Chimes at Midnight
Page 88

“I know who you are, daughter of Amandine,” said the guard. He let go of my hand, turning to the rest of the room. “In the name of Her Majesty, the Queen of the Mists, I order you to stand down.”
“Your Queen is a fake,” said Dianda, propping herself up on one elbow and glowering.
“My fealty is sworn only to the throne, not to she who sits upon it,” the guard replied. “Long live Queen Arden Windermere of the Mists.”
The other guards—the ones who were still conscious, anyway, which wasn’t most of them—turned to stare at him. Tybalt kindly stopped using his guard as a basketball, releasing the woman to stagger back to her feet and frown at her superior officer.
“How many troops did the Queen leave to hold the knowe?” I asked.
“Thirteen,” said the guard. “I am the ranking member of the guard still here.”
“Good. Then you can let the rest know that there’s been a regime change.” I smiled thinly, aware of just how ghoulish that had to look, considering my current condition. “If the old Queen tries to retreat, she’s going to find herself with nowhere she can retreat to.”
“Impressive as it is to watch you erode the loyalties of everyone around you, can I get that water now?” asked Dianda.
“Of course.” I walked over and handed her the vase. Dianda dumped its contents over her head, washing away some of the blood—and all of her scales. Her tail disappeared as the water ran along her body, replaced by bare, bloody legs.
“Much better.” She dropped the vase to the floor. It shattered. She climbed to her feet and said, “As the ranking noble—no offense, Tybalt—”
“None taken.” He sounded amused.
“Good. As I was saying, as the ranking noble currently present, I claim this knowe in the name of Arden Windermere, rightful Queen in the Mists. Do not challenge me. I am out of patience, and I have such a headache.”
“That’ll be the iron,” I said. I turned to the guard. “We need an alchemist. She’s been in your dungeon long enough to get sick, and since she’s not committing treason by backing the rightful monarch, that’s technically a declaration of war against the Undersea.”
“You people are certainly fond of declaring war against the Undersea by mistake,” said Tybalt. “I am pleased the Court of Cats has not managed to do this during my tenure.”
“We live in interesting times.” I moved to stand beside him. The guards were groaning as they woke up. “We found the hope chest and Dianda, and we technically just conquered the Queen’s knowe.”
“Yes. Not to mention the rest of it.” Tybalt ran a finger along the sharpened peak of my ear.
I smiled. “Yeah, there’s that, too. I’m hungry, even.” And not for goblin fruit. I wanted a steak. Rare, if not raw. My body had a lot of blood to build back up. “So let’s find Nolan while Dianda gets patched up, grab a sandwich, and then head back over to Muir Woods. We have ourselves a war to win.”
Tybalt looked surprised. Then, slowly, he smiled back.
“Why, October,” he said. “I thought you’d never ask.”
TWENTY-SIX
FINDING NOLAN MEANT RETURNING to the dungeons. It hurt this time, the iron in the walls singing to my blood and sending a bruised ache through my entire body. It probably hurt when I was going back for Tybalt, too, but I’d been too panicked to notice. Stress is helpful that way. When I need to ignore something unpleasant, I just work myself into a fine frenzy and charge. I realize it was stupid later, when I have time.
Dianda stayed in the treasury while Tybalt and I followed one of the Queen’s guards—or former guards, if they were serious about defecting, and not just trying for a double-cross—into the dark. There’s not much iron in the Undersea. She was putting on a stoic face, but I knew it had to be hurting her, and more exposure wouldn’t have done anyone any good.
As for the guard, he looked uncomfortable about the fact that I hadn’t wiped the blood off myself. It was drying in a thick, slightly tacky film. I could feel it cracking at the corners of my mouth every time I spoke. As long as I didn’t have to look at it, it didn’t bother me. I might need it, and I didn’t feel like cutting myself again if I was already conveniently coated in gore. Besides, this was one of the men who’d imprisoned me—and Dianda—without hesitation when he was given the order. Faerie is a feudal society. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Tybalt matched my stride. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to assess his condition. He’d apparently been waiting for that. He met my gaze, giving a small, imperious lift of one eyebrow. I smiled wryly, the blood around my mouth cracking again.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little, you know. Shaken.”
“It’s good for you to sample your own medicine from time to time,” he said. “Perhaps the memory of your current feelings will motivate you to run heedlessly into danger with a bit less frequency.”
I thought about that as we walked. Finally, I shook my head. “No, probably not.”
Tybalt smirked.
Further conversation was cut off as the guard at the lead of our small procession stopped. There was a narrow, iron-banded door on the other side of the hall. “We’re here,” he said.
“Where’s here?” I asked, frowning at the door. “This isn’t a normal cell.”
“No,” he said. “The Queen’s . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to call her. My former liege’s instructions were very clear. The prisoner was placed in seclusion, to prevent his plotting further insurrection.”
“Um, one, Dianda was a lot more likely to plot insurrection, since she was pissed off and also technically isn’t under the jurisdiction of any Queen of the Mists, and two, Nolan’s been elf-shot. He can’t plot anything, unless it’s a really epic snore.” I glared at the guard. He squirmed. I glare well. I glare even better when I’m covered in blood. “What’s down there that makes it worse than the cells up here?”
“That is where prisoners who must be kept . . . calm . . . are confined,” said the guard. “The room keeps them . . . calm.”
He looked so uncomfortable, and so unhappy, that I yielded, asking, “You weren’t happy about putting him down there, were you?”