The Winter Long

As we passed the rose garden, I stopped. Someone was standing near the ballroom doors, someone tall and thin with fox-red hair. Unfortunately, with Simon in the knowe, there was no way for me to know for sure whether that meant safety or danger. Tybalt moved to stand beside me again. We had been spotted. There was no sense in trying to tailor the first impression when it was no longer ours to make.

The figure started toward us. We held our ground. As he drew closer, I could see that yes, he was definitely one of the Torquill brothers; there might be two people who shared that face, but thankfully, there weren’t more. He was wearing a charcoal-colored vest over a white shirt, and he looked worried. At this point, that, too, could have indicated either one of them.

Then he took one more step, and the familiar scent of dogwood flowers and daffodil caressed my nose, bidding me to be calm. I relaxed. “Sylvester.”

“October,” he replied, sounding puzzled. “What are you doing here? You could have been hurt—”

“Your wards have never been set to keep me out, and coming through the woods was easier than using the mortal world, under the circumstances,” I said. “We used the Shadow Roads to get here.”

He blinked. “From San Francisco? That’s too dangerous.” His gaze flicked to Tybalt. “I would have trusted some of you to have more sense than that.”

“I’m going to ignore the part where you just implied that you don’t expect me to have common sense, and cut straight to asking if we can come in,” I said. “It’s cold out here, and I can’t really feel my feet anymore. I’d like to get warm and tell you why we came, if that’s okay.”

“Your timing is excellent,” he said. “I was just about to call you.”

I hesitated, looking at him. Finally, as my stomach sank, I asked, “Do you have company?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a miracle. October, Evening Winterrose is returned to us. She’s alive.”

I closed my eyes. Fuck. “You know,” I said, in as level a tone as I could manage, “that’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”





SIXTEEN


SYLVESTER WAS Daoine Sidhe. If the feeling of dreamy inevitability Quentin had described experiencing in Evening’s presence was an artifact of interacting with your First and not the result of some spell Evening had cast on King Aethlin and his Court, I needed to choose my next words carefully.

Naturally, I didn’t do that.

“She’s dangerous and you need to get her out of here,” I said bluntly.

“What?” Sylvester frowned. I looked back at him, trying not to shiver. “October, I’m afraid you may be confused. Evening Winterrose, former Countess of Goldengreen, your friend, is here. She’s alive. It’s a miracle.”

“It’s a miracle that nearly got us all killed a few hours ago,” I said. “She tried to take back Goldengreen. She closed the wards, and we got slapped off the Shadow Roads into the ocean. We could have died. One of Lily’s former handmaids did die when Evening started a fight inside the knowe. Are you following me yet? She’s dangerous.” I didn’t tell him she was the one who’d paid for the abduction of Luna and Rayseline. I was going to have to sooner or later, but this didn’t seem like the time. Not when Evening was already in the building. Either he’d call me a liar, or worse, he’d attack her—and I didn’t want to see what would happen if he went up against his own First.

Sylvester’s frown deepened. “This sounds like a terrible misunderstanding. All of you are shivering—you must be freezing.”

“I’m not,” said Quentin.

“Let’s get you inside and have Jin bring you some warm clothes,” said Sylvester, ignoring Quentin completely. “Once you’re dry, you can meet us in the receiving hall, and you and Evening can work out whatever issues you’re having. I understand her return is probably confusing for you, but, October, just think. This is a miracle. We have been blessed by the oak, ash, and thorn this day, for one of our own has resumed her dancing.”