Rosemary and Rue
Page 34
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Tybalt glanced away. “The Queen . . .”
“She won’t help me. She’s already refused.”
“Why?” He looked back, suddenly frowning. “What does she know?”
“If I knew that, I’d feel safe asking someone at Shadowed Hills to guard it. But I don’t know why, and that means, for everyone’s sake, that it needs to stay with someone she doesn’t control.” The Courts of Faerie have no control over the Cait Sidhe, by Oberon’s own decree. The Queen couldn’t touch Tybalt. Maybe she wasn’t a murderess, but our brief encounter had left me with the sinking suspicion that she was going insane, and if that was the case, I really didn’t want to deal with her while I was cursed and looking for a murderer.
Tybalt’s eyes narrowed. “Why not just take it Home? I’ve heard you’d still be welcome there. Surely your ban on changelings can’t extend so far as that.”
“Devin’s got enough trouble with the Queen. I don’t need to cause him more.” I studied Tybalt’s expression, and frowned. I didn’t know of any bad blood between him and Home. Fourteen years is plenty of time to start a feud.
“The Tea Gardens, then.”
“That’s the first place anybody who’s trying to find it would look. If they know I can’t hide it with Sylvester . . .”
“They’ll assume you’ve taken it to the Lily-maid.”
“Exactly.” I cocked my head, watching him. “So you’ll do it?”
“You still haven’t said why you’re coming to me. I’m not the only cat in this city.”
“Because you hate me.” Seeing his confusion, I clarified: “There’s never been any love lost between us, and there probably never will be, but you keep your word, and I know that if you say you’ll do this for me, you’ll do it. Your honor might survive betraying a friend, because the friend would forgive you. I wouldn’t.”
His expression hardened. “What’s in it for me?”
“The chance to get me in your debt.” I allowed myself a thin smile. “That’s worth enough that I know you’d keep your word.”
He was silent for a long moment; long enough that I started to worry that I’d gone too far. Finally, voice hushed, he said, “So you’ll trust me because you don’t trust me?”
I swallowed. “Yes,” I said.
“You’ll owe me for this. You may never pay this debt; I may never let you. I could hold it over you for centuries. I could decide to never let you go.” There was an odd warning note in his voice, like he wanted me to reconsider.
“That’s my problem, isn’t it?” I raised my head a little further and met his eyes.
He blinked, apparently surprised by my boldness. Then he shrugged, saying, “Very well,” and reached for the box, trying to tug it from my hands.
I kept my grip on the hope chest. “No,” I said, sharply. “Promise first.”
He glared at me; I glared back. “You know the rules. You want me in your debt, fine, I’m going willingly. But I’m going by the rules. Now promise.”
“If you insist,” he said, and straightened, squaring his shoulders before chanting, “By root and branch, by leaf and vine, on rowan and oak and ash and thorn I swear that what is given to my keeping shall remain in my keeping and shall be given over only to the one who holds my bond. My blood to the defense of the task I am set, my heart to the keeping of the promise to which I am bound.” The air grew thick with the taste of pennyroyal and musk as his magic crackled around us, drowning out the taste of roses.
“Broken promises are the road to our damnation,” I said, the copper and cut grass smell of my own magic undercutting his. “Promises kept are the meeting of all our myriad roads.”
“And such a meeting will my promise be.” The magic shattered around us as the formalities ended and he pulled the hope chest away. This time I let it go, my fingers aching as they pulled away from the wood. How badly did I want it? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to.
“Thank you, Tybalt,” I said, lingering on the forbidden words. Thanks implies fealty. As long as Tybalt held that chest, he was in mine. It was rude beyond belief for me to point it out that way. I wasn’t sure exactly why I did it; chalk it up to stress.
He tucked the chest under his arm, glaring, before he turned and stalked away. He turned back as the shadows parted like curtains in front of him, saying, “There will be a reckoning, October,” before he stepped through them and was gone.
Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself and walked back down the alley, heading for my car. There was no time to linger; I needed to go to Shadowed Hills, and I was exhausted. I needed to get some sleep. Evening’s curse wasn’t crippling me yet, but it would start eventually, and once that happened, it wouldn’t matter how tired I was. Somehow, time had become a limited commodity.
I stopped beside my car, looking back into the darkness of the alleyway. “Yes, Tybalt,” I said to the empty air. “I know.”
ELEVEN
IT WAS ALMOST SEVEN by the time I staggered back into my apartment, stumbling over the hem of my stained silk gown and garnering curious looks from the cats, who weren’t used to me coming in smelling of smoke and the sea. The sky outside the window was turning slowly from rosy gold to a clear, crystalline blue as the sun finished its climb above the buildings. That’s one thing you’ve got to give San Francisco: there are too many people, the rent is hell and the politics are worse, but we have beautiful mornings. Somehow, in the koi pond and everything that came after, I’d forgotten that part.
I shut the door and leaned against the wall, letting my human disguise waft away into the faint, distant taste of copper. Lowering the spell left me feeling oddly refreshed and clean despite the layers of grime I’d acquired during the night. The cats twined around my ankles, complaining. I vaguely remember spooning food into their dish before collapsing facedown on the bed, too tired to bother shutting the curtains, and falling into my dreams.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of the pond. I don’t remember what I dreamed, but whatever it was, it didn’t stay with me long enough to be remembered. I woke up stiff, aching, and still dressed in the blue silk gown that used to be my second-favorite pair of jeans. I sat up, pressing a hand against the side of my head, and paused. The headache I expected wasn’t there, and it only took me a moment to remember why. I touched the hope chest. I touched the hope chest, and my headache went away. Had it changed me in just that brief, accidental contact? Root and branch, how powerful was that thing?
“She won’t help me. She’s already refused.”
“Why?” He looked back, suddenly frowning. “What does she know?”
“If I knew that, I’d feel safe asking someone at Shadowed Hills to guard it. But I don’t know why, and that means, for everyone’s sake, that it needs to stay with someone she doesn’t control.” The Courts of Faerie have no control over the Cait Sidhe, by Oberon’s own decree. The Queen couldn’t touch Tybalt. Maybe she wasn’t a murderess, but our brief encounter had left me with the sinking suspicion that she was going insane, and if that was the case, I really didn’t want to deal with her while I was cursed and looking for a murderer.
Tybalt’s eyes narrowed. “Why not just take it Home? I’ve heard you’d still be welcome there. Surely your ban on changelings can’t extend so far as that.”
“Devin’s got enough trouble with the Queen. I don’t need to cause him more.” I studied Tybalt’s expression, and frowned. I didn’t know of any bad blood between him and Home. Fourteen years is plenty of time to start a feud.
“The Tea Gardens, then.”
“That’s the first place anybody who’s trying to find it would look. If they know I can’t hide it with Sylvester . . .”
“They’ll assume you’ve taken it to the Lily-maid.”
“Exactly.” I cocked my head, watching him. “So you’ll do it?”
“You still haven’t said why you’re coming to me. I’m not the only cat in this city.”
“Because you hate me.” Seeing his confusion, I clarified: “There’s never been any love lost between us, and there probably never will be, but you keep your word, and I know that if you say you’ll do this for me, you’ll do it. Your honor might survive betraying a friend, because the friend would forgive you. I wouldn’t.”
His expression hardened. “What’s in it for me?”
“The chance to get me in your debt.” I allowed myself a thin smile. “That’s worth enough that I know you’d keep your word.”
He was silent for a long moment; long enough that I started to worry that I’d gone too far. Finally, voice hushed, he said, “So you’ll trust me because you don’t trust me?”
I swallowed. “Yes,” I said.
“You’ll owe me for this. You may never pay this debt; I may never let you. I could hold it over you for centuries. I could decide to never let you go.” There was an odd warning note in his voice, like he wanted me to reconsider.
“That’s my problem, isn’t it?” I raised my head a little further and met his eyes.
He blinked, apparently surprised by my boldness. Then he shrugged, saying, “Very well,” and reached for the box, trying to tug it from my hands.
I kept my grip on the hope chest. “No,” I said, sharply. “Promise first.”
He glared at me; I glared back. “You know the rules. You want me in your debt, fine, I’m going willingly. But I’m going by the rules. Now promise.”
“If you insist,” he said, and straightened, squaring his shoulders before chanting, “By root and branch, by leaf and vine, on rowan and oak and ash and thorn I swear that what is given to my keeping shall remain in my keeping and shall be given over only to the one who holds my bond. My blood to the defense of the task I am set, my heart to the keeping of the promise to which I am bound.” The air grew thick with the taste of pennyroyal and musk as his magic crackled around us, drowning out the taste of roses.
“Broken promises are the road to our damnation,” I said, the copper and cut grass smell of my own magic undercutting his. “Promises kept are the meeting of all our myriad roads.”
“And such a meeting will my promise be.” The magic shattered around us as the formalities ended and he pulled the hope chest away. This time I let it go, my fingers aching as they pulled away from the wood. How badly did I want it? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to.
“Thank you, Tybalt,” I said, lingering on the forbidden words. Thanks implies fealty. As long as Tybalt held that chest, he was in mine. It was rude beyond belief for me to point it out that way. I wasn’t sure exactly why I did it; chalk it up to stress.
He tucked the chest under his arm, glaring, before he turned and stalked away. He turned back as the shadows parted like curtains in front of him, saying, “There will be a reckoning, October,” before he stepped through them and was gone.
Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself and walked back down the alley, heading for my car. There was no time to linger; I needed to go to Shadowed Hills, and I was exhausted. I needed to get some sleep. Evening’s curse wasn’t crippling me yet, but it would start eventually, and once that happened, it wouldn’t matter how tired I was. Somehow, time had become a limited commodity.
I stopped beside my car, looking back into the darkness of the alleyway. “Yes, Tybalt,” I said to the empty air. “I know.”
ELEVEN
IT WAS ALMOST SEVEN by the time I staggered back into my apartment, stumbling over the hem of my stained silk gown and garnering curious looks from the cats, who weren’t used to me coming in smelling of smoke and the sea. The sky outside the window was turning slowly from rosy gold to a clear, crystalline blue as the sun finished its climb above the buildings. That’s one thing you’ve got to give San Francisco: there are too many people, the rent is hell and the politics are worse, but we have beautiful mornings. Somehow, in the koi pond and everything that came after, I’d forgotten that part.
I shut the door and leaned against the wall, letting my human disguise waft away into the faint, distant taste of copper. Lowering the spell left me feeling oddly refreshed and clean despite the layers of grime I’d acquired during the night. The cats twined around my ankles, complaining. I vaguely remember spooning food into their dish before collapsing facedown on the bed, too tired to bother shutting the curtains, and falling into my dreams.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of the pond. I don’t remember what I dreamed, but whatever it was, it didn’t stay with me long enough to be remembered. I woke up stiff, aching, and still dressed in the blue silk gown that used to be my second-favorite pair of jeans. I sat up, pressing a hand against the side of my head, and paused. The headache I expected wasn’t there, and it only took me a moment to remember why. I touched the hope chest. I touched the hope chest, and my headache went away. Had it changed me in just that brief, accidental contact? Root and branch, how powerful was that thing?
