An Artificial Night
Page 41
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Acacia nodded. “I understand. Children are important. Where is your candle?”
“I . . . oh, root and branch.” I gave my candle to Quentin. There was no telling where he—or it—had ended up. “Quentin has it.”
“The little Daoine Sidhe? Ah. He’s at the edge of the woods; he thinks he’s hidden.” Her tone was amused. “I haven’t cared to dissuade him.”
So my candle hadn’t hidden him completely. That made a certain sense; the Luidaeg used my blood, not his, when she made it. “I—” I stopped, aware of how close I’d come to saying thank you. There are some things Faerie etiquette won’t forgive. “Can I go to him?”
“I won’t hold you.” She raised her lantern again, silver-shot eyes solemn. “But I’ll ask a favor, if you’ll indulge me.”
Titania’s daughter, one of the Firstborn of Faerie, was asking me for a favor? Every time I think the world can’t get weirder, it finds a way. “What do you need?”
“A gift.” There was a rustle of fabric, and she was holding a rose out to me. The petals were black tipped with silver, as soft and weathered as ancient velvet. “For my daughter.”
“You want me to take it to her?”
“Please.”
“Is it—”
“It isn’t poisoned. I would never do that to her. Please.”
I paused, frowning. She let me go; she didn’t have to, and she did. What harm could a rose do? “All right,” I said. “I can take it to her.”
Acacia didn’t speak—what could she have said without thanking me? She just nodded and handed me the flower. I nodded in return, tucking the stem into the curls behind my right ear. I just had to hope it would stay put.
She raised one hand and pointed toward the edge of the woods, saying, “Go that way, and you’ll find him. And when you see my daughter, tell her that I miss her.”
There was nothing more to say. Gathering every scrap of courtly etiquette I’d managed to pick up in my years as a hanger-on at my mother’s side, I dropped into a deep, formal bow. Acacia’s expression when I straightened up again was worth the effort; she looked shocked and gratified, like a woman who’d just received an unexpected gift. I smiled, turned, and walked away. The light of her lantern faded behind me until there was nothing but the darkness of the trees. And I walked on, toward the distant calling of my candle.
FOURTEEN
QUENTIN CROUCHED AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST, staring at the plains like he expected them to rise up and attack at any moment. Considering everything that had happened so far, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had. My candle was in his right hand; the flame was burning a soft green that shifted to a cobalt blue as I approached. Apparently it also reacted when allies came closer—good to know.
He was so fixated on the horizon that he didn’t hear me coming. I put my hand on his shoulder, saying, “Quentin.” He jumped back to his feet but managed not to scream as he whirled to face me. Good; he was learning.
Folding my hands behind my back, I grinned. “Hi. Miss me?” Spike chirped a greeting, rattling its thorns.
“I—you—I—” he gasped.
“Yes, I snuck up on you, and you let me get away with it,” I said, trying to conceal how glad I was to see him alive and unharmed. “If I was something hostile, you’d be dead by now. Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Now give me back my candle.”
He stared at me, eyes wide, before flinging his arms around me and hugging me so tight I was afraid he’d break something. Like my neck. “Whoa! Quentin, hey, come on, let go—”
“I thought you were dead!” he wailed. “You fell down, and then that woman came out of the woods, and I tried to follow you, but the trees kept closing in, and I couldn’t see—”
“Oh, Quentin.” I wrapped my arms around him as well as I could, given our relative sizes, and I held him until the shaking stopped. “It’s okay. I was scared, too.” He was a brave, cocky, annoying, headstrong kid that had been through a lot with me, but he was still a kid. If he needed a few minutes to calm down, he could have them. Even if I had told him to stay at home.
Eventually he pulled away, wiping his eyes. I looked at him, asking, “You okay?” When he nodded, so did I. “Good. What happened? How did you get away?”
“Once you gave me the candle, it was like they didn’t see me anymore.”
“Good. That means the Luidaeg’s spell doesn’t just cover me; if anything happens, you can take the candle and get home.”
“Not without you,” he said stubbornly, “and not without Katie.”
“Right,” I said, smothering a sigh. There’s nothing more stubborn than youth, with the possible exception of old age. “Still, it’s good to know that you can, if it’s necessary.”
“Are you hurt? You were hurt. I saw.” Quentin twisted around to look at my leg, using the movement to cover his clumsy change of subject. I decided to let it go as I snatched the candle out of his hand. “Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” I said. “It’s my candle, and I’m fine. Acacia healed me.”
“Acacia?”
“The one you saw carry me away. She healed me and told me where to find you.”
“But why?”
“So we could save the others. Come on. If we follow the trees for a bit, we’ll have a better shot at getting across the plains without being seen.” I started walking, hoping the activity would be enough to kill the conversation, at least for now. If he questioned me too deeply I might tell him what I’d learned about Luna, and that really wasn’t mine to share.
Whatever Acacia was, I knew enough to be worried. I knew she was Firstborn; she was old, possibly as old as the Luidaeg; and she called one of my best friends daughter. The implications of that hurt my head. I tried to remember what little I knew about Luna’s past—where she came from, who she was before I knew her. There wasn’t much. Popular legend says she was waiting when Sylvester came to establish the Duchy of Shadowed Hills, already tending her roses. When he arrived, she smiled and said nothing more complex than “you’ll do.” They were married the day the knowe was opened.
Was there anything else? She’d mentioned her parents once or twice, but she’d never said anything specific about her past. It was always just “I was the youngest, the others were grown when I arrived” or “my mother taught me about roses.” She’d never mentioned Japan, not once, even though the Kitsune were born there. She wasn’t fully Japanese, either; Luna was the only half-Caucasian Kitsune I’d ever seen. Lily served a perfect tea service, but Luna never did. She served rose wine, yes, and milk with honey, but never tea.
“I . . . oh, root and branch.” I gave my candle to Quentin. There was no telling where he—or it—had ended up. “Quentin has it.”
“The little Daoine Sidhe? Ah. He’s at the edge of the woods; he thinks he’s hidden.” Her tone was amused. “I haven’t cared to dissuade him.”
So my candle hadn’t hidden him completely. That made a certain sense; the Luidaeg used my blood, not his, when she made it. “I—” I stopped, aware of how close I’d come to saying thank you. There are some things Faerie etiquette won’t forgive. “Can I go to him?”
“I won’t hold you.” She raised her lantern again, silver-shot eyes solemn. “But I’ll ask a favor, if you’ll indulge me.”
Titania’s daughter, one of the Firstborn of Faerie, was asking me for a favor? Every time I think the world can’t get weirder, it finds a way. “What do you need?”
“A gift.” There was a rustle of fabric, and she was holding a rose out to me. The petals were black tipped with silver, as soft and weathered as ancient velvet. “For my daughter.”
“You want me to take it to her?”
“Please.”
“Is it—”
“It isn’t poisoned. I would never do that to her. Please.”
I paused, frowning. She let me go; she didn’t have to, and she did. What harm could a rose do? “All right,” I said. “I can take it to her.”
Acacia didn’t speak—what could she have said without thanking me? She just nodded and handed me the flower. I nodded in return, tucking the stem into the curls behind my right ear. I just had to hope it would stay put.
She raised one hand and pointed toward the edge of the woods, saying, “Go that way, and you’ll find him. And when you see my daughter, tell her that I miss her.”
There was nothing more to say. Gathering every scrap of courtly etiquette I’d managed to pick up in my years as a hanger-on at my mother’s side, I dropped into a deep, formal bow. Acacia’s expression when I straightened up again was worth the effort; she looked shocked and gratified, like a woman who’d just received an unexpected gift. I smiled, turned, and walked away. The light of her lantern faded behind me until there was nothing but the darkness of the trees. And I walked on, toward the distant calling of my candle.
FOURTEEN
QUENTIN CROUCHED AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST, staring at the plains like he expected them to rise up and attack at any moment. Considering everything that had happened so far, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had. My candle was in his right hand; the flame was burning a soft green that shifted to a cobalt blue as I approached. Apparently it also reacted when allies came closer—good to know.
He was so fixated on the horizon that he didn’t hear me coming. I put my hand on his shoulder, saying, “Quentin.” He jumped back to his feet but managed not to scream as he whirled to face me. Good; he was learning.
Folding my hands behind my back, I grinned. “Hi. Miss me?” Spike chirped a greeting, rattling its thorns.
“I—you—I—” he gasped.
“Yes, I snuck up on you, and you let me get away with it,” I said, trying to conceal how glad I was to see him alive and unharmed. “If I was something hostile, you’d be dead by now. Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Now give me back my candle.”
He stared at me, eyes wide, before flinging his arms around me and hugging me so tight I was afraid he’d break something. Like my neck. “Whoa! Quentin, hey, come on, let go—”
“I thought you were dead!” he wailed. “You fell down, and then that woman came out of the woods, and I tried to follow you, but the trees kept closing in, and I couldn’t see—”
“Oh, Quentin.” I wrapped my arms around him as well as I could, given our relative sizes, and I held him until the shaking stopped. “It’s okay. I was scared, too.” He was a brave, cocky, annoying, headstrong kid that had been through a lot with me, but he was still a kid. If he needed a few minutes to calm down, he could have them. Even if I had told him to stay at home.
Eventually he pulled away, wiping his eyes. I looked at him, asking, “You okay?” When he nodded, so did I. “Good. What happened? How did you get away?”
“Once you gave me the candle, it was like they didn’t see me anymore.”
“Good. That means the Luidaeg’s spell doesn’t just cover me; if anything happens, you can take the candle and get home.”
“Not without you,” he said stubbornly, “and not without Katie.”
“Right,” I said, smothering a sigh. There’s nothing more stubborn than youth, with the possible exception of old age. “Still, it’s good to know that you can, if it’s necessary.”
“Are you hurt? You were hurt. I saw.” Quentin twisted around to look at my leg, using the movement to cover his clumsy change of subject. I decided to let it go as I snatched the candle out of his hand. “Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” I said. “It’s my candle, and I’m fine. Acacia healed me.”
“Acacia?”
“The one you saw carry me away. She healed me and told me where to find you.”
“But why?”
“So we could save the others. Come on. If we follow the trees for a bit, we’ll have a better shot at getting across the plains without being seen.” I started walking, hoping the activity would be enough to kill the conversation, at least for now. If he questioned me too deeply I might tell him what I’d learned about Luna, and that really wasn’t mine to share.
Whatever Acacia was, I knew enough to be worried. I knew she was Firstborn; she was old, possibly as old as the Luidaeg; and she called one of my best friends daughter. The implications of that hurt my head. I tried to remember what little I knew about Luna’s past—where she came from, who she was before I knew her. There wasn’t much. Popular legend says she was waiting when Sylvester came to establish the Duchy of Shadowed Hills, already tending her roses. When he arrived, she smiled and said nothing more complex than “you’ll do.” They were married the day the knowe was opened.
Was there anything else? She’d mentioned her parents once or twice, but she’d never said anything specific about her past. It was always just “I was the youngest, the others were grown when I arrived” or “my mother taught me about roses.” She’d never mentioned Japan, not once, even though the Kitsune were born there. She wasn’t fully Japanese, either; Luna was the only half-Caucasian Kitsune I’d ever seen. Lily served a perfect tea service, but Luna never did. She served rose wine, yes, and milk with honey, but never tea.
