The Winter Long

“Not all of us are the darlings of the world’s remaining Firstborn, and with Amy lost to me, I had few options,” said Simon. There was a hint of bitterness in his tone. “I did what I had to do.”


“Uh-huh.” The throne room was beginning to blur around us, fading under a veil of red. The memories my magic could draw from Simon’s blood apparently didn’t extend to actually letting me see Evening’s face. “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me before I lose my grip on this?”

“I am . . .” He took a breath. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear from me, October. But I am so proud of who you have become. I only wish I could have been there to help you grow.” The smell of smoke and oranges was getting stronger.

My head was spinning. Something wet was on my lip. I raised my hand to touch my face, and my fingers came away bloody. Simon looked at me, eyes full of sorrow. I frowned. I wobbled.

“You tricked me,” I said, and then I collapsed, and the world went from red to black before it went away entirely, taking Simon, and the smell of rotting oranges, with it.





TWENTY


I SAT UP WITH a gasp. The quality of light in my living room had changed, going from the brittle brightness of early morning to the deeper, calmer light of the afternoon. My lips felt sticky; I wiped them and my hand came away dark with blood. Still more blood cracked and fell away from my mouth, long since dried into a hard crust. I looked down. My fresh shirt was even bloodier than the last one had been, courtesy of what appeared to be a multi-hour nosebleed.

My brain was waking up slower than my body. I blinked at my bloody shirt for several seconds, trying to remember why a nosebleed that lasted for several hours was a bad thing—apart from the obvious dizziness and mess. Tybalt was going to be so annoyed when he saw that I had managed to get myself covered in blood again—

And just like that, I understood what was wrong. My heart plummeted into my stomach as I scrambled to my feet, looking wildly around the room. “Tybalt? Tybalt, are you here?” He wouldn’t have left me voluntarily, he would never have left me voluntarily, not with me bleeding and Simon in the house. He had to be hurt, or missing, or—Oberon forbid—I couldn’t even finish the thought. “Tybalt!”

“Pipe down, he’s fine.” The voice was familiar, yet so incongruous I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it until I had finished my turn and saw the Luidaeg standing in the living room door. “Your kitty-cat is in the kitchen, sleeping off Simon’s whammy. I tried to stop the bleeding a few times, and then I realized your body was purging whatever that Torquill asshole had done to you, so I let you be. You really shouldn’t drink people’s blood unless you’re sure you’re stronger than they are, October. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out which of my questions I should ask first. None of them wanted to coalesce into anything coherent.

The Luidaeg frowned, the gesture calling my attention more properly to her face. She looked as human as ever, but her bone structure was subtly different, and her eyes were the driftglass green she normally wore when visiting her Selkie step-descendants. There was something different about the texture of her skin, and when I realized what it was, my eyes got even wider.

She no longer looked like she was on the verge of becoming something else. She looked, instead, like she was only and entirely herself. Somehow, she had settled in her own skin.