The Winter Long

“Things change, October. You belong to me. You used to be better about accepting that, but I suppose I left you without a leash for too long, didn’t I? I’m sorry about that. I know how confusing that sort of thing can be.” She smiled. “There’s no sense in fighting me. It won’t do you any good. Your fealty belongs to me, through the chain descending from your liege, and I have long since taught you to obey me.”


Pain is the body’s way of telling you to stop doing something. I dug my nails still deeper into my palms, and felt that glorious moment where the skin gave way and the pain became ten times more intense. The smell of blood assaulted my nose an instant later, strong and hot and all the better because it was my own.

I hate the sight of my own blood, and I’ve never been that fond of the taste, but when I brought my bleeding hand to my mouth, it tasted like freedom for the first time. I drank as deeply as I could before the wounds started closing, and then whirled, Evening still staring at me in slack-jawed disbelief as I flung myself from the dais—

—only to freeze when I saw Simon Torquill standing behind Tybalt, his hands raised in a gesture that I recognized as a spell in progress. Tybalt’s back was rigid, his arms pressed down at his sides like they were held by some invisible rope, and he looked like he was choking. That explained the smell of smoke. What it didn’t explain was the Luidaeg standing only a few feet away, a snarl on her lips and her hands curled into helpless fists at her sides.

I started moving again, running toward them with my bloody fingers outstretched. I’d ripped one of Simon’s spells to pieces already. I could do it again, if I could just figure out how to begin. I never got the chance. One of those wind-ropes drew suddenly tight around my ankles, and I was moving too fast to stop myself; I lost my balance, and gravity carried me down to the marble floor. I tried to raise my hands to catch myself, and discovered that I couldn’t move my arms, either.

That wasn’t as smart a move as Evening probably thought it was. My face bore the brunt of the impact, and I felt the squishy crunch as the cartilage in my nose gave way. Between that and my lips being smashed up against my teeth, there was suddenly more blood than I needed for any single spell right there where I wanted it: flowing into my mouth.

“Really, October,” said Evening, her words accompanied by the soft sound of slippers on marble. “You do get so worked up over things. What good did you expect this little rebellion to do? You’re not going to save your friends. You can’t even save yourself.”

Swallowing the blood that was seeping from my lips was easier than swallowing the blood running down the back of my throat from my battered nose: I almost gagged, but kept gulping. The pain was enough to keep me from falling back under Evening’s spell, at least for the moment. I knew it wasn’t going to last. I needed to gather my resources fast, and whatever I was going to do, I needed to do it before I stopped bleeding. Time to gamble.

“You’re not allowed to move against the children of Titania, but you are allowed to come to the aid of the children of Oberon!” I shouted, lifting my head off the floor and focusing on the Luidaeg. Her eyes widened slightly, despite whatever spell Evening was using to bind her. Now I just had to pray that I was right. “He’s my grandfather! Help me!”

Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

I’ve never been a lip-reader. I took a split-second to think about what she might be saying, and then shouted again, “Help me!”

The Luidaeg coughed. It was a small sound, almost obscured by Evening’s scoffing and the slap of her shoes against the marble. She was almost on top of me. I was running out of time.

Then, voice almost inaudible, the Luidaeg said, “Ask me again.”

I smiled, showing bloody teeth. Third time’s the charm, especially in Faerie. “Help me,” I said.