Ashes of Honor
Page 25

“Bad ‘well, that sucks’ or bad ‘end of the world’?” I asked, cautiously.
“Bad ‘he punched a hole all the way through to the central lands of Faerie, and some people were never heard from again,’” said the Luidaeg. “I’d tell you to go ask your mother, if I thought she’d be willing to talk to you about it. She was there. She was one of the people who had to seal the door he’d created before it could destroy all the worlds.”
Amandine had been rattling at doors no one could see since she went mad. Maybe she really could see something that the rest of us couldn’t. I frowned. “What happened to the changeling?”
“He died.” The Luidaeg’s tone made it clear that there would be no further discussion of the dead. Her kettle began to whistle. She took it off the stove and opened the nearest cabinet, taking down a mug. “If your Chelsea is that kind of changeling, you’ve got two choices.”
“What are those?” I already half-knew what she was going to say. I was hoping she’d come up with another option.
“You shift her blood all the way in either direction—make her human, or make her fae so that her blood will give her the power blocks she’s missing—or you kill her. She doesn’t walk away from this the way that she is now. Do you understand me? No one who can open a door to Tirn Aill without my father’s permission can be allowed to go free.”
“Why is that so bad?” asked Quentin. “I mean, when Oberon locked the doors, did he know he was going to be gone this long? Maybe people would fight less if they could go home.”
Faerie wars used to be bloody and unpleasant, but they always ended, because eventually the warring parties just went home. When your annoying neighbors live in a different pocket universe, it’s a lot easier to ignore the fact that they never mow the lawn. Locking all the inhabitants of Faerie in two worlds—Earth and the Summerlands—might have made out-and-out conflict rarer, but with nowhere else to go, the warring parties just kept at it until one side was all but annihilated. Just ask the Kingdom of Silences.
“It’s not my place to question my father’s decisions,” said the Luidaeg frostily. Then she sighed, thawing a little as she said, “Without him, Mom, and Aunt Titania to keep the Heart of Faerie under control, the deeper lands are unstable. They’re open to influence, and they’re going to be looking for it anywhere they can find it. If we went back to the deeper lands without them, we’d all wind up dead, trapped, or worse.”
I didn’t ask what “or worse” could be. Faerie is nothing if not creative when it comes to that sort of thing. Instead, I asked, “The Heart of Faerie?”
The Luidaeg didn’t answer. She just looked at me and waited.
Right. “So how are we supposed to find Chelsea?” I asked, dropping the subject. “She can teleport, and we don’t even have a car anymore, thanks to the Afanc.”
“What did you say her magic smelled like?”
“Sycamore smoke and calla lilies.”
“And she’s Etienne’s kid. What does his magic smell like?”
“Um…it smells like cedar smoke and limes.”
“Okay. Okay. Her line…she must be descended through Amorica.” Catching our blank expressions, the Luidaeg sighed. “You know, there was a time when everyone in Faerie knew the descendant lines of the Firstborn. It helped people not get turned inside out when they pissed us off. Amorica and Elton are the Tuatha de Dannan Firstborn. Twins. Amorica’s magic smelled like burning heather—like all the fields in the world were on fire at once. Elton smelled like that same field at dawn, when the dew was heavy and fire seemed impossible. If your missing kid were from Elton’s line, she’d smell like, I don’t know, wet concrete and whatever.”
Quentin and I kept looking at her blankly. The Luidaeg scowled before picking up the kettle and pouring a stream of dark liquid into her mug.
“Did you never consider that maybe—just maybe—your magic said things about you?”
“I knew it usually reflected one or both of your parents somehow and that it could change as you got older, but I didn’t realize it identified your Firstborn,” I said. “Or that the Tuatha had two Firstborn.”
“Yeah, well, ‘had’ is the right word there. Amorica died the first time we went to war against each other—and don’t,” she held up a hand, “ask me why we went to war, or who was on which side. It doesn’t matter now, and it’s one of the questions I’m not allowed to answer.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “So she’s one of Amorica’s descendants. What does that mean from a practical standpoint?”
“It means I can mix you a tracking potion.” The Luidaeg sipped her tea, grimaced, and set the cup aside before opening her refrigerator and starting to rummage around inside. “You won’t be able to follow her if she gates out of the Summerlands, but at least you’ll be able to tell where she enters and exits.”
“What’s the catch?” asked Quentin.
The Luidaeg’s magic always comes with a price. Both Quentin and I have learned that lesson firsthand. There are people who would say we got off easy—we’re both still breathing, after all—and maybe they’re right. That doesn’t make the Luidaeg’s bills easy ones to pay.
“Well, for one thing, you won’t be able to stop looking until you find her.” The Luidaeg straightened, a jar of unidentified green sludge in each hand. She closed the refrigerator door with a bump of her hip before moving to the counter. “For another thing, if she dies before you manage to catch up to her, you’re going to get it dropped on your head.”
“Like riding the blood all the way to a death?” I asked.
The Luidaeg looked up, meeting my eyes, and nodded. “It would be a lot like that. The nature of the connection is similar. Quentin would probably bounce back. You, on the other hand…there are downsides to being what you are.”
I shuddered. I couldn’t help it. Blood magic is always dangerous; maybe that’s why there are so few races in Faerie that specialize in it. Water magic, sure. Flower magic, why not? But blood magic? That’s the sort of thing that can get you killed. I should know. It’s come close to killing me, more than once.