Ashes of Honor

TWENTY-ONE

WE EMERGED IN A SMALL, familiar antechamber inside Riordan’s knowe. Quentin stumbled, shivering and trying not to cough. I managed to keep my feet, barely, and only because I knew we needed to do as little knocking about as possible. We were in enemy territory now, and if we were found, things weren’t going to go well for us.

Tybalt was leaning against the wall opposite from Quentin, his own eyes closed. The effort of carrying two of us immediately after he’d been injured appeared to have exhausted him. I bent forward, bracing my hands on my knees, and forced myself to take deep, slow breaths.

“It’s so much easier when we take the Tuatha Express,” I mumbled.

“The cost of travel should be high,” said Tybalt. He straightened and paced toward the entrance to the antechamber. “It’s what keeps us from roving frivolously.”

“Etienne seems to think it’s pretty hard, at least when he’s going more than a few miles,” I said. “He doesn’t usually teleport casually. But Chelsea isn’t playing by the usual rules.”

“Yes. I know.” Tybalt shook his head. “The shadows are starting to push back against us. They only do that when their destination is unclear, or when they have nowhere to end. The tethers between the Shadow Roads and the Summerlands are beginning to fray—as are the tethers between the Shadow Roads and the mortal world. If this continues too long, we may find ourselves with nowhere to run.”

I thought about that for a second, then put the thought aside. It was too big a problem for me to fix; it was something I couldn’t hit. All I could do was get Chelsea to stop ripping holes and let the people who could fix things get to work.

Of course, that meant we couldn’t stay huddled in this tiny antechamber forever. “Riordan’s guards are mostly Folletti,” I said. “I can tell when they’re nearby, but only if I’m looking for them. Most of the time, they’re going to be effectively invisible.”

“Charming,” said Tybalt.

“Yeah. Can you scout the hall? Just make sure we’re alone before we leave here.”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Tybalt. The smell of musk and pennyroyal swirled around him and he was gone, replaced by a large tabby tomcat. He walked over to me, rubbed himself against my ankles, and turned to slink out of the antechamber, vanishing behind the tapestry that covered the entrance.

Quentin had his breathing back under control. He came to stand next to me, and we stayed where we were, waiting for whatever was going to come next. I kept one hand on my knife and the other on Quentin’s shoulder, ready to shove him behind me if something attacked us. I could take the damage. He couldn’t.

The minutes ticked by. I was on the verge of becoming genuinely worried when the fabric of the tapestry stirred, and Tybalt slunk back into the room, ears pressed flat and tail carried low to the ground.

I let out a relieved breath. “Took you long enough,” I said.

The smell of pennyroyal and musk rose around him. He straightened on two legs, a troubled expression on his face. “Going unseen is an art as much as a skill,” he said. “I can smell the Folletti when I go in feline form. That doesn’t make it wise for me to risk discovery by exposing myself where they might see.”

“What did you find?”

“These chambers are scattered all along this hall, and the ones to either side. It seems our Duchess Riordan is quite fond of the spy’s art, providing she can control the placement of the spies. I doubt she would be pleased to know we were using her clever hidey-holes against her.”

“If you don’t want people using your secret little rooms for nefarious purposes, you shouldn’t make them this easy to find,” I said. Then I paused. “Or maybe they’re not just here for spying on guests. Quentin, remember when you showed me how to navigate the servants’ passages at Shadowed Hills?”

Quentin blinked as understanding dawned. “Give me a second,” he said, and moved to the back of the antechamber.

Tybalt watched him go before turning his frown on me, clearly puzzled. “Would you care to explain?”

“Most knowes—ones that don’t belong to the Court of Cats—are built to suit the nobles who own them. Even the good nobles want their servants to be invisible, although most don’t take it as literally as Riordan here. Service is supposed to be quiet, efficient, and only noticed when something goes wrong. So they hide little passages and back routes through the knowes, to make it possible for their servants to stay out of sight.”

“Ah.” Tybalt frowned. “The Divided Courts are sometimes more alien to me than I like to admit.”

“If it helps at all, I think they tend to feel the same way about the Court of Cats.”

Tybalt shook his head, still frowning. “I am not sure it helps anything to know that we are all strangers to one another.”

“Got it!” Quentin’s triumphant whisper stopped me before I could say anything I’d regret later. I turned to see him standing in front of a narrow open rectangle in what had seemed to be a solid wall only moments before. He was grinning, visibly pleased with himself—as well he should be. “She uses a pressure code to keep the doors closed. It’s pretty clever, but it’s also pretty common. I’ve seen it in a bunch of knowes.”

“My little cat burglar,” I said dryly. “How proud your parents must be.”

His grin, if anything, brightened. “I’d bet you a dollar that you’re right.”

“As long as it’s not a Canadian dollar, you’re on.” I started toward the opening. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

“Is the answer ever ‘unending pain and a suffering beyond imagination’?” asked Tybalt. He still followed me. Either his sense of self-preservation was weakening, or he was confident that whatever might be lurking up ahead would eat the rest of us first.

“Sometimes,” said Quentin. “Other times, it’s a pantry.”

I smothered my laughter behind my hand as I stepped through the door Quentin had managed to open in the wall, gesturing for the others to wait. They did, Quentin calmly, and Tybalt with obvious annoyance. At least he was listening to me. That was going to be essential if we were going to get out of this with everyone still breathing.

The floor on the other side of the wall was as plain as the antechamber behind me. I still stepped carefully, testing the wood with my toes before moving forward. If there were any booby-traps, they were the kind that needed more than a little weight to trigger them.

The servant’s hall was dark, lacking the glowing spheres that dotted the hallway outside. I paused, then dug the Luidaeg’s Chelsea-chaser out of my pocket. Its glow brightened as I brought it into the open, chasing back the worst of the shadows. It was in its neutral state, glowing like a handful of captive starlight…but it hadn’t been this bright since it was first activated. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I had to hope it was a sign that Chelsea had been here at least once, and might be here again.

Finally, I closed my eyes, let my mouth drop open, and breathed in. Nothing. The only magic I smelled was my own, cut grass and copper, underscored with the whisper of frozen wind across lonely moors. The Luidaeg’s charm was making its presence known. Beyond that, we were alone. “Come on,” I said, opening my eyes. “The coast is clear.”

Tybalt and Quentin stepped through the wall, Quentin pausing to slide the panel back into place and tap his fingers against the “hinge” in a rapid, elaborate pattern of strokes and beats. When he pulled his hands away, the panel remained set firmly into the wall.

“Nice trick,” I said.

Quentin nodded as he turned to face me. “Like I said: clever but common. If you don’t know the right pattern, you can try for hours and never get through.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So how did you…?”

“There are only ten right patterns. I learned them when I was a kid.” It was said with simple matter-of-factness. I decided to let it drop. We had bigger things to worry about than why Quentin knew how to break into any knowe that used a “clever but common” lock system for its service passages. Being fostered definitely seemed to come with some unusual skill sets.

“Duchess Riordan’s receiving room was this way,” I said, turning. “We might as well start our search in familiar territory. If Chelsea’s not there, we can go looking for the dungeons.”

“Which will doubtless be in the opposite direction,” said Tybalt.

“Yeah, but there’s going to be a connection between them,” said Quentin. “That way, she can send servants to check on anybody she has locked up, and she won’t have to wait long to hear back. When you’ve got somebody in your dungeon, you’re not usually feeling very patient.”

“You are just a wealth of unexpected information today,” I said. “We start with the receiving room. Tybalt…?”

“I’ll scout ahead.” The smell of musk and pennyroyal had barely settled when he was racing on four legs into the darkness, ears flat against his head and tail held straight out behind him. I could see his coat for a few seconds, bands of brown moving through the shadows. Then he was gone, not even leaving footprints behind.

“Stay close,” I said, gesturing for Quentin to move in next to me. “Get out your own charm. A little extra light could be a good thing in here—and it’s not going to make us any easier to spot. We’re already the only light in the place.”

Quentin nodded, digging the sphere from his pocket as he moved into the position I’d indicated. Together, the two charms were enough to make every detail of the walls visible. Not that there was much to see. If there were other doors around us, they were well fitted enough to be invisible, leaving nothing but blank wall both ahead of and behind us. I drew my knife with my free hand. Quentin did the same, producing a short sword I’d never seen before from his belt. I raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, saying sheepishly, “I asked April if she had anything I could borrow when you didn’t come back for so long. I figured it was better if I was prepared to defend myself.”

“It was a smart move,” I said, and started walking. Quentin paced me. “There’s just one thing I want to know.”

“What’s that?”

“Why the hell did April have a sword? I don’t think there’s anyone in that County who was traditionally trained.”

“She didn’t say.”

“Right.”

We exchanged strained smiles—just two more idiots whistling past the graveyard—and walked on in silence. Quentin let me take the lead, although only by a few steps. It was reassuring to know that he was at my back. I wasn’t walking into yet another brutally stupid situation alone. I needed people. Losing Connor had made me lose sight of that for a little while. Even that little while had been too damn long. I had too much to live for to sit around letting myself be lost in mourning.

The light from our charms reflected off a pair of green eyes ahead of us. Quentin stiffened. I smiled and held out my arm to stop him from doing anything we’d all regret. “What did you find?” I asked.

The green eyes rose, going from floor level to the height of a normal man, and Tybalt stepped out of the dark. “You were right; the receiving hall is ahead. But there’s something strange about this passage.”

“What’s that?”

“It used to be used frequently. I can smell the tracks of dozens of people, all of them hurrying about their business.”

I didn’t ask how he knew they were hurrying. If I can tease a person’s family history from a drop of blood, I’m perfectly willing to believe a King of Cats can tell whether they were in a rush by smelling the tracks they left behind them. “And?”

“And no one has been here in days. These passages have been deserted.”

“That fits with what April said about Riordan withdrawing her forces. If she’s moved her army somewhere, she probably moved most of her household staff to the same place. Otherwise, you wind up with a hungry army sacking the nearest McDonalds, and that’s not good for anybody.”

Quentin frowned. “But where are they all going?”

“That’s the twenty-million-dollar question. Come on.” This time, Tybalt walked with us, a silent, reassuring presence that paced slightly ahead as we made our way down the hall. I let him take the lead. He knew where we were going, after all, while I just had a vague sense that we were heading in the right direction.

The hall eventually started presenting us with turns. We had made the second when the charm in my hand flared to a brilliant, blazing red. Quentin’s charm did the same half a heartbeat later. The light painted the hallway the color of blood, dancing and wavering like candlelight, flickering like a star.

“Root and branch, she’s here!” I said, and took off running before I realized what I was going to do. At least I didn’t need Tybalt to direct me anymore; the charm knew which way to go, and I was just the vehicle it was using to get there. It yanked on my hand like a living thing, urging me to greater speeds. Tybalt paced me, each of his long strides equaling two of mine, while Quentin lagged behind—but he was still running, all of us racing toward something we knew nothing about.

Well. We did know one thing. We knew that whatever we were racing toward, Chelsea was there.

The hall ended in another blank wall. I nearly slammed into it, the charm pulling me on faster than my feet could process what was happening. I managed to skid to a stop, putting out my arm to force Quentin to do the same. He made a soft “oof” noise as he collided with my elbow. Then he ducked under my arm, shoving the short sword into his belt before beginning to tap a rapid pattern against the wood with his now-free hand. The charm kept trying to jerk me forward, not seeming concerned by the fact that I can’t walk through walls. That was my problem. It just wanted to get me to Chelsea, and if it had to break my skull to make that happen, it really didn’t care.

“Almost there,” said Quentin through gritted teeth. The strain in his voice told me just how hard his charm was yanking on him.

“Breathe,” I advised.

He shot me a grateful look and kept tapping. A few more seconds passed, and the section of wall slid smoothly open. There was fabric on the other side; another of those damn tapestries Riordan was so fond of. I signaled the others to silence—maybe unnecessarily, but I was definitely more interested in being safe than sorry—and moved past Quentin, stepping through the opening.

The tapestry was actually hanging about two feet away from the wall, creating an artificial corridor for servants to use when entering the reception room. That made sense; if the tapestry had been flush with the wall, it would have been hard to get the illusion of invisible service to work the way that it was supposed to. I inched carefully along until I reached the end of the tapestry, and peeked out into the receiving room.

It was empty, unless you wanted to count the enormous hole cut out of the air behind the throne. It was unguarded, and through it I could see the bracken-choked Annwn moors stretching off toward the distant shadow of a high-walled castle. I stopped where I was, staring, even as the Luidaeg’s charm tried to pull me toward the hole.

Tybalt and Quentin stepped up behind me and joined me in silent contemplation of the portal. We were safely hidden by the tapestry, and we needed a moment to regroup. It was a little reassuring that I wasn’t the only one completely floored by what I was seeing.

Finally, Quentin asked, “What is it?”

“Annwn,” said Tybalt. “One of the deeper realms.”

“Chelsea,” I said, and started walking. Tybalt and Quentin followed close behind me, all of us moving as fast as we could.

“What is it doing there?” asked Quentin.

“Well, sugar, it’s standing open, waiting for me,” said Riordan. I stiffened, coming to a stop. Tybalt hissed, a soft, almost smothered sound. Slowly, the three of us turned to see the Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass stepping out from behind a tapestry on the other side of the room, back in her jeans and black T-shirt, with a faint smile on her classically beautiful face.

“Where’s Chelsea?” I asked.

Riordan shook her head. The light from our charms glittered off the ruby at her throat. “That’s what I don’t like about you, Sir Daye. You’re always right to business, no pleasantries, no playing nice. It makes a body want to play rough, just to show you that you ought to have some manners.”

“I assure you, her manners are among the best in this room,” said Tybalt, tone frosty.

“I have no trouble believing that.” Riordan turned her attention on Tybalt, smile growing wider. “It was awfully nice of you to come with her. Saves me the trouble of having someone go find you.”

I stared at her, a sudden, horrible realization growing in the pit of my stomach. Duchess Riordan was paranoid. Everyone knew that. It was what made her such a dangerous neighbor to have. Why would someone with that well-earned a reputation for paranoia leave a hole in their defenses as large as the one Tybalt had exploited to bring us to her knowe?

Answer: she wouldn’t.

“Tybalt, get us a doorway to the Shadow Roads,” I murmured, hoping that Riordan was too far away to hear me. “Get us a doorway to the Shadow Roads now.”

He gave me a sideways look, but he didn’t argue. His fingers twitched, moving toward the shadows to our left. Then they stilled, his pupils narrowing to startled slits.

“I…I can’t,” he said. “They aren’t there.”

Riordan was still smiling. “If you were just going for your back door, sorry, sugars, but I had it locked down as soon as you were through my wards. You’re going to be the recipients of my hospitality whether you like it or not.”

“I’m voting not,” I said, loudly enough for her to hear. “Where’s Chelsea? I’m not going to ask you again.”

“You shouldn’t lie when you don’t have to. Makes it difficult to believe a word you say. You’re going to ask me again and again, and keep on asking, probably right up until the point where we get tired of it and have you gagged.” Riordan’s smile subsided into a look of weary irritation. “You know, my life would be a lot easier if people like you would just learn your place and not bother with things like this.”

“She’s a little girl.”

“She’s a changeling. She’s got no place in this world and no place in the world she comes from. But because she’s a useful tool, maybe she can find herself a place.” Riordan indicated the hole with a sweep of her hand. “Maybe it’s waiting for her out there.”

“The worse you scare her, the more she undermines Faerie!” said Quentin. “This is treason.”

“Against whom, little boy? The mad Queen in her castle by the sea? Or maybe the High King and Queen, off in their ice palace in Toronto? By the time anyone thinks to tell them I’ve been naughty, I’ll be long gone. And you talk like this has never happened before. The Summerlands have always survived. That’s the thing about tools. They may do a lot of damage while they’re working, but, inevitably, they break.”

Her voice was calm and reasonable throughout. The sinking in my stomach got worse. I’ve dealt with madmen and zealots, people who were so far down their personal rabbit holes that they genuinely thought that whatever they were doing was the right thing. Duchess Riordan didn’t fall into that category.

Duchess Riordan was perfectly, dangerously sane. And that was something I could see being a major problem if we wanted to get out of this alive.

“I’m going to give you one more chance,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Give Chelsea to us, and we’ll leave your lands, and we won’t come back. You haven’t done any permanent damage. You haven’t committed any crimes.” Even after everything she’d done, she hadn’t done a single thing most purebloods would acknowledge as “wrong.” Stealing a changeling who’d never been given her Choice would practically be viewed as community service in some circles. The Queen might even give her a public commendation, if it weren’t for the part where Chelsea was undermining the fabric of Faerie.

“No,” said Riordan.

Folletti appeared around us, seeming to materialize out of thin air. And a figure stepped out of the portal connecting the throne room to Annwn.

“Hello, Sire,” said Samson. He was smiling poisonously. “I told you your association with these…people…would be the death of you. Better to keep to your own kind.”

“Sadly, a skill I have never possessed,” said Tybalt wearily.

“Lay down your arms, all of you, or I’ll tell my guards to dispose of you,” said Riordan.

“You’d break Oberon’s Law?” asked Quentin. He sounded wounded, like he couldn’t believe that an otherwise reasonable member of the Daoine Sidhe—his own race—would break the law so cavalierly. I guess dealing with so many crazy people really upped his standards for the sane ones.

“Oberon’s Law applies only to the places that Oberon is watching,” said Riordan. “Tell me, kiddo, what part of this room is Oberon watching? What part of anywhere is Oberon watching? We’d never have been able to open this door,” she indicated the portal to Annwn with a sweep of her hand, “if he’d been paying attention. Oberon’s gone. He’s not coming back for us. All you people still playing by his rules are backing the wrong horse. It’s the ones who realize the rules have changed who’ll win the race.”

“Not to be rude or anything, but you’re sort of mixing your metaphors,” I said, as mildly as I could with a dozen semi-visible swords being pointed at my vital organs. I’d survive being stabbed…probably. Quentin and Tybalt wouldn’t.

“Why do people always say ‘not to be rude’ when they’re about to be rude?” asked Riordan. “Now, are you going to lay down your arms, or are my men going to punch some nice new holes in you?”

My knife clattered against the receiving room floor. A few seconds later, Quentin’s sword did the same. Tybalt had no weapons to discard, but he raised his hands, showing that his claws were securely sheathed.

Riordan smiled. “Good,” she said. As quickly it had come, the smile faded, replaced by a look of cold dismissiveness. “Boys, take them.”

The Folletti closed in. Tybalt snarled. And something hard hit me on the back of the head, and everything went black.