Late Eclipses
Page 71

The iron in my blood still ached, but it had faded while I was floating in the black; it wasn’t singing any more, and it barely even burned. “What’s wrong?”
“Where do I start?” She closed her eyes. “First I think I’m going to die, and then Tybalt puts you in the room where I’m trying to get better. This keeps getting less and less like fun.”
“At least you’re not dead.” I tested my limits by ordering one unwilling arm to move. It lifted with a minimum of protest. Emboldened by success, I sat up. When this didn’t make me black out or vomit, I pushed myself to my feet, ready to grab the nearest wall if the world started spinning. It didn’t seem inclined to. Bit by careful bit, I relaxed. “Right now, that’s about the only positive thing I can see about the situation.”
“True. You’re finally a felon, or whatever it’s called when the Queen wants you dead.” She opened her eyes, giving me an interested look. “Do you think they’ll torture you when they catch you? Before the execution, I mean. Which should be televised.”
“Good to see that you’re as upbeat as ever. How long have I been here?”
“Long enough for Tybalt to freak out twice because you didn’t look right, four times because he was sure the royal guard had been beating you, and six times because you weren’t waking up. It’s been a big circus of psychodrama. Thanks for that.” Julie shifted on her pallet. “It’s no fun around here when our lord and master isn’t slamming people into walls for breathing too loudly in your presence.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, looking around.
We were in what looked like an abandoned hunting lodge; dust and debris covered every surface, save for the spots that had been swept clean to make room for more pallets. Each held one or more Cait Sidhe, all as worn and sick as Julie. A fire blazed in a vast fireplace that took up most of the far wall. It was obviously sustained by magic—real fires don’t burn that high for long without getting out of control.
Cat-form Cait Sidhe covered the hearth, furry bodies obscuring the stone. The room must not have been as dark as I thought at first. My eyes adjusted quickly, picking out surprisingly clear details, like the pattern on a dozing calico.
“You going to stand there all day?” Julie asked. “I bet the King would appreciate knowing you’re not planning to play Sleeping Beauty.”
“I don’t even know where I am,” I said, keeping a careful distance from her. She said she was too sick to attack me, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “I mean, besides the Cat’s Court.”
“You shouldn’t know.” She shook her head, and winced. “Ow.”
“It still hurts?”
The look she shot me was pure hostility. “I bet there’s some of that poison left, if you want to try it for yourself. Get a firsthand idea of what this feels like.”
“I’ll pass. I’ve been abused enough this week.” I pushed my hair back, noting that my hands were entirely healed. That was something. “Still planning to kill me?”
“As soon as I get the chance.”
“Why?”
She paused. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
Maybe this wasn’t the time to try convincing her to drop her vendetta—the Queen had her own vendetta, and I doubted Tybalt could stop her by bouncing her off the walls the way he did Julie—but it was worth a shot. I needed this to be over. I missed my friend, and I didn’t need the extra enemies.
“I mean exactly what I said. Why are you still trying to kill me?”
Bitterly, she spat, “You killed Ross.” Ross was Julie’s lover, and he died when an assassin sent to kill me didn’t judge his aim quite the right way. Devin’s assassin. I was starting to feel like I’d be spending the rest of my life cleaning up that man’s messes.
“I didn’t kill him.” I forced myself to keep looking at her. I started this confrontation; I was going to deal with it. “I blame myself for a lot of deaths—it feels like more all the time—but I didn’t kill him.”
“He got shot by a man who was aiming for you. What do you call that?”
“Bad timing. Neither Lily nor I knew the assassin was there. If we’d known . . .” I shook my head. “If I’d had any idea, I wouldn’t have taken you down that hill. I didn’t mean to let anyone get hurt. I’m sorry. But I didn’t kill him.”
She glared for a moment longer before the expression faded, replaced by confusion. “You mean that.”
“By oak and ash and thorn, I mean it.”
“So he died for nothing?”
That stopped me. Ross’s death was a tragedy . . . and in the end, it changed nothing but my relationship with Julie. “Julie—”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did he die for nothing?”
Reluctantly, I answered, “Yes.”
“Yeah.” She slumped, turning away. “He wasn’t going to live forever, but he should have lived longer than he did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I mean it.”
“That makes it worse.” She waved a hand, shooing me away. “I hurt too much to kill you, and I can’t forgive you if I can’t choose not to kill you. Go find my damn King before he breaks something, okay?”
“Right,” I said, heart sinking, and turned to walk away.
“Toby?”
“Yeah?” I looked over my shoulder. Julie was watching me, eyes narrowed.
“Don’t get killed. I know you got that guy to fix things, and . . . and we won’t know who to pay our debts to if you die.”
I smiled. That was the closest she was going to come to telling me to be careful. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” She put her head down again. I turned, heading for the door.
Crossing the room was like walking through a living jigsaw puzzle. Most of the Cait Sidhe were unconscious or asleep; the others moved sluggishly, winding up underfoot at the worst possible moment. I wasn’t dizzy, but that didn’t mean I was running at full speed. I had to stop and brace myself several times while I got my breath back, waiting for the equally miserable-looking cats to move out of the way.
They all seemed to be breathing; that was a small blessing, at least. If Walther’s antidote worked, Tybalt wouldn’t lose any more of his people.