Chimes at Midnight

“Neither do I,” said Tybalt.

We kept walking. At this point, there didn’t seem like any other option. The people had to be in the knowe somewhere; two conflicting armies, however small, don’t just disappear . . .

My head was starting to throb again. I shook it, hoping I could will the pain away. It got worse, and I realized I could hear humming from the receiving room. “Oh, crap. Tybalt.” I grabbed his arm. He kept walking, dragging me with him for almost a foot before I let go. He didn’t seem to notice. He just kept going.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and turned, running back the way we’d come.

The guards blinked when I burst through the door. “Don’t mind me,” I said, grabbing the nearest fallen redwood branch. It was sticky with sap, clinging to my fingers like glue. Good. “Carry on,” I said, and went charging back inside. They might have stopped me if I’d given them time to realize what I was doing, and I couldn’t afford that.

Once I was back in the knowe, I scraped off as much sap as I could, rolling it between my fingers until I had a thick ball. I pulled it apart and jammed it into my ears, grimacing. The throbbing in my head stopped instantly. I closed my eyes. “Well, crud,” I whispered.

I’d guessed right when I heard the humming: the Queen was part Siren, and we’d backed her into a corner. We should have stopped to think about what that might mean. And now it was me and a knife versus her and all my allies.

“Isn’t this the best damn day.” I opened my eyes and started walking again, not quite running, but not wasting time as I made my way down the hall to the reception room. The scene that waited for me there wasn’t a surprise. I’d still been praying for something different.

The Queen was draped languidly over the throne that was rightfully Arden’s, wearing a long white gown that looked like it would get dirty if you so much as thought the word “mud.” Her lips were moving, probably in some vicious comment about my timing or my appearance. I couldn’t hear her. The redwood sap was doing its job. That was one threat down—but only one, and I was about to have a hell of a lot more to deal with.

The receiving hall was full of people who should have been my allies. Sylvester and his guards lined the walls. Danny loomed above the rest. He’d never seemed menacing before. He was managing it now—and so was Tybalt, who stood at the Queen’s right hand. Arden was at the Queen’s left. All of them were looking at me with the same blank-eyed stare and no signs of recognition.

“This is gonna suck,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “You didn’t have to go all supervillain and take over the whole room. You could have just ceded your throne and walked away.”

The Queen’s mouth moved. It was a relief not to know what she was saying.

“No, seriously. Let everyone go and get out. Leave the Mists now, and we won’t come after you. I give you my word.”

She threw back her head, and I didn’t have to hear her to know that she was laughing. Then she pointed at me, and May walked out of the crowd of Sylvester’s men, a long dagger in her hand. She moved to the exact center of the room and stopped, staring into the distance.

The Queen opened her mouth, not speaking this time—singing. In a flash, I knew what was about to happen, and I didn’t move.

I’m sorry, May, I thought.