The Winter Long

“Yes,” said Simon. The word was soft, and somehow broken. His voice gained strength as he repeated, “Yes, I did, and I would do it again, even knowing her as I do now. What she offered me was worth the cost. I will not deny that.”


“Was it?” I looked back to the empty forest. The faint smell of cider hung in the air. “Was it really? Because your daughter’s still missing, and my mother’s still on a one-way trip to wherever the hell it is her mind’s been going for the past twenty years. It doesn’t seem like you got anything out of the deal at all.”

“I got power.” The scene flickered, twisted: became the Japanese Tea Gardens. Any pity I had been starting to feel for the man dissolved, replaced by the sheer terror of returning to the place where my life had ended once already. I tried to step away. He grabbed my wrist, and the smell of smoke filled the air, mixed with a muddled combination of cider and rotten oranges. What felt like a rope of woven wind slithered around my throat and pulled itself tight—not choking me, but making the point that it could, at any moment, if that was required. Simon continued implacably, saying, “I got the strength to do whatever needed doing, and all I had to give up was my autonomy, my integrity, and the love of my brother, which I had never done a thing in my life to earn. There’s something tempting about power, October. I know you know that. I can see it in your eyes. They’re so much paler than they used to be. You’re burning your humanity on the pyre of your ambitions, because we’re so much stronger than they are, aren’t we? Sometimes it’s good to be the strong one.”

“Let me go,” I said softly. “Simon, you need to let me go right now, or Oberon help me, I’m going to see if I can make every drop of blood in your body come out of your eye sockets.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

There was a long pause. The smell of smoke and oranges was so thick that it was becoming difficult to breathe. The smell of cider was completely gone. And then, to my surprise and annoyance, Simon started to laugh.

“Something funny?” I asked tightly.

“Peace,” he said, and the ropes dropped away. “I simply wanted to test—”

I whirled and punched him square in the nose.

Simon stumbled back, looking startled. I hadn’t been sure that would work. He was just a blood magic construct, after all. But then again, so was I, and magic is really remarkable sometimes.

“I’m not your daughter, Simon,” I said quietly. “My father was a human man, and he died thinking he’d lost me forever, but he’s never going to lose me, because I’m always going to remember him and honor his memory. I could never have been yours. Even if my mother had let you bring Evening’s stinking corruption to her bed, I would never have been yours.”

Simon’s gaze hardened. Still, there was something satisfied there, like I was saying the wrong words with the right inflection. “I see.”

“Here’s how this is going to be, Simon,” I said. “You have no allies. You’ve turned against Evening. Your own brother wants you punished for your crimes. Luna . . . I think Luna would gut you and use your blood to fertilize her roses if she got the chance, and hell, maybe Sylvester would give it to her. If you want to stay alive, you need to stay on my good side. That means no more tests. No more sneak attacks or attempts to test your boundaries. If you so much as think about using your magic on me, I won’t stop myself from hurting you. And don’t be concerned about the penalties we’d face for breaking Oberon’s Law. That only applies when someone gives enough of a shit to report your disappearance to the authorities.”

Simon touched his bruised nose and smiled. “You are your mother’s daughter after all.”

“And never say that to me again.” I glared at him.

“As I was saying, power,” said Simon, after a pause. “The Daoine Sidhe have always had the potential to be among the most powerful people in Faerie. It’s simply that many lack the stomach for what must be done.”