Rosemary and Rue

“I . . .” Lily narrowed her eyes, and I stopped, reviewing the events of the afternoon in my head. I hadn’t been thinking, or even acting: just reacting. I’d been reacting since I heard Evening’s voice on my answering machine. Looking away, I said, “No.”


“I didn’t think so. People have been trying to kill you for as long as I’ve known you; it seems to be a normal part of your existence, and I’ve grown resigned to that fact. Even so, I’ve never seen you giving so little care to evading their efforts. It almost seems like you want them to catch you.”

“Lily, I—”

“No,” she said, and I stopped, run up against the wall of her implacability. “You forget, how well I knew your mother. Amandine’s excuses were always very much like yours. Nothing you say will be new to me.”

I raised my eyes, and she met them without flinching. Her lips were curved in a faint, sad smile, creasing the scales that ran across her cheeks. “Maybe not. But you always let her go.”

The smile softened, growing sadder and more accepting at the same time. “I always regretted it, as well.”

“We do what we have to.”

“As, I suppose, we must.” She sighed. “Ah, well.”

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now you leave me. Even if I could hold you here against your will—even if I would, after what we’ve been through together—the Winterrose has bound you, and I can’t defy the law so directly. The sun will be down soon.”

“. . . down?” I asked, staring at her. “Lily, it was night when I got here.” Fleetingly, I wondered how much work I’d managed to miss.

“Time passes, October,” she said. I didn’t have an answer to that. Lily looked at me levelly and continued, “Once the sun is down, Marcia will summon a taxi for you, and I will have one of my handmaids escort you to the edge of the park. Once you have left my lands, you may do whatever you feel is needed, and I will have done what hospitality demands.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I am not done.” Her tone sharpened, becoming colder. “I wouldn’t let you go at all were it not for the binding, and had you not been my unwilling guest once before; understand that. Your mother will not forgive me for your death.”

“My mother hasn’t left the Summerlands in twenty years,” I said, unable to stop myself. “I doubt she’s going to come out to yell at you.”

“I think you might be surprised by what she would do.” I looked at her and couldn’t think of a single way to answer that. So we just sat and drank our tea while the silence stretched out between us, until Lily raised her head, acknowledging some unseen sign.

“The sun is down,” she said, and stood, moving with fluid grace. “Come, October. It’s time to go. I just hope, for your sake, that you’ve rested well enough.”

I pushed myself to my feet and followed her, pausing to take my bloody clothes from a Puca with drag onfly wings and white-blind eyes. She looked familiar, like someone I’d known once, but I didn’t ask. The stories you find in the independent knowes usually aren’t pretty ones.

Lily stopped, looking at me. “You should dress,” she said. “It’s cold outside, and you aren’t as accustomed to it as I am.”

“True,” I said. No one is as accustomed to cold as the Undine, unless you count the various breeds of snow fae. Lily could walk naked in subzero temperatures and not be bothered.