The Winter Long
Page 61
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Etienne stared at me, apparently too shocked to speak. Oh, he was going to love what I had to say next.
“As for someone coming looking for us, we left a false trail and we took the servants’ tunnels. Sylvester will hopefully think we snuck out the back door. Besides which, we’re cold and exhausted, and I’m not going to run off and leave Sylvester under some should-be-dead lady’s spell. Even if she was an ally of mine, once upon a time.” I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain the next part of the situation. Finally, I settled for just blurting it out. “Also, she’s the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn. I’m almost certain. Ninety percent certain.”
Etienne blinked.
“Let them in, Etienne,” said a female voice from the door at the back of the room. It had a faint Irish accent. I leaned around Etienne to see its source: Bridget Ames, his mortal lover and soon-to-be wife. She offered me a wan smile. “Hello, October. I think we can manage a few dry sweaters, if that’s all that you need.”
“Socks would be great, too,” I said, holding up my soggy shoes. “I feel like I’m going to lose a toe.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” she said, beckoning for us to follow as she turned and walked back through the door in the far wall, presumably heading deeper into the living quarters she shared with Etienne and Chelsea. I glanced to Etienne to see what he wanted us to do.
He sighed, shaking his head—but his fondness for her was unmistakable. There was a light in his eyes that I’d never seen before Bridget and Chelsea came to live with him, and it infused his voice as he said, “You’ve done it now. There’s no way she’ll let you leave until she’s sure you’re protected from the elements. Couldn’t you have reminded her that you heal at a ludicrous pace, and left before you risked Sylvester’s anger?”
“Nope, because now we need to grill you on why Evening’s whammy got everybody but you,” I said amiably, as I started after Bridget. “You said Grianne was there?”
“Yes,” he said.
“So we know it doesn’t just work on Daoine Sidhe.” Grianne was a Candela. Her race was primarily claimed by Maeve, which meant she couldn’t make a valid case for being a child of Titania—Oberon might have descendants by both Queens, but the Queens had never had any children with each other. Evening’s ability to sway people to her side could move across the barriers of bloodlines. That wasn’t a good thing. “How about Luna? Was she there?”
“The Duchess was not present, no,” said Etienne, a bit of the old, familiar stiffness slipping back into his tone as he paced me. Quentin, Raj, and Tybalt followed close behind.
I glanced over my shoulder, meeting Tybalt’s eyes, and nodded once. He caught my meaning immediately, and stopped walking, putting a hand on Quentin’s shoulder to signal my squire to do the same. Returning my attention to Etienne, I asked, “Did Evening say anything unusual when she walked in? Anything that struck you as odd?”
“October, the woman has been dead for years,” he said, leveling a flat look on me. “I attended her memorial. I remember the wounds you took in the course of seeking to avenge her. Everything she said struck me as odd, because she shouldn’t have been saying anything at all.”
“I get all that, but did she say anything specifically weird?”
He sighed. “I don’t know why I bother trying to use logic on you. It always ends poorly. I should save my strength for better pursuits.” We were walking down a hallway now, close and homier than I was used to seeing in Shadowed Hills. I recognized most of the pictures on the walls from Bridget’s home in Berkeley. They showed Chelsea at a variety of ages, sometimes with her mother and sometimes by herself. The most recent pictures added her father to the mix, smiling with awkward paternal pride. They looked good together. “She said ‘I claim the hospitality of this house, according to the law as it was written, and none shall raise a hand against me.’ It’s an old form. I was not expecting it.”
“It’s a bad form,” said Raj abruptly. I blinked as I turned to look at him. He scowled. “Uncle Tybalt makes me learn all the stupid ways your nobility has defined hospitality over the years, because he doesn’t want me to get caught in something I didn’t know I was agreeing to.”
“That’s smart,” I said. “What makes that a bad form?”
“She’s calling on a law that was written back when the Firstborn were trying to kill each other all the time, that’s what,” said Raj. “Back then, if you harbored a son of Oberon or a daughter of Maeve, you were pretty much asking some descendant of Titania’s to kick your door in. So Oberon said they had to stop killing each other when hospitality was in force, and that anyone who claimed hospitality under that rule would be entitled to the full defense of a household for as long as the period of hospitality lasted. No matter what they did, if they did it while they were under hospitality, you had to defend them. It’s an ‘I have to put your interests above the interests of everyone I care about’ clause, and it’s awful.”
I blinked at him. He shrugged.
“What? I pay attention.”
“Sometimes I forget that you’re a prince in training, and not just a pain in my ass,” I said. “Do either of you know what the period of hospitality is?”
“Three days,” said Etienne. The hallway ended in a swinging door, which he pushed open with one hand, waving me through. “After that, she can be asked to leave. Based on what I’ve seen today, the Duke will make no such request. If she is actually his First as you claim—and I’m not saying I believe you, just that I have learned to indulge your mad suppositions—he may invite her to stay on permanently.”
“Of course it’s three days,” I said disgustedly. “It’s always three days. Were long weekends the norm in Faerie or something?” I stepped through the door into the first room I’d recognized since exiting the servants’ halls: a small kitchen with rows of pots dangling above the butcher block island that occupied the middle of the floor. I had taken refuge here once, when Connor and I had been forced to sneak into the knowe due to my having been branded a traitor.
Shadowed Hills had a tendency to rearrange itself to suit whatever it needed at the moment. Judging by the view from the low window above the sink, this kitchen was nowhere near the position it used to occupy in the knowe. Bridget was nowhere to be seen, presumably having exited through one of the other three doors branching off the kitchen. Chelsea was sitting at the island, a pair of outsized headphones on her ears and her attention fixed on a small laptop. Raj perked up and started toward her, craning his neck to see what was on the screen. Etienne cleared his throat.
“As for someone coming looking for us, we left a false trail and we took the servants’ tunnels. Sylvester will hopefully think we snuck out the back door. Besides which, we’re cold and exhausted, and I’m not going to run off and leave Sylvester under some should-be-dead lady’s spell. Even if she was an ally of mine, once upon a time.” I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain the next part of the situation. Finally, I settled for just blurting it out. “Also, she’s the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn. I’m almost certain. Ninety percent certain.”
Etienne blinked.
“Let them in, Etienne,” said a female voice from the door at the back of the room. It had a faint Irish accent. I leaned around Etienne to see its source: Bridget Ames, his mortal lover and soon-to-be wife. She offered me a wan smile. “Hello, October. I think we can manage a few dry sweaters, if that’s all that you need.”
“Socks would be great, too,” I said, holding up my soggy shoes. “I feel like I’m going to lose a toe.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” she said, beckoning for us to follow as she turned and walked back through the door in the far wall, presumably heading deeper into the living quarters she shared with Etienne and Chelsea. I glanced to Etienne to see what he wanted us to do.
He sighed, shaking his head—but his fondness for her was unmistakable. There was a light in his eyes that I’d never seen before Bridget and Chelsea came to live with him, and it infused his voice as he said, “You’ve done it now. There’s no way she’ll let you leave until she’s sure you’re protected from the elements. Couldn’t you have reminded her that you heal at a ludicrous pace, and left before you risked Sylvester’s anger?”
“Nope, because now we need to grill you on why Evening’s whammy got everybody but you,” I said amiably, as I started after Bridget. “You said Grianne was there?”
“Yes,” he said.
“So we know it doesn’t just work on Daoine Sidhe.” Grianne was a Candela. Her race was primarily claimed by Maeve, which meant she couldn’t make a valid case for being a child of Titania—Oberon might have descendants by both Queens, but the Queens had never had any children with each other. Evening’s ability to sway people to her side could move across the barriers of bloodlines. That wasn’t a good thing. “How about Luna? Was she there?”
“The Duchess was not present, no,” said Etienne, a bit of the old, familiar stiffness slipping back into his tone as he paced me. Quentin, Raj, and Tybalt followed close behind.
I glanced over my shoulder, meeting Tybalt’s eyes, and nodded once. He caught my meaning immediately, and stopped walking, putting a hand on Quentin’s shoulder to signal my squire to do the same. Returning my attention to Etienne, I asked, “Did Evening say anything unusual when she walked in? Anything that struck you as odd?”
“October, the woman has been dead for years,” he said, leveling a flat look on me. “I attended her memorial. I remember the wounds you took in the course of seeking to avenge her. Everything she said struck me as odd, because she shouldn’t have been saying anything at all.”
“I get all that, but did she say anything specifically weird?”
He sighed. “I don’t know why I bother trying to use logic on you. It always ends poorly. I should save my strength for better pursuits.” We were walking down a hallway now, close and homier than I was used to seeing in Shadowed Hills. I recognized most of the pictures on the walls from Bridget’s home in Berkeley. They showed Chelsea at a variety of ages, sometimes with her mother and sometimes by herself. The most recent pictures added her father to the mix, smiling with awkward paternal pride. They looked good together. “She said ‘I claim the hospitality of this house, according to the law as it was written, and none shall raise a hand against me.’ It’s an old form. I was not expecting it.”
“It’s a bad form,” said Raj abruptly. I blinked as I turned to look at him. He scowled. “Uncle Tybalt makes me learn all the stupid ways your nobility has defined hospitality over the years, because he doesn’t want me to get caught in something I didn’t know I was agreeing to.”
“That’s smart,” I said. “What makes that a bad form?”
“She’s calling on a law that was written back when the Firstborn were trying to kill each other all the time, that’s what,” said Raj. “Back then, if you harbored a son of Oberon or a daughter of Maeve, you were pretty much asking some descendant of Titania’s to kick your door in. So Oberon said they had to stop killing each other when hospitality was in force, and that anyone who claimed hospitality under that rule would be entitled to the full defense of a household for as long as the period of hospitality lasted. No matter what they did, if they did it while they were under hospitality, you had to defend them. It’s an ‘I have to put your interests above the interests of everyone I care about’ clause, and it’s awful.”
I blinked at him. He shrugged.
“What? I pay attention.”
“Sometimes I forget that you’re a prince in training, and not just a pain in my ass,” I said. “Do either of you know what the period of hospitality is?”
“Three days,” said Etienne. The hallway ended in a swinging door, which he pushed open with one hand, waving me through. “After that, she can be asked to leave. Based on what I’ve seen today, the Duke will make no such request. If she is actually his First as you claim—and I’m not saying I believe you, just that I have learned to indulge your mad suppositions—he may invite her to stay on permanently.”
“Of course it’s three days,” I said disgustedly. “It’s always three days. Were long weekends the norm in Faerie or something?” I stepped through the door into the first room I’d recognized since exiting the servants’ halls: a small kitchen with rows of pots dangling above the butcher block island that occupied the middle of the floor. I had taken refuge here once, when Connor and I had been forced to sneak into the knowe due to my having been branded a traitor.
Shadowed Hills had a tendency to rearrange itself to suit whatever it needed at the moment. Judging by the view from the low window above the sink, this kitchen was nowhere near the position it used to occupy in the knowe. Bridget was nowhere to be seen, presumably having exited through one of the other three doors branching off the kitchen. Chelsea was sitting at the island, a pair of outsized headphones on her ears and her attention fixed on a small laptop. Raj perked up and started toward her, craning his neck to see what was on the screen. Etienne cleared his throat.
