The Winter Long

“You’re not my guest!” My temper finally snapped. I lunged for the dish drainer, fumbling for the knives.

Simon’s stasis spell caught me before I was halfway there. I froze, arm outstretched, one foot off the ground. Gravity no longer seemed to be a factor. The smell of smoke and rotten oranges was heavy in the confined kitchen air.

“I’d hoped we could do this in a more civilized manner,” said Simon. I heard the faint clink of his mug against the counter as he picked up his tea, followed by footsteps as he walked around me. He stopped where I could see him. “You are your mother’s daughter. I mean that in the best way and the worst way at the same time. She always inspired contradictions.”

Held by his magic, all I could do was glare, and rage silently against the horrible symmetry of his intrusion. The last time my life had seemed to mean something, Simon Torquill had come and taken it all away from me. It made perfect, horrible sense that he would do it again.

“I never wanted you to hate me, October. Far from it. I wanted to be . . . I wanted to be a part of your life, but I was never given the chance. That’s why I did what I did. That’s why I saved you.”

Wait, what?

He must have seen the question in my eyes. Simon sighed, and said, “Forgive me. I didn’t think about what fourteen years would do to your mortal life, because I never had a mortal life to lose. I honestly didn’t think you’d remain enchanted so long, either. Amandine’s work went deeper than I realized. But you won yourself free, in the end, and—” He stopped, mouth working wordlessly, like something was preventing whatever he wanted to say from getting through. The smell of smoke grew stronger.

For a second, it felt like the bonds holding me suspended in the air were slipping. I tried to move, and they snapped tight again. Simon raised a chiding finger.

“Please don’t fight. I don’t want either of us getting hurt.” He shook his head. “It seems my geas is still intact, despite its not having been renewed in years. I cannot speak the name of my employer. Let me say, instead, that I was paid to do what I did. I was promised something I could not resist, and I was instructed to steal my brother’s wife and child. They were to be returned as soon as . . . my employer’s . . . goals had been met. I didn’t know those goals included your death. I swear, on the root and the branch, I didn’t know. Even if I’d been willing to kill you, I wouldn’t have been able to meet your mother’s eyes after I had slain her child.”

He reached for my face, hesitating for only an instant before completing the motion. His fingertips caressed my cheek, and the spell that held me wouldn’t even allow me to shudder.

Simon looked at me, eyes pleading, and said, “I transformed you to save you, and then I ran. I had no way of knowing I’d be branded a traitor by the one who had set all these things in motion or that, in my absence, Luna and Rayseline would remain captive. I swear. On your mother’s name, on my sister’s grave, I swear it.”

It was strange, but I almost believed him. He sounded so earnest, and so sad . . . and that did nothing to change the fact that I was held suspended in a stasis spell in my own kitchen, and that I couldn’t stop him from touching me.

He took a deep breath. “October—” he began. He never had the opportunity to finish.