Rosemary and Rue

SILENCE CLOSED AROUND ME, drowning out everything else. I sat heavily back down on the bench, closing my hand around the rose petals Connor had dropped. They left stinging cuts on my palm and fingers, nicks too small to draw blood, but big enough to let me fight my way back out of the stillness Connor’s departure had created. I was there to get resources to help me solve the murder of a friend, not to fall for another woman’s husband, especially when that other woman was Rayseline Torquill, heir apparent to Shadowed Hills. Fae inheritance is nonlinear, but Sylvester and Luna didn’t have any better prospects.

I’ve never gone out of my way to collect enemies in high places, and I wasn’t there to fall in love. I was there because I had a job to do.

I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard footsteps approaching. I raised my head, petals slipping through my fingers to shatter on the path. It wasn’t Connor. The page who’d come to my apartment stood there, mouth pressed into a thin line. He winced at the sound of breaking glass, but covered the gesture almost before it was made. The purebloods train their courtiers well.

“The Duke requests your presence, if it suits you,” he said, keeping his eyes forward, away from me. I was willing to bet he’d received a dressing-down from someone—probably Etienne—for stopping me at the doors. Poor kid.

“Okay,” I said, and stood, aware that any chance I had left to make a good impression would go out the window if I tripped on my skirt. “What’s your name?”

He met my eyes,looking startled.“Quentin.”He paused before asking, “Have I given you some offense?”

“No, you haven’t,” I said. “You’ve been more than correct. I just wanted to be able to tell the Duke what a good job you’re doing.”

Quentin straightened, too surprised to mask the pleased smile that lit his face. “I . . . that is appreciated, milady.”

“A word of advice, though, while you’re listening. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Milady?”

“Don’t let any of it go to your head. Not your position, not your nature, not who or what you are. You may be immortal, but you aren’t invincible.” I thought of Evening, lying broken where Faerie’s courtiers could never reach her, and suppressed a shudder. “None of us are.”

He frowned, looking bewildered. “Yes, milady.” He was agreeing because etiquette demanded it, and we both knew it. Unfortunately, nothing I could say would make him understand, and there was no point in arguing if he wouldn’t listen. That never works on anyone. Warn the purebloods to be careful and they’ll ignore you; warn the changelings and they’ll take notes on the great games you’re suggesting. It’s a miracle we’ve lasted this long.

I sighed. “Let’s go see the Duke, shall we?”

“Yes, milady,” he said. He bowed and turned to lead me out of the garden. I glanced back over my shoulder, watching the light play through the roses, and wondered why it couldn’t all be that way. Why can’t Faerie be the stuff of dreams, all courtly manners and glass roses, Courts and pageants? Why do we have to include murder and mystery and the stuff of nightmares?

Light glittered off the shattered petals on the path, answering me. It can’t all be dreams because a broken dream will kill you as surely as a nightmare will, and with a lot less mercy. At least the nightmares don’t smile while they take you down.

Quentin waited for me at the exit, holding the garden door open in the proper courtly fashion as he waited for me to catch up. I nodded in answer to his courtesy, letting him close the door behind me. “How was he?” I asked.

“Milady?”

“The Duke. When he told you to come get me. How was he?”

Looking discomforted again, Quentin shrugged, beginning to walk down the hall. “I didn’t see him, milady. Sir Etienne gave me the order to retrieve you.”