A Red-Rose Chain

The bedroom was as opulently decorated as the front room, with a bed large enough to hold six, and a wardrobe that should by all rights have contained a doorway to Narnia, or at least the deeper lands of Faerie. A small door on one wall led to a much less fancy room, with a single narrow bed where Quentin would be expected to sleep. I almost envied him that simplicity. I was so far out of my depth that I was worried about drowning without going anywhere near the water.

Spike rubbed against my ankles again. I bent to pluck Walther’s note from its spines. Unfolding the piece of paper, I read quickly. Then I closed my eyes and held it out for Quentin and Tybalt to see.

Marlis is my sister, read the note. Be cautious.

“Well,” said Tybalt, tone gone tight and careful. “Isn’t this going to be fun?”

I didn’t have an answer for that.





EIGHT




WE DIDN’T KNOW HOW long we would have before we were summoned back into King Rhys’ presence, and so we focused on the only thing about our situation that we had any hope of controlling: ourselves. Quentin had hauled his suitcase into the small side room that would be his, leaving the door open in case I needed him. Meanwhile, Tybalt and I began unloading our things into the wardrobe.

There was something pleasantly domestic about unpacking together, like we were going on vacation or moving in together for real, not just through slow osmosis. I liked it.

“I hope I was not too forward before, in introducing myself as your betrothed,” said Tybalt, hanging a pair of his ubiquitous leather trousers over the rod at the center of the wardrobe. “He would have separated us had I not, claiming that it was in recognition of my ‘status’ within the Divided Courts. I could not allow that to happen.”

I gave him a sidelong look. “What, do you think I’m ashamed of you or something?”

“No.” He looked amused. “I know you well enough to find it much more likely that you would declare yourself unworthy of my unstinting affections, and attempt to part yourself from me ‘for my own good.’ At which point, I assure you, I would follow you about like a lost kitten until you came back to your senses. It is simply that our alliance may not be advantageous for you in all political arenas.”

“And won’t that be fun for them to deal with after we’re married?” I asked. “If you’re a political liability, let’s elope. Get me out of this gig even faster.”

“Get a room,” called Quentin.

“Shut your door,” I called back. I hung the last of my dresses and stepped back, eyeing the wardrobe like it was a venomous snake. It brimmed with gowns I couldn’t fight in and shoes I didn’t want to wear, and I didn’t have a choice about any of this. Arden had sent me to fight for her on a battlefield I didn’t understand and couldn’t twist to my own advantage.

Or maybe I could. I fished my cellphone out of my pocket as I took another step back, bumping my thighs against the overstuffed mattress. I sat down, dialed, and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long. There was a click midway through the first ring, and the familiar, slightly artificial-sounding voice of April O’Leary, Countess of Tamed Lightning, came on the line with a “You do not call me often. Is something wrong?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Probably. Okay, yes. And hello to you, too.” April was originally a Dryad, before her adopted mother—the late Countess January O’Leary—spliced her tree into a computer server to save her life. I didn’t really understand it, but the process had worked, resulting in April becoming the world’s first cybernetic tree spirit. Her grasp of social niceties wasn’t the best, which was something she shared with her Dryad relatives: most of them spent more time with trees than they did with people, and they didn’t necessarily know how to make conversation about things that didn’t photosynthesize. April was willing to fake pleasantries with people she didn’t know. She rarely bothered with her friends.

“What is wrong? Is this related to the notice I received from Queen Windermere that a war was being beta-tested, and might be cleared for release? I do not have time to allow my coders to be slaughtered. It seems very inefficient.”