A Red-Rose Chain

May’s expression killed that hope before it could fully form. “I didn’t see anyone in the kitchen but changelings. If they’re that fond of goblin fruit here, they probably lose one or two a year to addiction. Why should they worry about it? They can always make more.” She made no effort to conceal the bitterness in her tone, and I appreciated that. It was easier to feel like my own bitterness was justified when I wasn’t the only one.

“The trouble with thinking of living beings as a replaceable commodity is that one day, they may think the same of you,” said Tybalt, in the mild tone he always used when he was angry but trying not to aim it inappropriately. I turned my head to find him standing in the bathroom doorway. His expression softened as he looked at me. “Are you . . . well, my little fish?”

“I’m sitting in a tub full of water without having a panic attack about it, so I think I’m doing basically okay,” I said. “Where are Walther and Quentin?”

“Walking back with diplomatic slowness,” said Tybalt. “Both of them knew you would need to clean yourself, and I think neither wished to offer offense by walking in when you were unprepared.”

“I’ll go let them know everything’s fine,” said May, pushing herself away from the bathtub and heading for the door. She patted Tybalt on the shoulder as she passed him, causing him to raise an eyebrow. Laughing, she made her exit, and closed the door as she went.

“I may never understand that woman,” said Tybalt, walking toward the tub where I sat. “Then again, I may never understand any woman.”

“Not even me?” I asked.

“Especially not you,” he said, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. I tilted my chin back, and he kissed me again, this time on the lips. It was a glancing thing, but it made me feel better. “If I understood you in more than the most basic of principles, it would be a violation of the laws of nature, and the cosmos would be quickly thrown into disarray. What is that smell?”

“Bubble bath, two kinds,” I said. “May was making sure I couldn’t smell anything else.”

“Ah. She is a wise one, your incomprehensible Fetch.” Tybalt took a step back, leaning against the nearest wall and watching me. “You realize this has all been orchestrated, do you not? Even down to our places at the table.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.” I grabbed a sponge from the side of the bathtub, beginning to scrub off the last of the sticky film from the goblin fruit. “I can’t tell whether it was a test or a carefully designed humiliation, and I’m not completely sure it matters. The end result was the same.”

“Ah, but you see, it does matter,” said Tybalt. He sat down on the rim of the bathtub, picked up another sponge, and began washing my back. “They only had one chance to do what they did today. You cannot forever be having things spilled upon you, or it becomes intentional offense. The glass was aimed at your clothing, to test your poise and self-control, but not at your face. Why not? That approach has worked in the past.”

“Yeah, but with you right there, and Walther in the room, I wouldn’t have had the chance to really hurt myself,” I said. “We know blood stabilizes me, and I know you want me to be safe more than you want to not be bleeding. I would have stabbed you in the arm and used your blood to stay on an even keel until Walther could hit me with some alchemy.” He’d done it before. I had every faith he could do it again.

“So they knew they could not reacquaint you with your old addiction—not in any way that would serve them—and with the false Queen having experienced your magic firsthand, they must also have been aware of the risk that you would simply become stronger in an effort to overcome the fruit.”