Late Eclipses

THIRTY-FOUR

EXPLAINING THE SITUATION TO SYLVESTER’S knights took almost fifteen minutes. It would probably have taken longer if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to slap an illusion over myself before we went to the Garden of Glass Roses. Not a human disguise: a disguise to make me look the way I did before Amandine twisted the balance of my blood.

It took eight tries and active coaching from Connor for me to spin a convincing version of my own face. It wasn’t something I’d ever needed to do before, and even as I shaped the spell, my instincts were insisting that looking like myself meant dropping the disguises, not constructing new ones. Unfortunately, we needed people to listen, not ask questions I didn’t want to answer, and that meant keeping the focus on the situation.

Even with my masks up and Connor struggling to mediate, it seemed everyone had a question or a comment to make before they were willing to pay attention. Herding the fae really is a lot like herding cats, only pointier and less rewarding. Normally, Sylvester would have cut the discussion short and ordered them all to start looking for Oleander … but this wasn’t a normal situation, and sending them off before they really understood what we were up against would be a good way to get a lot of people killed.

Tavis cracked his knuckles, drawing himself up to his full height. Many breeds of fae trend toward “tall,” but Bridge Trolls are tall and built like linebackers; when Tavis stood all the way up, it was like watching a wall decide to get involved. “When do I get to hit someone?” he demanded.

“You can hit Oleander if you find her, but you might want to use a net instead,” I said. “She’s enough of a snake that I wouldn’t be surprised if she spits poison.”

“Assuming she’s there at all,” muttered Garm. That was enough to set the room shouting again. Only Grianne stayed silent. Her Merry Dancers were expressive enough to make up for it. They’d been spinning wildly when we started, flashing a variety of garish colors that telegraphed her doubts. Now they were bobbing in the air on either side of her, glowing a steady green. That was reassuring. If we could convince Grianne, we could convince anybody … or at least, Sylvester and Connor could.

Sylvester made inspiring pleas for cooperation. Connor provided support and a second voice arguing for my innocence. I just stood there trying to look harmless—whatever that meant. I was mostly fighting not to squirm. Disguises make my ears itch. After the third iteration of things I already knew, I backed away, moving to sit on one of the nearby benches. I was close enough to be visible, but maybe taking me out of the conversation would finally make it end. I could hope, anyway.

The light in the garden slanted through the roses around the bench, casting tiny prisms around me. I leaned on my hands, letting my attention drift. I’ve always loved the Garden of Glass Roses. It’s soothing, and sometimes, I need to be soothed.

The argument had moved on to how Sylvester’s guards were supposed to find a killer in a space the size of Shadowed Hills. Tavis was pointing out—with increasing volume—that if we didn’t start looking soon, it wouldn’t matter. The Queen would send someone to collect me, and we’d be done discussing.

The shouting was loud enough that I didn’t hear Etienne coming until he sat beside me, folding his hands in his lap. I kept my attention on the roses. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, until finally, quietly, Etienne said, “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t look at him. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.”

“I saw the sword, and I thought—”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” I glanced back to the group. Sylvester seemed to be getting the crowd under control. “Poor guy.”

Etienne followed my gaze. “The Duke?”

“Raysel’s in this to her eyebrows. Being willing to admit that, and to deal with it … imagine having to sacrifice your own daughter.”

Etienne stood, giving me a sidelong look. “What do you think he did when he stood by and let the Queen’s guard have you?” he asked, before walking back to the others without waiting for an answer. I stared after him, speechless.

Sylvester’s not my father. He’s the man who pulled me out of the mortal world, and who kept Mom’s secret for decades, watching me struggle to be Daoine Sidhe when he knew damn well that I wasn’t.

He’s also the man who took care of me when Mom wandered off on her little “expeditions.” The man who watched me grow up, got me knighted, and made sure I would always have a place. He was “Uncle Sylvester” long before I understood that we weren’t related. In all the ways that mattered, he’d been my father for a long time. It wasn’t like his real daughter had set the bar particularly high. “At least I’m not planning to murder my mom,” I muttered.

“October?” I looked up. Sylvester was gesturing me back. A consensus had apparently been reached, because the crowd dispersed as I stood, breaking into smaller groups and moving toward the door. Some offered me nods or fleeting smiles as they went, but none paused to say good-bye.

After less than a minute, only a few of us remained: Sylvester and Etienne, with matching grim expressions on their faces; Garm, looking quietly terrified; and Connor, who looked simply and deeply weary. Only Grianne had no expression to speak of, sitting frozen as a statue while her Merry Dancers flickered around her like strobe lights.

I turned to Sylvester, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“The others have gone to begin the search,” said Sylvester. He sounded as worn-out as I felt. “They’ll call if they see Rayseline or Oleander.”

“Do they know what Oleander looks like?” Oleander and Nerium looked nothing alike. It wouldn’t do us any good if they were so busy looking for a Hob that they walked right past the Peri, or vice versa.

“They know she may be disguised, and have descriptions of both of her known faces. She may have more; there’s nothing we can do for that.”

“It’s a start.” I glanced at the others. “So what are we going to do?”

“You’re going to close your eyes and allow Garm to make sure that if Rayseline has called the Queen’s guard, they don’t take you away again,” said Sylvester.

I blinked. “What?”

“Illusions,” said Grianne. All of us turned to look at her. She shrugged. “They work against us. They can work for us, too.”

Sylvester raised a hand, cutting me off before I could object. “Think about it.”

I didn’t like to admit it, but he was right: it wasn’t safe for me to be seen wearing my own face with the Queen’s guard, Raysel, and Oleander all out looking for me. Still … “Why can’t I cast my own illusions?”

“Garm’s Gwragen,” said Connor, like that explained everything.

Sadly, it did. “Fine,” I muttered, feeling balky and sullen. I hate having other people enchant me. It makes me itch even more than my own illusions do.

“Close your eyes,” said Garm. I did as I was told. His hands pressed against my cheeks as the air filled with the taste of moss and swampy water. My cheeks and ears began to tingle and itch. I didn’t move. Squirming too much could make him lose the spell, and I didn’t want to make him start over.

The smell faded, taking the tingle with it, although the itch remained. Garm pulled his hands away. “It’s done.”

“Whee,” I deadpanned, unsurprised when my voice came out higher than usual. The Gwragen are some of the best illusionists in Faerie. When they disguise something, they do it right. Opening my eyes, I blinked up at Connor, who was suddenly about six inches taller than me. I looked at my hands. They were slightly darker than I was used to, with long, slim fingers. I raised them to feel my face. My ears were even sharper than I expected, and my hair was a short, sleek bob. “Tuatha de Dannan?”

Etienne nodded. “There are enough of us in the knighthood that you shouldn’t stand out.”

“Right.” Garm’s illusion had traded my clothes for the livery of Shadowed Hills. I ran my fingers over the embroidered daffodil at my breast. It felt real. I’m not normally that paranoid, but after what Amandine did … “You’re sure this is an illusion?”

“Of course,” said Garm, sounding amused. “It’s just a good one.”

“Right.” I was starting to sound like a broken record. “Let’s get going.”

“I won’t be coming with you,” said Sylvester.

That stopped the rest of us. “What?” I demanded, as Connor asked, “Why not?”

“I attract attention. Garm’s illusions are good; they aren’t flawless. I’d rather not subject them to any additional scrutiny.”

I sighed before leaning over to hug him. “Open roads, Sylvester.”

“Good luck.” He hugged me back before letting go and walking deeper into the garden. If there was a way to get from there to where Luna slept, he’d know it.

The rest of us exchanged a glance. Etienne voiced what we were all thinking: “His Grace didn’t tell us to stay together.”

“You’re right. He didn’t.” I looked at him. “Are you suggesting we split up?”

“We’d cover more ground that way.”

“And you don’t want me behind you and armed.”

“Well … no,” he said. “I truly believe your innocence. I’m still not comfortable with the idea that you’re a fugitive from the Queen’s justice.”

“I’ll stick with Toby,” said Connor.

“As will I,” said Grianne implacably. One of her Merry Dancers swung out to spin a lazy circle around my head. “It will be educational.”

From the looks on Garm and Etienne’s faces, she couldn’t have surprised them more by announcing her intention to leave the knighthood and become a professional streetlamp. “Are you … sure?” asked Etienne, cautiously.

“Do you wish to debate?” There was a cold challenge in Grianne’s tone. If they wanted to fight her on this, she’d fight. And she’d probably win.

“As you like.” Etienne offered a shallow bow. “Garm and I will go left. The three of you may go right.”

“Scream if there’s trouble,” I said. “I’m sure someone will hear you.”

“I’m sure someone will.” Etienne paused. “October … ”

“Get out of here. We have a murderess to catch.” I started down the hall, Connor pacing next to me, and Grianne bringing up the rear like a silent shadow with its own mood lighting. Etienne and Garm didn’t call us back. I didn’t really expect them to.

We could hear the other knights calling to each other as we walked through the knowe. They had their voices pitched low, but in a space as enormous and quiet as Shadowed Hills, even whispers carry. It was like walking through a world filled with ghosts. It didn’t help that Grianne’s Merry Dancers were burning a steady, spectral green, making the shadows jump and dance.

Periodically someone would cross our paths, nod, and keep going, even though none of them could have recognized the face I was wearing. I was accompanied by Connor and Grianne; that was all the permission I needed. I was starting to understand how Oleander infiltrated the knowe. If the other knights didn’t look at me closely when I was wearing their livery, with a known killer loose in the knowe, how closely would they look at a new member of the household staff?

Sylvester and I were going to have a talk about security when this was over.

Shadowed Hills is massive on a good day. On a bad day, it’s like walking through a museum. Corridors lead to nowhere, rooms follow rooms, and you find yourself taking turns that make no linear sense. I’ve wanted a map—or at least location signs on the corners—for a long time. “You are here” doesn’t seem as cheesy when you’ve managed to stumble into the eighth library in as many minutes. I tried to take note of the roses carved on the walls, looking for the hidden patterns that Manuel talked about, but they eluded me; I needed them explained before I could start following them.

I let my hand rest on the pommel of the sword I didn’t know how to use as we entered the long hall that led to the receiving room. Sometimes luck is all you have. Mine hadn’t been treating me very well lately; maybe that meant I was due for a break. Connor stepped forward to open the receiving room door. He held it as Grianne and I walked through, finally slipping in behind us.

The receiving room lights were low enough to interfere with even my improved eyesight. Grianne made a complex gesture and the Merry Dancers soared upward, hanging in midair and brightening until they cast a strong enough glow for us to see by.

I glanced at her as we walked toward the dais. “Handy.”

Her expression was as bland as ever as she nodded, but her Merry Dancers shifted color, turning a warm yellow. Maybe she wasn’t as cold as everyone thought. Maybe we just read her wrong.

I waved Grianne to circle the dais to the left, and Connor to circle to the right, while I mounted the two shallow steps to the Ducal thrones by myself. They looked perfectly normal, like they were just waiting for their owners to return, but something about the scene was bothering me. Something that wasn’t right—

A glint of light from one of the Merry Dancers reflected silver off the cushion on Raysel’s throne. I leaned closer, until I was near enough to see the circle of needles embedded in the velvet cushion. Their tips protruded maybe half an inch, no more; just enough to break the skin. With Oleander, that was all they’d need. Each of those needles probably had enough poison on it to kill a Manticore. They would have been easy to overlook. I’d almost missed them, and I’d been looking for something out of place.

I almost had to admire Oleander’s thoroughness. Use Raysel to kill Luna, and then kill Raysel: no loose ends, no untidiness, just a lot of dead bodies. From Oleander’s screwed-up point of view, it was probably the ultimate in “cleaning up after yourself.” When you’re done playing with your toys, throw them away.

“We need gloves,” I said, straightening up. “Gloves, and maybe some pliers.”

“Why?” asked Connor, stepping onto the dais and moving to join me.

I gestured to the throne. Connor bent forward to squint at the cushion, and I grabbed his shoulder, keeping him from getting too close. Grianne stepped up on my other side, narrowing her eyes as she saw where we were looking. “Poison,” she said.

“Exactly. Now come on.” I started to step off the dais, and froze, sniffing the air.

I smelled blood.

I was raised Daoine Sidhe. That particular lie worked mostly because Daoine Sidhe know blood, and so do my mother and I. Blood has spoken to me since the day I was born, and with the changes Mother made in me, I could almost hear it screaming. I turned, walking toward the “sound” of the blood. My breath was tight in my chest, and my ears were ringing. Oak and ash, how was I supposed to live like this?

And then it didn’t matter, because three red drops stained the dais next to Luna’s throne. Blood. Fresh blood, or fresh enough, anyway.

“Toby?” said Connor, uncertainly. “What is it?”

“Blood.” I knelt. “Can’t you see it?”

“No.”

“Nor I,” added Grianne.

I ignored them, running a finger through the largest drop. The blood was still warm, fresh enough to come up in a slick red smear. It smelled like copper and fear, with a sharp floral undertone I couldn’t quite identify. I took a deeper sniff and sneezed, my nose protesting against whatever that underlying flavor was.

“It’s either Oleander’s or one of her victims,” I said, standing and wiping my hand against my pants. Connor nodded. Grianne, who was watching me with a mixture of wariness and amazement, did the same.

“Ah,” said Grianne softly.

“I think it’s poisoned; I can’t ride it safely.” It would have been wonderful to know who’d been hurt, but with Oleander loose, anything that smelled of flowers was likely to be poisoned. Even as little poison as could be in those three drops of blood might be enough to kill me. “On the bright side, whoever did the bleeding may be dead already.”

It’s never a good sign when I’m hoping to find a corpse. Connor grimaced, while Grianne cracked a brief smile, apparently seeing the irony. I echoed it back to her as I started scanning the area around us for more traces of blood.

The floor was checkered white and black. Even with the Merry Dancers floating overhead, the light was diffuse enough to make the blood all but invisible on the black squares. That didn’t seem to matter, because once I started looking, the blood was practically glowing, seeming like the only source of color in a monochrome world. It didn’t just stand out: it screamed for attention, proclaiming itself in the hopes that I would notice it. The drops in the next square over were smaller, like whoever it was had managed to staunch the bleeding.

“Well?” asked Grianne.

“Regular chatterbox tonight, aren’t you?” I indicated the blood trail. “It picks up here.” Whoever was doing the bleeding was at least trying to conceal it. After that first, probably accidental, series of drops on the white marble, all the blood was on the black. If I were anyone besides my mother’s daughter, I might have missed it altogether.

“Do we follow?” asked Connor.

“You and I do. Grianne—”

“I will find the Duke,” she said solemnly. Her Merry Dancers darted downward, spinning around her, and all three were gone, leaving Connor and me in darkness.

“Gosh, I love teleporters,” I deadpanned. At least I didn’t need the light anymore. The blood still stood out like spots of neon in the darkness. I started to follow the trail across the room, with Connor in my wake.

The blood led to the wall and stopped, save for a smear on the wainscoting. I touched the stain, and the wood slid down under my fingers, revealing another hidden passage in the service halls. More splashes of blood were on the floor there, getting sparser as they vanished into the darkness.

Connor followed me through, and the door swung shut behind us.