Rosemary and Rue

I paused. “Lily’s expecting me?”


“Of course!” she said, still smiling. I half expected her face to crack. “She was sure you’d be here. We were all told to watch for you.” She leaned forward conspiratori ally, and I caught the gleam of faerie ointment around her eyes. Maybe her blood wasn’t as thin as I’d guessed. “To tell the truth, I’m surprised you weren’t here sooner.”

“Right,” I said, slowly. “So should I just . . .”

“You can just go on in. Lily’s waiting.” Her smile faded, message delivered, and she looked at me with an odd coldness in her bland blue eyes.

“Right.” I know a brush-off when I see one. I walked on into the Tea Gardens, keeping my eyes off the water as I headed for the highest of the curved moon bridges. Its apex was almost hidden by a jigsaw-mesh of cherry branches, making it look like it ascended forever. That little optical illusion is more accurate than most people realize; it’s just that mortal eyes can’t see all the way up. Gripping the handrail, I began my climb.

The branches of the surrounding trees knit closer and closer together as I climbed, hiding me entirely as I stepped onto the air above the visible top of the bridge. I continued to climb, and they continued to twist together, becoming a solid ceiling of green. My final step brought me from clear air to solid, marshy ground. Lily was kneeling by a low table not far away, facing me.

Two teacups sat on the table, and the matching pot was in her hands. All three were painted with curved black lines suggesting the arch of cherry branches or of bones. “October. Please, come sit.”

“Hey, Lily,” I said, walking over to kneel on the other side of the table. The gun in my pocket pressed against my skin. I felt the iron through my clothes, like the beginnings of frostbite. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but I need—”

“I know what you want.” She leaned across the table, filling the first cup. “I knew it would come to this when I heard that Ross had died in shepherding you, that the King of Cats killed a man outside my fiefdom’s bawn, that Juliet would no more claim my charities.” A pained expression crossed her face, flickered, and was gone.

I winced, looking away. “Lily, I’m so sorry. I . . .”

“You are more like your mother than you seem ever willing to believe,” she said, and sighed. “Are you sure there is no other way?”

“I’m sure,” I said, turning back to her. I hate it when I’m the last one to figure things out—but I’m getting used to it, at least where Lily’s concerned. “I have to know.”

“You may be your mother’s daughter, October, but you are not Amandine. This is not safe for you as it would be for her. Find another way.”

“There isn’t another way,” I said, biting back a bitter laugh. She had no idea how dangerous this was. “I’m running out of time. I need to know.”

“Why?”

I just looked at her. We held that tableau for a long moment before she put the teapot down, one webbed hand still wrapped around the handle.

Voice soft, Lily said, “Please don’t do this. For the sake of your survival, and your sanity, please. Can’t I make you change your mind?”

“I’m sorry, Lily. I don’t have any other options left.”

“Give it to me,” she said, holding out her hand. I handed her the shirt, and she took it, removing the lid from the teapot. It was empty. Still serene, she stuffed the shirt inside, replacing the lid before giving the teapot an experimental shake. It made a splashing noise, and she nodded, apparently satisfied. “Your cup, if you please.”

I picked up the still empty cup, and she tipped the pot over it. The liquid that poured out was thick and red, steaming in the cool air. If there was water in it, I couldn’t tell; it looked like blood, pure and simple.

“October . . .” Lily said. “It’s not too late. Put down the cup and find another way.”