Late Eclipses (39 page)

Swell.

 

 

 

I
TOOK A DEEP BREATH. “This isn’t what it looks like—”

“Really,” he said, in a voice like ice. “Because what it looks like is an escaped prisoner in my liege’s fiefdom, endangering us all even more than she already has.” He turned his narrow-eyed gaze toward Connor. “As for you . . . ”

“Don’t start on him, Etienne,” I said. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I was set up, and you know it.”

“No, October, I don’t.” Etienne’s attention swung toward me. “What I know is that you didn’t fight the guards or ask your liege for help. His Grace was petitioning King Sollys for your release when we heard you’d escaped. The Queen’s guard is ripping the Kingdom apart looking for you. How can you even
think
of coming here? And why are you attempting to disguise yourself as your mother?”

One thing stood out from what he’d said. “He was petitioning the
High King?
” I demanded, leaving the topic of my changed appearance alone, at least for the moment.

Sword still raised, Etienne nodded.

The Queen of the Mists is a regional power. Her Kingdom makes up all of Northern California, but her influence ends at her borders. Even a feudal government needs some sort of “highest authority,” unless you want to be at war all the time. In the Westlands—North and South America—that power is the Sollys family. King Aethlin and Queen Maida reign from the royal seat in Toronto, and with Oberon and the Queens gone, they’re as far up the political food chain as most people can go. If King Sollys was involved, there was a chance the Queen would be punished for my “trial.”

Not that I could count on being alive to see it. “I didn’t escape; I was rescued. I don’t think anyone involved knew that Sylvester had gone to the High King.”

Etienne glanced at Connor. Connor looked away. If there’d been any question of whether he was involved with my rescue that answered it. Eyes narrowed, Etienne looked back to me. “Why are you here?”

“Because I believe Oleander may still be here.”

“No one else has seen her.”

“She’s too clever for that. The poisons Walther found—”

“Convenient, that. You’re accused of poisoning people, and you suddenly have an alchemist of your very own to clear your name.”

“She’s working with Raysel. She has a way in.”

“Rayseline has been under close observation since the beginning of this tragedy. She’s done nothing but grieve.”

“And turn me in!”

“Yes, well. It seems that may have been warranted.” Etienne glared at me. I blinked back.

“You were willing to believe me before,” I said. “What changed?”

“You fled the Queen’s justice,” said Etienne. “Your oaths as a knight forbid such acts of cowardice, however much you may disagree with the decisions of your liege.”

“Oak and
ash
, Etienne,” I swore. “I’m sorry your sensibilities are offended by the fact that I’m not dead, but since I’m trying to keep our mutual fucking liege from ending up that way, you’d think you could give me the benefit of the doubt! You
trained
me! Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“I wouldn’t have helped get her out if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do,” said Connor.

“I’m
quite
sure it was your
mind
that ordered that action,” snapped Etienne. Connor turned red, and stopped talking.

The three of us were still standing there, glaring, when Ormond came back into the kitchen. A plump female Hob with curly brown hair and a wide smile trailed along behind him. She brightened when she saw me, spreading her arms in greeting.

“Toby, darlin’! Ormy said it was you, but I wanted to see for m’self. Master Connor, Sir Etienne.” She bobbed quick curtsies to each of them before turning back to me. “You’re a sight and a half for sore eyes.”

“Hi, Melly,” said Connor.

“Right,” muttered Etienne, and turned to stalk away. Ormond reached up and grabbed his arm, bringing the startled Tuatha to a halt.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, conversationally.

Etienne tried to pull away, scowling when he realized he couldn’t. Hobs are stronger than they look. “His Grace must be informed,” he said.

“His Grace, and none other, you hear?” said Ormond. “She and the young master are here on Duchy’s business, and that seems a thing as should be judged proper before people run and carry tales.”

Etienne cast a glare in my direction. I looked at him pleadingly. We held that position for several seconds before he sighed, relenting. “The Duke, and no one else. Let him decide what’s to be done.”

“Good man,” said Ormond, and released him.

“Come on, let’s get the pair of you out of sight,” said Melly, starting to bustle us out of the kitchen. Etienne held his position next to Ormond, watching us go without another word. Melly was more than willing to fill the silence. “We’ve a guest room, it’s not much, but it’ll do. Have you seen Kerry recently? How’s she doing with that new gentleman of hers?”

“Not too well,” I said. Connor reached for my hand. I let him take it.

“Oh, she never gets on well, does she?” Melly asked. Kerry gets a lot of her gregariousness from her mother. Melly’s just better at keeping it from becoming annoying. “Well, she’s young yet. I was four hundred before I met her father, dear man that he was, and him the only one meant for me. Just give her time.”

“That’s what we all need,” I agreed. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Does the name ‘Nerium’ mean anything to you?”

“Can’t say as it does, dear. Is that a friend of yours?”

My fingers clenched on Connor’s, causing him to shoot me a wounded look. “Not quite,” I murmured, forcing myself to loosen my grasp.

Connor and I walked the rest of the way in silence, letting Melly’s constant chatter wash over us like rain. The guest room she led us to was small and spotless, with a single round window looking out over one of the knowe’s many gardens. A narrow bed was against the wall across from the window, and there was a dresser next to the door.

Melly crossed the room quickly, twitching the curtains shut. “No one should bother you here,” she said.

I exchanged a glance with Connor before saying, “This is great.”

“It’s good of you to say, dear,” said Melly, beaming. Looking from me to Connor, she added, “I’ll just let you two have some privacy while you wait,” and slipped out of the room before either of us could protest.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “So now I’m wanted for murder, I’m pretty sure Oleander’s in the knowe masquerading as a member of the staff, and the house-Hobs are convinced we’re sleeping together. This is good. I was worried I’d get bored.”

Connor barked a laugh. “Things stay interesting when you’re around.”

“Since I’m always around myself, I don’t find that at
all
reassuring.” I lowered my hand. “So what, we’re supposed to just wait here?”

“Etienne’ll bring Sylvester, so yeah.” Connor walked over and dropped himself onto the bed, tucking his hands behind his head. He looked perfectly at ease, calling up memories of hot summer nights spent sitting on the beach, mapping one another with our hands. He shot me an encouraging look, kindling a low fire in my stomach. Maybe I wasn’t the only one remembering those nights. “At least nobody’s trying to kill us.”

“If only Danny and the Barghests could say the same.” I started toward the bed, pausing as I heard a faint scraping sound from the wall behind me. Someone was moving a hidden panel. I stiffened, motioning for Connor to hush as I kept walking. It wasn’t Melly or Ormond—they’d have announced their presence—and it wasn’t Etienne. He trained me. He’s not dumb enough to sneak up on me.

Great. A mystery attacker was
just
what the day needed, and unless I moved, Connor couldn’t see whoever was approaching. I make a better door than a window. If I
did
move, he might get some bright idea about “defending” me. I had to hold my ground.

Still motioning an increasingly alarmed-looking Connor to silence, I pulled the pillow from beneath his head and clutched it to my chest, trying not to let my tension show. From behind, it would have looked like we were getting ready to get physical. I was—just not in the expected way.

Soft footsteps to my left marked the position of our “guest” as he or she crept up behind me. Whoever it was didn’t sneak up on people very often, or they’d have known to remove their shoes before coming in. They also didn’t have a ranged weapon, or I’d have already been shot in the back. That gave me a chance, especially if they didn’t realize they’d been heard. The footsteps came closer.

“Okay, darling,” I said sweetly, stooping forward like I was leaning in to deliver a kiss. Then I whirled, slamming the pillow at what I estimated to be chest height.

I was wrong; the person behind me was shorter than I’d expected, and I caught him full in the face. That was a good thing, because I also caught the knife he’d been about to slide between my ribs. The shock of the impact caused him to drop his personal invisibility spell, and I glimpsed golden hair behind the flurry of motion and freed feathers. Manuel.

The blade drove deep into the pillow. I heard Connor scrambling to his feet as I twisted hard to the side, yanking the knife away. Manuel gaped, giving me time to jerk the knife out of the pillow and into my own hand. His eyes widened and he lunged—a gesture I interrupted by hitting him again with the pillow. I dropped the pillow while he was dazed and slid my arm around his neck, holding the knife an inch from his throat. He froze.

The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds. “Hi!” I chirped. “Nice of you to visit. Are you going to bring us a new pillow?”

Manuel swallowed before whispering, “Be careful with that.” His voice was a child’s, frightened and alone.

“Don’t you want a closer shave?” I brushed the flat of the blade against his skin. “They can’t execute me twice. Now tell me why I shouldn’t hurt you.”

“Careful!” he squawked. “It’s poisoned.”

“Is it?” I said, without surprise. “Gee, Connor, did you hear that? I love getting poisoned presents. You’re such a great friend, Manuel. What are you doing here?”

“I was here to . . . to . . .”

“To kill me?” He nodded wordlessly. “To kill us both?” Again the nod; I heard Connor gasp. “Why am I not surprised? Who sent you?”

Manuel licked his lips. “If I tell you, will you let me go?”

“I’ll consider it.” I brought the knife carefully closer. “Talk.”

“It was Oleander. She gave me the knife.”

“Oleander.” I sighed, letting go of him and stepping back toward Connor. “You idiot. I suppose she offered you wealth? Power?”

Manuel jumped away, turning to glare at us when he was halfway across the room. “Revenge,” he spat. “The power was for Rayseline. I just wanted you to pay for what you did to my sister.”

“You idiot,” I said, resisting the urge to check on Connor. He didn’t make a sound when Manuel spoke his wife’s name. He always knew she was crazy. Getting proof still had to hurt. “You let Raysel use you so you could hurt me for something I didn’t do.”

“You didn’t save her!”

“Neither did you.” I looked at him levelly. “Devin would never have let us go, not
any
of us. He was going to kill me and make you into a murderer. Do you think he would’ve let Dare live if she kept challenging him? I don’t. I think he would have made you pull the trigger when he ordered her death. He was using you, Manuel, the way he used everyone else. We’re both responsible for her death, but we didn’t kill her.”

Manuel started to cry. “I . . . you . . . I . . .”

“I know.” I put the knife on the dresser before sliding my arms around Manuel again—embracing, not restraining. He hugged me back, sobbing against my shoulder. I didn’t stop him. I had a feeling he hadn’t let himself cry for a long time.

He let go and stepped away several minutes later, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Connor moved up behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I covered it with my own, asking, “Feel better?” Even I couldn’t have said which I was talking to.

Manuel sniffled, nodding. “A little bit. I . . . ”

“I know.” I laced my fingers with Connor’s. “Did Oleander salt the roses?”

“What?” Manuel blinked, obviously thrown, before stammering, “No.”

It was Connor who asked the next question in a voice gone dead and dull with resignation, like he already knew the answer: “So who did?”

Manuel glanced between us, and said, “Rayseline.”

“Crap,” I said, looking quickly toward Connor. He’d turned his face away, staring at the wall. “Connor—”

“Don’t.” A pause. “Please.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Manuel, sounding baffled. “The salt’s not going to do any permanent damage. It was just to keep the Duchess out of the way while we . . . while they . . . took care of things.”