An Artificial Night

“Luna—”

I don’t know if she heard me; she just kept talking, words falling together like stones constructing my tomb. “You, at least, I can still warn: beware his children. They’re too lost. There is no peace for them. There is no salvation. There is nothing but the Hunt and the darkness and the hope that, one day, death will claim them.” She shivered and turned her face away. “Be wary, beware Blind Michael’s children and come back to us. Please.”

Slowly, I asked, “Where did Sylvester go?”

“There are ways to keep him out. Not gates, not locks or bars, but laws and rituals that make him less than welcome. Sylvester has gone to warn the Court so that we can keep the dark at bay a little longer.” She shook her head, ears flattened. “It’s all we can do. It’s not enough.”

I shuddered. Her words were taking on two meanings in my head. Neither of them was good. Maybe that was all they could do, but I had to do more; staying safe was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I wanted to ask Luna how she knew so much and why her eyes were so far away, why she was almost crying. I didn’t. I didn’t have that luxury either.

“How do I find Blind Michael?”

She glanced back toward me, expression bleak. “There are roads.”

“Can you tell me how to find them?”

“My roads are Rose Roads. If you seek darkness, ask the darkness. It can help you.”

“Luna . . .” I shook my head, biting back a groan of frustration. “What do you mean, ask the darkness? I’m getting tired of being told to talk to things that won’t talk back just because people don’t feel like saying, ‘Hey, go ask Bob, he knows what to do.’ ”

She sighed. “I’ve sent you to her before, when I thought we might lose you if I didn’t. Now I’m sending you again. This time, I’m afraid you’re already lost.”

I froze. “Oh. No.”

“Yes,” she said. “You have to go to the Luidaeg. Tell her he Rides.”

Oh, Lord and Ladies. The Luidaeg and I may be the equivalent of old Scrabble buddies these days, but there’s a big difference between visiting a friend and asking a favor from one of the Firstborn. The latter is a lot more likely to get you killed. And that was exactly what Luna was telling me to do.





EIGHT



I WALKED TOWARD THE EXIT with Spike riding on my shoulder. I’d finally given up on fighting with my skirt, hacking it off above the knees before letting Luna lead me out of the garden. It was a relief to walk without constantly feeling like I was going to trip myself. That was the only thing that gave me relief.

Once I called the Luidaeg, everything would be in her hands, not mine. Luna was right. The situation called for extreme measures, and the Luidaeg is about as extreme as you can get.

The Luidaeg’s Firstborn, like her brother, and she hasn’t lived this long by being kind. None of the Firstborn have. Maybe more important, the Luidaeg is one of Maeve’s children, and there are very few of them left. Cruelty always came easier to the children of Titania; the only survivors of Maeve’s line are the ones who let themselves learn how to become monsters. Titania’s children are cold and hard and beautiful. Maeve’s children are hot and strange and come in every shape imaginable. Oberon doesn’t claim most of his descendants, leaving them to the mercies of their mothers. Those few races that he does claim . . . those are Oberon’s children. And Oberon’s children are heroes.