The Winter Long

“Good,” said Mags, folding her wings again. “Now, what is it you needed to research? Hope chests again? Did you lose another princess?”


“Probably—they’re like loose change, we’re always finding them between the couch cushions. But today’s topic is ‘people who were in the Kingdom twenty years ago, who could be commonly found in either San Francisco, Pleasant Hill, or the corresponding parts of the Summerlands, who would have encountered me, the Luidaeg, and Simon Torquill.’ You got a book on that?”

Mags blinked at me, and for a split-second, I actually felt somewhat hopeful. This was a magical Library, after all, operated single-handedly by a woman with dragonfly wings who looked like a teenage girl, despite being a hell of a lot older than that. If miracles could happen anywhere, it was probably here.

“That’s a bit more specific than we tend to carry on the general shelves,” she said. “How about we start with the last Kingdom census, and see where we can go from there?” She turned and vanished back into the stacks before I could say anything.

“I think milady Librarian is anxious in our company tonight,” said Tybalt. His voice was mild, but there was a dangerous edge to it. I knew that if I looked over, he would be staring at Simon, as fixated on his prey as any cat has ever been.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little anxious, too,” I said. I bounced slightly on the balls of my feet, wishing Mags would hurry up. “I didn’t even know we had a Kingdom census.”

“They’re not very useful,” said Quentin. “They omit changelings as transitory, and it’s really easy to lose track of people.”

Given how easily we’d lost track of Arden and Nolan—the children of our rightful King—I could believe that without trouble. I shook my head, saying nothing as I started across the floor toward Simon.

To his credit, Simon didn’t move. He remained exactly where he was, hands visible, no weapons drawn, unless you counted the large, leather-bound book that he’d been reading from. I stopped in front of him, cocking my head to the side in order to read the title.

Geasa and Bindings, it read. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Simon, waiting.

There’s an art to staring someone down. It takes practice to find the right combination of bravado and unconcern, that line where “screw you” becomes “whatever.” Once you find it, though, you can stay there forever. I maintained eye contact with Simon until his cheeks flushed slightly and he looked away, eyes dipping to the book in his lap.

“I thought there might be a method for dispensing with the trouble I currently find myself grappling with,” he said. “As it turns out, bindings of this magnitude are surprisingly difficult to undo, unless you were the original caster.” He looked up again, his veneer of superior calm settling over him like a cloak as he turned his head to study Tybalt and Quentin. It was too late. I’d already seen the man beneath the charade, and as I watched him, I realized something that stunned me.

Simon Torquill was afraid.

“I know the King of Cats of old, although he was a Prince when last we had any discourse,” he said after a moment, inclining his head respectfully to Tybalt. I glanced to the side in time to see Tybalt bare his teeth in answer. “Your Majesty. I was unaware the Library of Stars had opened their doors to the Third Court. A pleasant surprise.”

“I have always been an exception,” said Tybalt tersely.

“Indeed, you have proven yourself an exemplary breaker of rules time and time again.” Simon turned a smirk in my direction and said, “He may be too shy to tell you this himself, but there was a time when my parents were quite concerned about my sister’s honor, all on account of this lovesick tomcat. Dear Rand and I were acquainted in Londinium, long before any of us dreamt we’d meet again in the Americas.”