The Winter Long
Page 89

Then enough of the strands had broken for Tybalt to fall. He hit the ground hard enough that I heard the impact, and I opened my eyes, sparing only a brief glance down to see that he was on his hands and knees, not crumpled in an unconscious heap. Then I raised my head and looked at Simon, my teeth bared in a snarl.
Simon Torquill, my personal bogeyman and unwanted stepfather, took one look at me and realized that he had finally gone too far. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to defend himself. He just turned around and ran.
The wound in my arm was healing, but not as fast as it would have if I hadn’t lost a lot of blood, used a lot of magic, and generally exhausted myself. My head felt like it had been used as a punching bag. The sound of blood dripping from my fingertips to the floor punctuated my movements as I turned and knelt next to Tybalt. He raised his head as soon as I crouched beside him, and a pained smile crossed his face. There were red welts on his throat, and blood seeped through his shirt where I had misjudged my slices and cut shallow gouges in his chest. At least none of those wounds looked serious.
“I am beginning to feel as if we do not save each other in equal measure,” he said wearily, voice rasping a little from the strain he had put on it with all the screaming. “Next time you must let me save you, or I will start to feel I am not contributing to this partnership.”
“I’ll try,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him with me as I straightened. He didn’t shy away from the blood on my fingers. There was something to be said for loving a man who came from a part of Faerie that still settled its battles the old, brutal way.
Speaking of battles . . . I turned back to where I had left the Luidaeg and Evening, and was disappointed but unsurprised to find that both of them were gone.
“Oh, Oberon’s ass,” I muttered. “Tybalt, how are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?”
“I can walk, and I can fight, as long as I’m not caught in a coward’s snare again,” he said, before coughing in a way that gave the lie to his words. He looked sheepish. “It would, however, be best if I could refrain from fighting for a time.”
“Again, I’ll try. We’re missing two Firstborn. I think we might need to find them before somebody else gets hurt.” Find them, and find Simon. Even when I had no clear goals, it seemed I was still doomed to be forever running after something.
Tybalt stilled, expression going neutral as he sniffed the air. Then, with the solemnity of a man passing judgment, he said, “They are not here.”
“I can see that.”
“No. That isn’t what I meant.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his face with one hand, smearing blood across his cheek in the process. I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his blood, and that was really all I cared about. “The air smells wrong.”
“A lot of blood and a lot of magic just happened here.”
“The air smells like somewhere else. Somewhere that does not follow the rules of here. The air on the Shadow Roads is similar—it is air to the Cait Sidhe, or we would die when we ran there, but it smells of silence and of stillness, if you have the nose for it.” He opened his eyes. “They aren’t here.”
That changed things a little—but not as much as it once would have. “Right,” I said, digesting his words. Then: “Follow me.”
I made it halfway across the ballroom before I realized Tybalt wasn’t following. I stopped and turned just in time to see him crumple to the floor.
“Tybalt!” I shouted, running back over to him and dropping to my knees. The few spots on my jeans that hadn’t already been saturated with blood soaked through. I was too panicked to care. He was lying facedown and not moving, but when I fumbled for his neck, I found a strong, if somewhat irregular, pulse. Shock and blood loss, then, and not anything more serious. I breathed a sigh of relief . . .
...and froze as the point of what felt like a spear was pressed against the back of my neck.
“Speak and explain,” said Grianne, her voice like the creak of a rusty gate in the still air. One of her Merry Dancers zipped past my face, the globe of animate light circling us once before it rose to hover somewhere overhead.
“Grianne.” I relaxed a little, although not completely. “Evening’s gone. Her hold on you is broken. That’s fantastic. Where is Sylvester? I need him to ask Luna to open a Rose Road for me, and I need Jin to take a look at Tybalt.” I kept my tone level and reasonable through all of this, as if I were making my requests while standing and facing her, and not while kneeling in a pool of blood.
“What?”
The Candela didn’t talk much: for her, that single word was virtually a speech, especially coming on the heels of her demand for an explanation. I rolled Tybalt onto his back, stroking his hair away from his face as I said, “Evening Winterrose is the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn. She used your fealty to Sylvester to make you do what she said, which is why I went to get the Luidaeg and see if we could somehow interfere with Evening’s ability to control her descendants. Only Evening brought Simon as backup and he used a nasty choking spell to nearly kill Tybalt, hence the blood everywhere—although most of it is mine, as per usual—and then she got away while I was dealing with him. Tybalt said they were somewhere ‘else’ before he collapsed, and the Luidaeg and I used a shortcut to get here, so I’m hoping that Luna can somehow open me a Rose Road that goes where I need to be and seriously, Grianne, I don’t mean to nag or anything, but my boyfriend is hurt and needs medical assistance, and Evening is just getting farther away while I sit here explaining myself to you. Please, can you just go get Sylvester for me?”
“I’m already here,” he said wearily.
I turned my head, the point of Grianne’s spear scraping against the back of my neck and adding a fresh line of blood to the coagulated mess around me. My liege was standing next to his faintly glowing knight, his hands dangling by his sides and a weary expression on his face.
“Hi,” I said. I twisted back toward Tybalt, bending to kiss his forehead, before I climbed to my feet and turned to face Sylvester. I was all too aware of his pristine condition, and how it contrasted with the bloody mess I had become. I was starting to feel like I’d been bleeding on his behalf for much too long. “Uh. How much of that did you hear?”
“All of it,” he said. His expression didn’t change.