A Red-Rose Chain

Cuttings . . . I blinked. “That’s right: rose goblins are cuttings from a Blodynbryd. Luna’s the only one I’ve ever met. Who did these come from?”


“Me,” said a light, pleasant voice, faintly accented with the echoes of Wales. Its owner followed it out of the trees a heartbeat later, stepping out onto the path and offering a dazzling smile in my direction. “Hello. It’s lovely to meet you.”

She was tall, slim, and facially so similar to Luna that I would have known them as sisters even if there’d been some other option. Her skin was a fascinating shade of silvery purple, and her hair was almost exactly the same shade at the root. It darkened as it fell down her back in a waterfall of curls, ending in a purple deep enough to seem virtually black. Her eyes were bright pink, the color of primroses, with a thin ring of pollen yellow around the irises.

“Um, hi,” I said. “You’re . . .”

“Blodynbryd, yes,” said the woman. “My name is Ceres. You would be?”

“I’m October Daye; this is Tybalt,” I said.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” she said. A smile suffused her face as she reached over to caress Walther’s arm. “Any who travel with my dear Waltrune are friends to me.”

Walther looked briefly panicked. The panic faded, replaced by profound embarrassment. “It’s ‘Walther’ these days, Aunt Ceres,” he said.

“Ah,” she said. “My apologies; it’s been so long since you bothered to visit that I’m afraid I’m not so well-informed as to what you wish to be called, or when, or by whom.” The look she leveled on him was pure aunt.

I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. Both Walther and Ceres turned to look at me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said. “You just really reminded me of Luna for a moment. But in a good way, honest.” I wasn’t sure how much gossip from the Mists had traveled this far up the coasts, and I didn’t want to start my association with the second Blodynbryd I’d ever met by implying that I disliked her.

Gossip is interesting. In the human world, thanks to cellphones and the Internet, a rumor can travel around the world in less time than it takes to check your facts. In Faerie, for all that we have people who can teleport or fly, it still takes a little longer—mostly because very few of us have figured out how to turn on our cable modems. It’ll probably change in the next decade or so, as more and more changelings start setting up data centers within their lieges’ knowes, but for right now, it was entirely possible that Ceres didn’t know about my fight with her sister.

Ceres smiled. “Mother’s youngest rose. I hear she’s back in her proper pruning these days? No longer twisting herself into topiary for the sake of appearances?”

“Yes,” I said. “She’s Blodynbryd again.”

“That’s good.” Ceres tilted her head to the side, frowning speculatively. “October . . . I know I’ve heard that name before.”

“It’s a month in the current calendar,” said Walther. His note was mild, and a little dry, like he wasn’t being helpful so much as seizing on an opportunity to be sarcastic. “Has been since the Romans got hold of the thing.”

“I keep abreast of current events, you naughty child,” said Ceres, shooting him a look before swinging her attention back to me. “You’re the one who killed my father, aren’t you?”

Oh, great: this again. Killing Blind Michael was something I didn’t regret in the slightest. It was also something I was going to be dealing with for the rest of my life, if the last several years had been any guide. “I did,” I said.

“Good.” Her nod was brief and firm. “He was a good man once, but that was so long ago that only the roses remember. Mother has been to visit me twice since he died. Twice, after centuries without more than a whisper on the wind! Our family owes you a debt that can never be repaid, no matter how long we may struggle to do exactly that. Thank you for what you have done for us. Truly.”