An Artificial Night

“Lily,” I said, by way of explanation. Sitting up, I rubbed the back of my head with one hand. “Well, that was a little overdramatic.”


“But funny, which forgives many sins.” She stood, cradling Spike against her chest. “The return of Quentin is appreciated. He’ll need to be spoken to, of course. I’m sure Etienne will cherish the opportunity.”

“Better him than me.”

Luna laughed, offering her hand. “Come on. Sylvester will want to speak with you.”

“I do so love meeting with my liege when I’m dressed like an idiot and just concussed myself on the floor,” I grumbled, letting her pull me up. “Still, that’s a good thing, because I want to speak with him, too.”

Her laughter died, taking the light in her eyes with it. “I rather thought you might,” she said, quietly. “I’d hoped that someone else would . . . but it’s no matter. Come along.”

Still holding Spike against her chest, she turned and walked away down the hall, clearly trusting me to follow. Perplexed by her change in moods, I did exactly that. Sylvester needed to know what was going on.





SEVEN



SHADOWED HILLS IS THE BIGGEST KNOWE I’ve ever seen and it’s easy to get lost there. I’m not sure whether it actually rearranges itself when no one’s looking, but I wouldn’t be surprised. After all, we’re talking about a sprawling Summerlands estate large enough to hold Sylvester, Luna, their daughter and her husband, their fosters, the staff, an entire Court, and all of Luna’s gardens. It’s a wonder the place isn’t bigger than it is.

Luna led me down the hall into a room with walls made of falling water. She didn’t say a word, cradling Spike against her chest and looking fixedly ahead, like she was afraid her head would fall off if she turned it. Even Spike seemed subdued, lying passively in her arms with its head down and its thorns slicked flat against its back. That didn’t strike me as a good sign.

“Luna . . . ?”

“Please, October.” She glanced back over her shoulder, expression pained. “Just give me a moment. Please. Everything will be explained.”

That answer just worried me more. Still, I quieted, following her out of the waterfall room and into a vast hall filled with darkness. There was no visible floor. Doors hung suspended in the air, scattered with no regard for where the room’s walls might have logically fallen. Luna walked to the nearest door, opened it, and stepped through, vanishing into the nothingness on the other side. Swell. I swear, if anything will eventually condemn Faerie to becoming nothing but a world of fantasy and kitsch, it’s the pureblood obsession with special effects. Hoisting my skirt around my knees, I followed her.

The darkness broke into shards of yellow and turquoise before resolving into the lush green of an English country garden. Luna and I were standing on a narrow cobblestone path that wound off in a multitude of directions, branching around trees and statuary. Ferns arched overhead, casting lacy shadows on the stones beneath our feet. Like a proper English garden, it was so artfully tended that it looked like it had never been tended at all. Fat gardenias and gladiolas nodded their heads in the shade of climbing ivy and honeysuckle vines, while morning glories twined around the arms of a hanging loveseat. Marble statues peeked out of the corners, nearly buried in the heavy greenery.

“This is new,” I said, looking around.

“This is very, very old,” she corrected. “I sealed it for some time, to let the trees grow. It seemed appropriate for today.”

I gave her a sidelong look. “Luna, what’s going on?” “Just come,” she said, and started down the nearest branch of the path. Spike looked over Luna’s shoulder at me, clearly expectant. With a sigh, I followed.