The Winter Long
Page 60
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Tybalt gave me an approving look as I finally stepped through the opening in the wall. “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” he said, voice low and underscored with a purring thrum that made my ears redden.
“Flirt later, flee now,” recommended Quentin, as he closed the door in the wall. It fit seamlessly back into place. Anyone who didn’t know where the openings to the servants’ halls were hidden would have a great deal of trouble finding us.
“Who taught you to talk to your elders like that?” I asked.
“You did,” said Quentin.
“Oh, right.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turning on the screen to provide us with a little bit of light as we made our way along the passage. Purebloods can see in the dark, but total darkness isn’t exactly friendly to my changeling vision. I held the phone up in front of me, ignoring Tybalt’s amused smirk, and elbowed Quentin gently in the side. “Lead the way.”
We traveled through the hallways of Shadowed Hills in silence, only my still-waterlogged sneakers making any sound at all. I stepped as carefully as I could, until the squishing noises coupled with the feeling of my toes in wet socks got to be too much for me and I took both my shoes and socks off, carrying them in one hand as we continued into the dark.
“This should be it,” said Quentin finally, stopping in front of a section of wall that looked like all the rest. He tapped the molding twice, twisted something I would have sworn was a carving and hence untwistable, and pushed aside the panel that came loose. The opening was covered by a tapestry, making it impossible to see what was on the other side. He started to step through. I motioned for him to stay where he was and stepped through instead.
It was the right decision. As soon as I pushed the tapestry aside, a hand grabbed my throat and slammed me backward against the wall. I reacted on instinct, catching the wrist that held me and bending it sharply to the side. “Etienne! Let go! It’s me!”
Etienne blinked, the snarl on his face fading into simple puzzlement. He didn’t let go of my throat. I didn’t let go of his wrist. It wasn’t a fair exchange; I wasn’t cutting off his airflow. “October?”
“Yes! It’s me! Let go!” The conversation was starting to feel repetitive. I heard the tapestry rustle as someone followed me out—probably Tybalt, given that I was obviously in trouble. Hurriedly, I added, “If you don’t believe me, you’re going to in a second, because Tybalt’s behind me, and he’s going to introduce you to your own lungs if you keep doing this.”
“October.” Etienne let me go. I returned the favor, and he stepped back, watching warily as I rubbed my throat and Tybalt emerged from behind the tapestry. “What are the two of you doing here? It’s not safe.”
“No shit,” I said. “And it’s not just the two of us. We have our mini-mes along for the ride.”
“Hi,” said Quentin, poking his head out from behind the tapestry. Raj’s head followed a second later. He didn’t say anything, just looked Etienne up and down before turning dismissively away to study the chamber in which we were all now standing.
I wanted to do the same—I don’t like not knowing where I am—but felt that it was important I keep my eyes on Etienne, who had, after all, replaced the customary “hello” with an attempted strangulation. He was staring at the boys now, his copper eyes wide and startled. Then he turned to me, and demanded, “Are you a fool? Why would you bring them here?”
“Uh, because this is where my liege is, and I wanted to warn Sylvester that Evening Winterrose wasn’t dead—please tell me that’s why you’re so upset, and that we don’t have something else to deal with today, because honestly, I am about at my ‘threats with no clear solution’ limit.” I took my eyes off Etienne to check out the room around us, belatedly realizing that we might not be alone. It was a pleasant-looking sitting room, with large windows that were currently closed against the snow falling outside. A half-knitted blanket was thrown over a chaise longue, apparently abandoned in a hurry. “Where are Bridget and Chelsea?”
“I suggested they might remove themselves to someplace deeper within our quarters while I investigated the sounds coming from the walls,” said Etienne stiffly.
“That would be me, since the people I was with are much better at stealth,” I said. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you upset?”
“Because a dead woman has claimed this knowe, and I have no powers with which to fight her off,” he said. “I will defend my fiancée and child to the death, but I cannot protect my liege if he doesn’t want to be protected.”
“Evening?” I asked. Etienne looked at me like I was stupid. “I’m serious. I need to know, for sure, that we’re talking about the same dead woman. I’ve given up on dismissing anything as impossible.”
He sighed. “Yes. The Countess Winterrose arrived an hour or so ago. She just . . . she just walked in, like the wards weren’t there at all. The Duke went to meet her, as did I, and Grianne, and a host of others.”
“And?”
“And?” He looked at me bleakly. “All of them agreed immediately that her return was miraculous, and that she was somehow entitled to the hospitality of the Duchy, even though she had entered uninvited, even though she made no explanation of what had happened to her. Men and women I have respected for decades, suddenly slavering like striplings seeking a crumb of praise.”
“But not you,” I said slowly.
“No, not me,” he said. “I moved to the back of the group—no one seemed to see me go—and when I had the opportunity, I slipped away, back to my quarters, and locked the doors. I did not think,” he added, making a sour face, “to lock the servants’ doors. I am grateful for the reminder, even as I must ask you all to leave.”
“What?” I blinked at him. “Why?”
Etienne looked at me like I had said something even more stupid than usual. “It is not safe here, October,” he said. “But more, if you are here, there is a good chance someone will come looking for you.”
“We knew it wasn’t safe here before we came. I called before. Simon answered the phone. I’m guessing he came in with Evening, and then slipped away while everyone was distracted by her miraculous return.”
“Flirt later, flee now,” recommended Quentin, as he closed the door in the wall. It fit seamlessly back into place. Anyone who didn’t know where the openings to the servants’ halls were hidden would have a great deal of trouble finding us.
“Who taught you to talk to your elders like that?” I asked.
“You did,” said Quentin.
“Oh, right.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turning on the screen to provide us with a little bit of light as we made our way along the passage. Purebloods can see in the dark, but total darkness isn’t exactly friendly to my changeling vision. I held the phone up in front of me, ignoring Tybalt’s amused smirk, and elbowed Quentin gently in the side. “Lead the way.”
We traveled through the hallways of Shadowed Hills in silence, only my still-waterlogged sneakers making any sound at all. I stepped as carefully as I could, until the squishing noises coupled with the feeling of my toes in wet socks got to be too much for me and I took both my shoes and socks off, carrying them in one hand as we continued into the dark.
“This should be it,” said Quentin finally, stopping in front of a section of wall that looked like all the rest. He tapped the molding twice, twisted something I would have sworn was a carving and hence untwistable, and pushed aside the panel that came loose. The opening was covered by a tapestry, making it impossible to see what was on the other side. He started to step through. I motioned for him to stay where he was and stepped through instead.
It was the right decision. As soon as I pushed the tapestry aside, a hand grabbed my throat and slammed me backward against the wall. I reacted on instinct, catching the wrist that held me and bending it sharply to the side. “Etienne! Let go! It’s me!”
Etienne blinked, the snarl on his face fading into simple puzzlement. He didn’t let go of my throat. I didn’t let go of his wrist. It wasn’t a fair exchange; I wasn’t cutting off his airflow. “October?”
“Yes! It’s me! Let go!” The conversation was starting to feel repetitive. I heard the tapestry rustle as someone followed me out—probably Tybalt, given that I was obviously in trouble. Hurriedly, I added, “If you don’t believe me, you’re going to in a second, because Tybalt’s behind me, and he’s going to introduce you to your own lungs if you keep doing this.”
“October.” Etienne let me go. I returned the favor, and he stepped back, watching warily as I rubbed my throat and Tybalt emerged from behind the tapestry. “What are the two of you doing here? It’s not safe.”
“No shit,” I said. “And it’s not just the two of us. We have our mini-mes along for the ride.”
“Hi,” said Quentin, poking his head out from behind the tapestry. Raj’s head followed a second later. He didn’t say anything, just looked Etienne up and down before turning dismissively away to study the chamber in which we were all now standing.
I wanted to do the same—I don’t like not knowing where I am—but felt that it was important I keep my eyes on Etienne, who had, after all, replaced the customary “hello” with an attempted strangulation. He was staring at the boys now, his copper eyes wide and startled. Then he turned to me, and demanded, “Are you a fool? Why would you bring them here?”
“Uh, because this is where my liege is, and I wanted to warn Sylvester that Evening Winterrose wasn’t dead—please tell me that’s why you’re so upset, and that we don’t have something else to deal with today, because honestly, I am about at my ‘threats with no clear solution’ limit.” I took my eyes off Etienne to check out the room around us, belatedly realizing that we might not be alone. It was a pleasant-looking sitting room, with large windows that were currently closed against the snow falling outside. A half-knitted blanket was thrown over a chaise longue, apparently abandoned in a hurry. “Where are Bridget and Chelsea?”
“I suggested they might remove themselves to someplace deeper within our quarters while I investigated the sounds coming from the walls,” said Etienne stiffly.
“That would be me, since the people I was with are much better at stealth,” I said. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you upset?”
“Because a dead woman has claimed this knowe, and I have no powers with which to fight her off,” he said. “I will defend my fiancée and child to the death, but I cannot protect my liege if he doesn’t want to be protected.”
“Evening?” I asked. Etienne looked at me like I was stupid. “I’m serious. I need to know, for sure, that we’re talking about the same dead woman. I’ve given up on dismissing anything as impossible.”
He sighed. “Yes. The Countess Winterrose arrived an hour or so ago. She just . . . she just walked in, like the wards weren’t there at all. The Duke went to meet her, as did I, and Grianne, and a host of others.”
“And?”
“And?” He looked at me bleakly. “All of them agreed immediately that her return was miraculous, and that she was somehow entitled to the hospitality of the Duchy, even though she had entered uninvited, even though she made no explanation of what had happened to her. Men and women I have respected for decades, suddenly slavering like striplings seeking a crumb of praise.”
“But not you,” I said slowly.
“No, not me,” he said. “I moved to the back of the group—no one seemed to see me go—and when I had the opportunity, I slipped away, back to my quarters, and locked the doors. I did not think,” he added, making a sour face, “to lock the servants’ doors. I am grateful for the reminder, even as I must ask you all to leave.”
“What?” I blinked at him. “Why?”
Etienne looked at me like I had said something even more stupid than usual. “It is not safe here, October,” he said. “But more, if you are here, there is a good chance someone will come looking for you.”
“We knew it wasn’t safe here before we came. I called before. Simon answered the phone. I’m guessing he came in with Evening, and then slipped away while everyone was distracted by her miraculous return.”
