Rosemary and Rue

“What?” Her smile faded into surprise, wiping away the smooth curl of her disdain.

For once, the overstylized formality of Faerie was a blessing, because it meant I didn’t need to figure out what to say on my own. “When the Root and Branch were young, when the Rose still grew unplucked upon the tree; when all our lands were new and green and we danced without care, then, we were immortal. Then, we lived forever.” I looked down and away, not wanting to see the look on the Queen’s face. It didn’t matter: I could hear what I didn’t see in the sudden stillness of the Court. There’s only one reason for the death chants.

It was too late to stop. It was too late when the gun went off. I pressed on. “We left those lands for the world where time dwells, dancing, that we might see the passage of the sun and the growing of the world. Here we may die, and here we can fall, and here my Lady Evening Winterrose, Countess of the fief of Goldengreen, has stopped her dancing.”

I left my head bowed until the quiet was too much to bear. The Queen had gone so still that she might as well have been a statue, somehow carved from mist and sea foam. I couldn’t blame her: I’ll live a long time, if I’m careful, but the most I can expect is a few centuries. That’s a lot in human terms. It’s nothing compared to what the purebloods get. The reminder that they can die is sometimes more than they can take.

“Your Majesty . . .” She raised her hand, pale fingers shaking as she warded my words away. I quieted, waiting for her to compose herself before I continued, saying, “Your Majesty, she charged me to find the cause of her death. May I ask . . .”

“No.”

I stopped, surprised. I’d expected a lot of things. I hadn’t expected her to refuse me. “Your Majesty?”

“No, October Daye, daughter of Amandine.” The Queen lifted her head, jaw set. “I will not help you, and we will speak of this no more. What’s done is done; when the moon is high, we will dance for her, and until that day, no one here will speak the name of the Winterrose, and after that day, no one will speak her name again. I will not help you . . . and you will not ask me to.”

“But . . .”

“No. Amandine’s daughter or no, I will not give you what you would ask me for. I would refuse you and be damned before I did such a thing.” She shook her head. “I have done enough for you down the years; there are no debts between us, and I will not help you now.”

Not even being slapped would have surprised me more. “But, my lady, Evening was murdered, with iron—”

“Don’t tell me how she died!” I rocked back on my heels, clapping my hands over my ears in a vain attempt to block out the voice of the Queen. Maybe time had diluted the blood of her Banshee and Siren ancestors enough that her scream wasn’t fatal, but I’ve never been much for roulette. “Don’t tell me!”

The Court was buzzing again, but this time, their whispers were directed at the Queen. She was shaking where she stood, eyes gone moonstruck-mad with fury. Her rage might have been impressive if it was focused on something else, but it was focused on me, and that made it terrifying. Humanity has instincts that kick in around the fae, forcing them to be good and humble. Changelings don’t get the full brunt, but we get some of it, until sometimes even our own parents can scare us away. I backed up several steps, dropping a hasty curtsy. “Your Majesty, if we’re done, I . . .”