loose?”

“May is awake and helping Marlis get an accurate count of the household staff. Rhys didn’t really have any records, and even as his supposed seneschal, she had very little idea of who all the changelings were, how old they were, or what kind of health they were in.” Walther made no effort to hide his expression of disapproval. “He thought it was improper for purebloods to spend time belowstairs like that. Some of them are so terrified of us that they can’t even speak in our presence.”

“They’ll come around.” Changelings inherited one major trait from our human ancestors: we were flexible, capable of adjusting to incredible changes in our situations. They would come to realize that not all purebloods were their enemies. “Some of them . . . Rhys was really casual about his goblin fruit usage. Some of them are addicted.”

“And you want to help?” asked Walther.

I nodded. “Once I can stand unassisted.”

“I would expect no less, from a hero.” There was a new formality in Walther’s tone. I didn’t like it.

“As for Tia, we found her attempting to flee the Kingdom,” said Tybalt. “I was . . . not gentle in apprehending her, I am afraid.”

“You were gentler than you had any reason to be.” For once, it was Walther whose voice was as cold as death. “She’s being held for trial. She’s confessed to betraying my family during the War. The Cu Sidhe led the forces of the Mists straight to us, and we never knew.”

“Why?”

“Because she thought that we treated them like pets, and not like allies.” Walther’s mouth turned down at the edges. “I don’t know whether we did or not. I always thought that we were friends.”

“I don’t think Tia believes it’s possible for the Cu Sidhe to be friends with their regents,” I said, and tried to push the blankets off. Tybalt moved them back into place. I realized for the first time that he was kneeling on the edge of the bed, not sitting; he was ready to move.

“No,” he said. “Stay where you are.”

I frowned at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’ve been asleep for a week,” said Walther.

“I knew that.”

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for six days,” he shot back. I stopped. “You had seizures. You shifted your own blood back and forth so fast that I could see your features changing. You kept returning to the point you’re at right now, but it took longer every time, and we were afraid that if it didn’t stop, you were going to tear yourself apart. So you’ll forgive us for being sort of nervous about you passing out again. You were trying to do what your mother did, and shift the elf-shot out of your blood. It was going to kill you before you succeeded.”

“You woke once before,” said Tybalt. “You said my name. And then you went back to sleep.”

“That was then,” I said. I felt bad about essentially brushing off their genuine concerns, but I didn’t see that I had a choice. “Let me up. I have to call Arden. I have to tell her—”

“She’s here,” said Walther.