Late Eclipses
Page 33

I took a deep breath, shrugging Tybalt’s hand from my shoulder, and nodded. “Well, here I am. Let’s go.”
It only took a few moments for Marcia to get us into the Tea Gardens. She never stopped trembling. Her dread went beyond grief and made a sad, terrible sense, highlighting one of the ugly truths about Faerie. Lily might have been the only person in Faerie who’d ever shown Marcia any kindness. I was afraid of losing a friend. Marcia was afraid of losing her entire world. I complain about being a changeling, but things could have been a lot worse. If my blood were any thinner or my mother less highly thought of—Amandine isn’t titled, but everyone knows her—I could have been Marcia. There’s always something worse than what you have.
We climbed the moon bridge in silence. Lily’s knowe resolved around us as an almost featureless expanse of half-frozen marsh. It seemed like the only solid ground was the spot where we were standing, and the patch of green surrounding the willow grove a few yards in front of us.
Marcia made a small, strained sound when she saw the trees. I squeezed her fingers, trying to offer what comfort I could. It wasn’t much. There was no way it could have been. Lily’s subjects were gathered on that tiny patch of land, clustered tight to keep from falling into the surrounding swamp. They spanned the gamut from purebloods to changelings, with a few even I couldn’t identify somewhere in the middle. A Hamadryad leaned against a woman with blue feathers instead of hair; a half-blood Urisk sat in the grass with the head of his Glastig companion in his lap.
Walther was standing at the edge of the crowd. I started toward him, dragging Marcia along. Tybalt followed a few feet behind. The faces I knew were a minority. I should have known more of them. I should have been there more. I should . . .
I broke that train of thought as firmly as I could. It was too late for “should.” I’d been there as much as I could. That would have to be enough.
Walther straightened when he saw us. “You found her,” he said, relieved. Tears were running down his face, but his unnaturally blue eyes weren’t puffy or bloodshot. Purebloods get all the breaks.
“I’m sorry I made you wait,” I said.
“She’s resting,” said Walther, ignoring my lame attempt at an apology. “I thought we should leave her alone until you got here.” The words “because it’s almost over” hung unspoken between us.
“That was good of you.” I tugged my hand free of Marcia’s. “Can I see her?”
“She’s waiting for you.”
Marcia sobbed, knocking me aside as she rushed into Walther’s arms. He stroked her hair one-handed, cradling her with his free arm. I looked away.
“Maybe I should go in now.”
“Yes,” Walther agreed. “Maybe you should.”
Something in his tone made me hesitate. “Walther, how much worse . . . ?”
“Just go,” he said. That seemed to be all the answer I was going to get. I took a deep breath as I turned and walked into the grove. Tybalt followed me, and Lily’s subjects followed him. They didn’t have permission to come, and they came anyway. That, more than anything, told me how bad things were; they’d never have broken protocol like that if they expected her to recover. I was moving quickly, anxious to reach her before it was . . . just before.
Then she came into view and I froze, rational thought shutting down as my eyes refused to process what they saw. That’s when I realized that whatever happened wasn’t going to be fixed or forgiven; it was going to be Evening Winterrose all over again, one more person I loved and couldn’t save.
Then the shock passed—shock always passes when you don’t want it to—and time started moving mercilessly forward.
Lily’s head was propped against the edge of the pool, hair cascading around her. It didn’t just obscure the lines of her body; it wiped them out, erasing the point where she ended and the water began. Her skin was translucent, strengthening the illusion that she and the water were the same—if it even was an illusion, anymore.
“Lily?” I whispered.
She opened colorless eyes, offering me a heartbreaking smile. New gashes opened in her throat as she moved, “bleeding” water. “You came. I knew you would. You were always stronger than she thought you’d be.”
“Oh, Lily.” I knelt next to the pool. Her hand sought mine, and I clasped it tightly, not letting myself flinch from the cold.
“Thank you,” she said. Looking past me to Tybalt, she added, “Thank you both.”
Some of her subjects gasped. I sighed, the last of the fight slipping out of me.
“There isn’t much time,” she said. “It’s all slipping away, like water running downhill. This will be done with soon.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I said, trying to sound comforting. “Just tell me where your pearl is. We’ll find out what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it.”
“The tide may turn that way, but I think not. Only time heals a heart of pearl, and my time is over.” Catching my expression, she added, “I’d tell you if I could, truly.”
“There’s no reason left to hide it.”
“I don’t know where it is, child.” Her voice was calm. “It passed from my knowledge as I sickened, and now I can’t say if it’s safe or stolen. It’s done.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“What you believe doesn’t matter.” Tilting her head, she asked, “Did I ever tell you what came between your mother’s heart and mine?”
“I don’t think this is the time—”
“Your friend would disagree,” she said, almost playfully, her attention darting to Tybalt. Focusing on me again, she said, “He all but burns with what he doesn’t say to you, and this time is mine to spend. Do you know what happened?”
I sighed. “No.”
“It was you.” Her laughter was a heavy, watery sound that turned into a cough. I winced, tightening my grip on her hand until the coughing passed.
“You don’t have to tell me this,” I said. A small, traitorous voice in my head said, No, and you don’t want her to, because if she does, you’ll know.
“It’s all right,” she said, with surprising strength. “I have time for one more story. It was you, October, you and your father. She loved him, you know, not just for what he represented, but for who he was. My foolish little princess. She dared too much, given what she was, what she was refusing to be.”