Rosemary and Rue Part 9

"I think I know the answer to that one," said Luna, putting her hand on his arm and offering me a warm, if slightly sorrowful, smile. "h.e.l.lo, Toby. You're looking well."

"As are you,Your Grace,"I said,smiling back.I couldn't help it. It's hard to look at Luna without smiling.

Short, slender, compact; you could describe the d.u.c.h.ess of Shadowed Hills in those words, if they wouldn't make her sound so fragile. Luna was a small woman, but she was anything but breakable, with arms strengthened by hours of gardening and all the magical defenses her Kitsune blood implied. Their strength is advertised by the number of their tails, and she had three to call her own, silver-furred and sleek. Her waist-length brown hair was plaited back, and she was dressed for gardening, ignoring the formality of her surroundings. Luna has never been much of one for standing needlessly on ceremony.

"You should have come before this," she chided lightly. "We've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," I admitted, and turned to face Sylvester. "Your Grace . . ."

"We looked for you," he said. There was an urgency to his words, like there was nothing in the world I needed to hear more than I needed to hear what he had to tell me. "We looked for you everywhere. You have to believe me. When you vanished, I set Etienne to scouring the city, I sent half my knights with him, I did everything I could, and you were just . . . you were just gone, Toby. I'm so sorry."

Sorry? He was admitting that he'd taken resources away from the search for his wife and daughter-admitting it while his wife was standing right next to him, no less-and he was telling me he was sorry? sorry? I gaped at him, not sure what I could say. I gaped at him, not sure what I could say.

Rayseline saved me from answering by stepping up on her father's other side, sliding her hands around his arm and looking at me. Her eyes were the same gold as her father's, but while on him the color was warm and welcoming, on her it seemed almost reptilian, the gaze of a predator.

"Oh, look," she said. "She's finally deigned to come and see the consequences of her failure. h.e.l.lo, failure. How've you been?"

"h.e.l.lo, Rayseline," I said, keeping my tone measured. Whatever relief I might have felt at her interruption died at her words.

We don't know what happened to Luna and Raysel during the twelve years that they spent missing-twelve years that corresponded with the first twelve years of my own missing time. But while for me, those years were lost, whatever they went through, they lived it. The few people I'd spoken to said that Luna came back a little sadder, a little stranger, but Raysel . . . Raysel came back wrong. Growing up the way she did broke something inside of her, and looking at her now, I began to realize why the whispers said it might never be repaired.

"I wondered when you'd come sniffing around here," she said. "Looking for something else that you can't do? I'm sure Daddy has plenty of unsolvable puzzles and quests that can't succeed. Go do some of those."

"Raysel, that's enough," said Sylvester, sharply. "I'm her liege. October is always welcome here."

"She wants something," said Raysel. "I can smell it on her."

"Rayseline, that's quite enough," said Luna. The normal calm of her tone was gone, washed in worry and barely concealed irritation. Raysel's unpleasantness wasn't just an act for my benefit, then.

"She's right," I said. Sylvester and Luna both turned toward me. Raysel smirked, looking triumphant. "I'm afraid I am here because I want something. Or, well. Because I need to tell you something, and I need to ask for a favor."

"Anything," Sylvester said. "You know that."

"I'm not so certain about that," I said, glancing from him to Luna and back again."Have you heard the news?" Please say yes, Please say yes, I prayed. I prayed. Don't make me be the one that tells you. Don't make me be the one that tells you. If the Queen were reacting at all sanely, her heralds would already have been and gone . . . but everyone seemed much too calm for that, and the Queen had said no one would even speak Evening's name. That would make it sort of hard for her to send out notices. If the Queen were reacting at all sanely, her heralds would already have been and gone . . . but everyone seemed much too calm for that, and the Queen had said no one would even speak Evening's name. That would make it sort of hard for her to send out notices.

If Sylvester didn't know, it was my duty to tell him. And I desperately didn't want to.

"We heard there was going to be an end of winter ball at the Queen's knowe in two weeks," offered Connor, finally abandoning the dais and moving to stand next to Rayseline-next to his wife. Smirking at me, she transferred her hold from Sylvester's arm to his. "Please tell me you didn't finally decide to come visit cause you thought we'd missed the latest exciting issue of the Kingdom newsletter. Hey, Toby."

"Hey, Connor," I said, smiling despite the grimness of the news I was about to share. It's hard not to smile when looking at Connor.

Take your standard California beach b.u.m, give him spiky brown hair streaked with seal's-fur gray, brown eyes so dark they verge on black, slightly webbed fingers and a baked-in tan, and you've got Connor O'Dell. He was the Undersea emissary to Sylvester's Court when I was serving there. We were . . . friends. Good friends. We might have been more than just good friends, if his family hadn't objected to the idea of him being involved with a changeling before Connor and I could move beyond a few sweet, fumbling encounters in the gardens that dotted the knowe. He said he was sorry; so did I. And then I let myself get swept off my feet by a human man who would never say he couldn't love me because my blood wasn't pure enough.

I never blamed Connor for the way things happened. That's just the way it goes for a changeling in a pureblood's world. Coming home to hear that he was married to Rayseline Torquill was a shock, but it didn't decrease my fondness for the man. Just the likelihood that I was going to let his wife catch me checking out his a.s.s.

Sylvester, meanwhile, was simply looking puzzled. "No," he said. "There's been no news-at least, not anything big enough to bring you back to us. What's going on, Toby? It's not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but . . . why are you here?"

I swallowed. "So you haven't heard anything about the Countess of Goldengreen?"

Sylvester's look of puzzlement increased. "Evening? No, nothing. Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" I bit back a near-hysterical giggle. "Yes. Something's very wrong."

"Is she hurt?"

"No. No, she's . . . Your Grace, Evening was killed last night. She's dead."

Luna's ears flattened against her head. "Dead?" she whispered.

Raysel's sudden laughter cut off any answer I could have given. We all turned to stare at her as she released her husband's arm, sweeping out of the room on the tide of her own merriment.

"What-" I said.

"Connor, go with her," said Luna. It wasn't a request.

Nodding dolefully, Connor shoved his hands into his pockets and trailed after his wife. He caught my eye as he pa.s.sed, and the look on his face was sad, almost beaten. Raysel's the one with the Kitsune blood, but he was the one who looked like a whipped puppy.

The three of us stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence before Luna glanced to Sylvester and said, "She's still a little unstable from everything that . . . from everything. My family has always been subject to . . . well. We don't recover quickly from the sort of things she was forced to go through. It's just our way." She s.h.i.+fted as she spoke, refusing to meet my eyes.

No one seems to know what "things" Luna and her daughter went through during their absence, but the haunted look in Luna's face told me they might have been worse than I'd ever dreamed. "Of course," I said, feeling somehow embarra.s.sed to have witnessed Raysel's outburst, and turned to Sylvester.

The color had drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaking. He didn't seem to have noticed Raysel's dramatic exit. "Dead?" he said.

"Murdered," I said, looking down, trying to avoid the shock I knew I'd see in his expression. Too late. "They shot her, then slit her throat with an iron blade."

A sharp silence fell over the room. I raised my head, meeting Sylvester's eyes. "Iron?" he said.

"Yes. She died from her wounds." Not from anything more merciful.

"So there's no way it was anything but murder." There was something broken in his tone. The purebloods have to stick together, because they have nowhere else to turn, and so every death hits them hard. Changelings don't work that way. We're too scattered and too different, and it can take us years, sometimes, to find out when someone dies. Death is more of a danger for us, and that makes it seem less impossible. That doesn't make it any better.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely.

"I . . . yes. Yes, of course." His fingers sought Luna's and gripped them hard. "Oh, Evening. Was there . . . was that all you had to tell?"

"Before she died, she asked me to find her killers," I said, watching him carefully. "I'm here because I wanted you to know. And because I have to ask for help."

"I wish you'd come sooner," said Luna, very quietly. "We've missed you, and no homecoming should be darkened by this sort of news. It's an ill omen."

Sylvester's concerns were more immediate than ill omens. Expression sharpening, he asked, "You said yes?" All I had to do was nod. Sylvester knew my word would bind me, whether or not I wanted it to. I didn't see a reason to tell him about the curse; he was already going to worry enough. "Oh, Toby. Why did you agree?'

"Because I didn't have a choice." I folded my hands behind my back. "If you don't want to help, I'll understand."

"I didn't say that. I . . . d.a.m.n. Can you give us a few minutes? Please?" His voice was tight with the strain of holding back tears. He didn't want to cry in front of me anymore than I wanted to watch him cry.

"I haven't been here in a while," I said, taking the hint. "I'll go see what Luna's done with the gardens. Send for me?"

Sylvester nodded, mutely. Luna echoed the gesture, ears still pressed flat.

Seized by a strange impulse, I darted forward and hugged them both at once, one with each arm, before I turned to run out of the room, gathering my skirt in both hands. I was lucky; I got out fast enough. No matter what else might happen before I left the knowe, I wouldn't have to see him cry.

TWELVE.

I DIDN'T WORRY ABOUT PROPRIETY as I came running out of the audience chamber; I just dropped my skirts and let my forehead rest against the cool stone of the nearest pillar, taking deep breaths as I struggled not to break down and cry. I'd been avoiding the Torquills for six months because I didn't want to face Sylvester, and all I'd been doing was letting him sink further into his own guilt. Had I been doing anybody anybody any favors with the way I'd been behaving? any favors with the way I'd been behaving?

The page was gone when I looked up. Good. It had been a long week-one that kept getting longer-and I didn't trust myself to be polite, especially not after what had just happened with the Torquills. My manners have always been the first thing to go when I get upset, and some people say that they stopped coming back a long time ago.

Slicking a few wayward wisps of hair back from my face, I turned to start down the hall, and nearly tripped over the hem of my dress. Cheeks burning, I picked up my skirt and started again, swearing under my breath. I hate Court attire.

At least the irritation lifted my mood, making it harder to dwell on how wrong I'd been about Sylvester's reaction to my return. I walked around the corner, stepping over a hopscotch grid some kid had finger painted on the marble floor and opened a door at random. The walls of the hall on the other side were papered in a tasteless pattern of yellow mustard and flowering heather, and I nodded, satisfied that I was going the right way. I kept walking.

The first time I came to Shadowed Hills, I was nine years old, and I was awed. Then I was annoyed, and then I was lost. The halls bend back on themselves and loop in long, impossible curves; doors you've seen before lead places you've never been, and doors that weren't there yesterday take you right back where you started. It's like a giant labyrinth with a sense of humor, and it can be really annoying. I learned to find my way around the place by memorizing landmarks, combining practice with sheer good luck, and sometimes I still found myself wis.h.i.+ng for a pocketful of bread crumbs.

The yellow-and-purple walls gave way to plain stone, cobblestones replacing the checkerboard marble of the floor. Rose goblins watched me from windowsills and the corners of rooms, replacing the more common cats that tend to lurk in knowes. Sylvester, ironically enough, is allergic. Luckily, his wife's gardens provide plenty of spiny replacements for the standard feline. Rose goblins look like cats, act in a similar fas.h.i.+on, and shed thorns instead of fur. The perfect hypoallergenic pet.

Most of Shadowed Hills borders on tacky, but Luna's gardens make up for it. She has at least a dozen, and she tends them all herself. Kitsune aren't known for their gardening skills. Luna's something special. She's a goose girl in a lady's clothes when she's playing d.u.c.h.ess, but among the flowers, she's a Queen. They do everything but bow when she walks by.

The third hall I turned down dead-ended just past the winter kitchens, ending at a plain wooden door with a stained gla.s.s rose set at eye level. Smiling, I pushed the door open and stepped through into the Garden of Gla.s.s Roses.

Anything Luna touches grows, but roses have always been her pride and joy. The Garden of Gla.s.s Roses is entirely enclosed, filling a circular room with white marble walls that give way about ten feet up to a filigreed silver-and-gla.s.s dome. White crushed quartz pathways glitter in the sunlight that filters through the roses, throwing up glints of prismatic color. And everywhere, roses, growing in wild, seemingly unfettered profusion. Their slight transparency seems odd at first glance, until the mind admits what the eye is seeing: every flower, every petal and bud, is living, blossoming gla.s.s, stained with washes of flawless color. Best of all, gla.s.s roses have no scent. That garden is one of the very few places in Shadowed Hills that doesn't doesn't smell like roses. smell like roses.

Twitching my skirt away from reaching thorns, I walked down the nearest path to a bench carved from the same unornamented marble as the walls. Gowns are for dancing, not for roving in the roses-not that I do much of either when I can help it. I sat down with a groan, dropping my head into my hands.

This case was like a puzzle box: Every time I pushed a piece aside, there was another one waiting. Human logic has never been able to stand up to fae insanity, and I'd been thinking like a human for too long, because the longer I looked at things, the less sense they seemed to make. Evening was working with Devin, right up until the hope chest she'd somehow been hiding got her killed. Sylvester was surprised by the murder, but Raysel laughed. The Queen of the Mists wouldn't help me, even though Evening was a pureblood, and she didn't want me looking for answers. What the h.e.l.l was going on?

Nothing ever makes reliable sense when the fae are involved: the only constant about us is that we force things to change.

Something rustled in the underbrush. I raised my head, but the only motion I saw came from the crystal b.u.t.terflies flitting dutifully from flower to flower: gla.s.s insects to pollinate gla.s.s roses. "h.e.l.lo?" I called, fighting down my natural paranoia. Nothing would attack me in Shadowed Hills. Besides, if something did, I'd just hit them with the local flora until they cut it out.

"h.e.l.lo!" The cheerful reply originated from inside a thick patch of red and purple love-lies-bleeding. "That you, Toby?"

"Usually," I said, tone wary. "Who's there?"

The flowers rustled, and Connor O'Dell rolled out of them, grinning. He'd managed to lose his coronet somewhere between the throne room and the garden, and there were rose petals in his hair. "Me," he said, standing. At least someone was having a decent day. Maybe it was just getting away from Raysel; that could cheer anyone up. "I didn't think you liked roses."

"I don't like most roses."

"But you like these roses?"

"I like these roses." He walked over to sit down next to me with a jaunty flourish. I bit back a smile. "You have something in your hair."

"Do I?" He shook his head like a dog trying to shed water after a bath, and yellow gla.s.s rose petals showered down onto the bench, ringing like crystal as they hit the marble. "Huh. I guess I did. That'll teach me to hide out under the rosebushes."

"No, you'll learn that lesson the first time you roll over on one of these babies and get yourself a cut where it really really hurts," I said, flicking a petal. hurts," I said, flicking a petal.

Connor winced. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"Oh, yeah. Those suckers cut right right through denim." through denim."

"Well, what did you expect gla.s.s roses to be? Soft?" He grinned, obviously trying to be endearing. It only half worked; I knew him too well to fall for it.

"Not really. Fragile, maybe, or sharp." I picked up a petal, testing the edge with my thumb. It cut deep and clean. I hate the sight of my own blood, but it was blood that started the whole mess, and it would probably be blood that ended it. "They can defend themselves. I respect that."

"So can normal roses. They have thorns."

"So? These roses are nothing but but thorns. They can't help protecting themselves." I dropped the petal, rubbing my thumb and forefinger together. "Do you hide in the roses often?" thorns. They can't help protecting themselves." I dropped the petal, rubbing my thumb and forefinger together. "Do you hide in the roses often?"

"Only when I want to be left alone. This is a good garden for hiding."

I looked around. "I've never understood why people don't come here more often."

Connor gestured to my b.l.o.o.d.y fingers, saying, "The roses are too sharp for most people. They want to pick flowers for their lovers and write bad poetry comparing the two-'my love is like a red, red rose,' and all that mess." He leaned back on his hands. "Who wants to compare their lover to a flower that's so sharp it cuts everything it touches?"

"A flower that blooms no matter what the weather or season is like and can actually defend itself when it needs to? I don't see the problem." I shrugged. "If someone wanted to call me a gla.s.s rose, I wouldn't complain."

"No, I guess not," he said. The light through the roses cast shadows across his face, outlining his chin and cheekbones in layers of blue, green, and pale purple. His expression was grave; there was something in his eyes that I recognized, even if I didn't want to admit it. For a moment, I found myself cursing Rayseline Torquill for getting there first. I could've used a man who'd look at me that way now that I was back among the living . . . but she did did get there first, whatever my feelings on the subject might be. I had my chance to take that s.h.i.+p. I refused it for Cliff, and for the joy of playing faerie bride. If I had the chance to do it again, would I have made the same choices? Probably. Did I regret it anyway? Yes. I did. get there first, whatever my feelings on the subject might be. I had my chance to take that s.h.i.+p. I refused it for Cliff, and for the joy of playing faerie bride. If I had the chance to do it again, would I have made the same choices? Probably. Did I regret it anyway? Yes. I did.

"We are what we are," I said. "How's Raysel, Connor? Did she settle down?"

Connor turned away, stopping the play of light across his face. I suddenly found it easier to breathe. "She's fine. And yeah, she calmed down."

"Good. I was afraid there might be something wrong with her."

"You mean there isn't?" He sounded bitter and amused at the same time. It was a strange combination.

"Probably not," I said, more slowly.

"You look lovely today. I wanted to remember to tell you." He looked back at me, smiling. "This is the first time I've seen you in a dress where you didn't come off looking like a bear on a leash. It suits you."

I didn't want him smiling at me like that. Not now. I stood and crossed to the nearest stand of love-lies-bleeding, resting my fingertips against a flower. "I like these, too, even though they don't have thorns," I said, hoping he'd take the hint and let me change the subject. "They go beautifully with the gla.s.s roses. Do they grow in the mortal world, or are they another of Luna's creations?"

"They're mortal flowers," he said. He was allowing my incredibly transparent change of subject. Clever boy. "I don't know about the bluegra.s.s-it seems too literal-but the purple flowers are a human thing."

"They have such a great name. Love-lies-bleeding. I wonder why they call them that." I left my fingers resting against the edge of the flower, looking down. It was better than trying to look at him.

"Why do the humans do anything?" I heard him stand, feet scuffling on the broken quartz path. "Luna gave me a bunch for my birthday-this huge vase filled with love-lies-bleeding and love-lies-dying and six kinds of love-in-idleness. If she wasn't my mother-in-law, I'd think it was a hint, but since she is is my mother-in-law, I know it's a hint." my mother-in-law, I know it's a hint."

"What does she want?" I asked, not looking up. "Grandchildren?"

"What would Luna do with grandchildren? Plant them?"