Once Broken Faith (23 page)

“We were, and we are, and this will be an interesting conversation starter,” said Maida. “If he objects too strenuously, then he's admitting he views elf-shot as an unfair punishment—one he was all too happy to inflict on someone from another Kingdom, and all because he
thought he could do so safely. If he goes willingly and without objection, then he's saying the status quo is absolutely fine by him, and he, and the people he represents, would be happier if nothing changed.”

“Oh, oak and goddamn ash,” I said, putting a hand against the side of my head. “That's it. I'm going to go find a murderer before you make my head explode.”

“No, you're not,” said Aethlin.

“What?” I lowered your hand. “Begging your pardon and all, but it's my job.”

“So is this. Go, change your clothes, and bring Quentin to the conclave. You can leave after Duke Michel is dealt with.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to argue with me?”

“Uh, no.” I laughed bitterly. “The last time I argued with somebody who had a crown, I wound up ambassador to Silences. I'm not making that mistake again. Tybalt?”

“How finely you pack an entire request into a single word of two syllables. Would that my name were shorter, that I might encourage you to even greater acts of brevity.” He offered a quick, not quite mocking bow to the High King and Queen. “My lady needs a chariot, and I will serve her as well as any horse. I shall see you anon.” With that, he slung an arm around my waist and stepped backward into the shadow.

The last thing I saw before the darkness blocked out the world was High King Aethlin's puzzled gaze, and High Queen Maida covering her mouth to hide her smile. Then everything was dark and cold, and they were blessedly the least of my worries. I didn't need to think about politics or playing fair; all I had to do was run. And so I ran.

W
E FELL OUT OF the shadows, into the light of my temporary quarters. Tybalt let go, virtually shoving me away as he stumbled to the bed, grabbing the bedpost and holding on for dear life. I staggered to my feet, watching him long enough to be sure he was breathing without obvious distress. He liked to make a show of how invincible he was, how untouchable and eternal, but the truth of the matter was that he'd exhausted himself to the point of death twice while carrying me through the shadows—and while a short run inside Arden's knowe was nothing compared to some of the jaunts we'd taken, part of me would always be waiting for the day he collapsed and didn't get better.

It was almost ironic, in a terrible way. I was the one with mortal blood.
He
should have been the one worrying himself sick over
me
. But I was also the unbreakable one, thanks to the gifts I'd inherited from my mother; I was the one who'd live no matter what I did to myself. I'm pretty sure we're tied for deaths these days, although I'll never tell him if I can help it. Call me paranoid, but I don't feel like “I got stabbed in the heart and I think there's a good chance that I died” is the sort of
conversation we can have without it devolving into a screaming fight.

“You do have a shorter name,” I said, forcing my voice to stay as light as possible. I moved toward the suitcase I had packed for the occasion. If the High King wanted me to change my clothes, I needed to do it. “I just don't think you'd be thrilled if I started calling you ‘Rand' all the time.”

Tybalt shivered, still clinging to the bedpost. “The sound of that name upon your tongue is sweet torture. Would that you could have known him, the man who would not be King.”

“Okay, now you're starting to freak me out.” I turned back to the bed, leaving my suitcase unopened. I moved to stand behind him, placing my hand flat against his arm. He didn't lift his head. “Tybalt. Hey. You don't get this Shakespearean unless something is really wrong. What's going on?”

“There was a time when I could have said ‘a man was murdered' or ‘a woman lies dreaming for a century's time,' and had that be enough, you know.” He finally lifted his head and turned to look at me. “There was a time when those words would have unlocked an ocean of sympathy, not a shrug and the words ‘today is Thursday.'”

“It's not Thursday,” I said automatically, before I winced and asked, “So what, is this about me being too flippant?”

“No. No, love, no.” He let go of the bedpost and turned. He grasped my upper arms, holding them tightly enough that I could feel each of his fingers individually. It wasn't tight enough to bruise, but it came close. “This is about the fact that once we leave this room, I have to go back to holding myself apart from you. When the false queen was setting herself up as your enemy and opponent, I had the luxury of pretending to be an enemy. Anything I did would be taken as humorous, because it would antagonize you. Now . . . I shed the mask that
allowed me to protect you when I allied myself with you in the public sphere.”

“So you're afraid I'm going to get myself hurt . . . ?” I ventured, watching him intently. This side of Tybalt—the side that had buried his first wife, the side that had held him away from me for years, out of the fear that any mortal woman he dared to love would suffer the same fate as Anne—was still new to me. It was no less endearing than the arrogant face he showed the world. The fact that I was allowed to see it at all made it precious to me. But sometimes it was still surprising, the places where his actual insecurities were buried.

He nodded. There was a gravity bordering on pain in his eyes. His pupils had expanded to soak up every bit of the available light; in someone less feline, the resulting effect would have looked drugged. On him, it just made me want to hold him fast and never let go.

Too bad that sort of mercy wasn't in my job description. “I might,” I said. “I can't promise anything beyond ‘I'll do my best to be careful,' and even that goes out the window if it's me or Karen, or Quentin, or Arden. I'd take a bullet for my kids because I love them, and I'd take a bullet for my Queen because my oaths say I have to. That's who I am. I don't get to change it just because the waters are too deep.”

To my surprise, he chuckled, letting go of one arm and running the knuckles of his right hand down the curve of my cheek. “I love you because of who you are,” he said. “I wouldn't change a thing, even if it were possible to do so. I hate that we've spent so much time among the Courts of your people of late, where I'm as much a hindrance as I am a help.”

“Yeah, well, maybe after this one, we can have a nice, normal missing persons case,” I said, as lightly as I could. “Or hey, I could take a vacation. Disneyland. We have to go to Southern California anyway, so I can tell King Antonio's heir what happened to him. I've always wanted
to go to Disneyland. Mom wasn't interested, and I never had the money while I was living with Devin.”

“That could be nice,” he said. I must have looked baffled by that reply, because he burst out laughing. “Honestly, October, I've been in California since before the Park's construction. Do you think there's any possible way I missed the many, many, hundreds of billboards that have been erected and removed since then? I have no idea what one
does
at Disneyland, but I'm aware of its existence.”

“You didn't know how to ride in a car,” I said defensively.

He pulled himself up a little straighter. “I'm a King of Cats, with full and open access to the Shadow Roads. Why would I
need
to know how to ride in a car?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. I started to lean in for a kiss.

There was a sound behind me, like metal being torn, and a scent so faint that it was on the edge of existence, too thin and attenuated to identify. Tybalt blinked, giving me an inexplicably baffled look. I didn't think; I just acted on instinct, shifting my body a few inches to the side, as if I could shield him from the source of that sound.

The pain followed immediately on the motion, sharp and piercing and somehow new, a pain I had never felt before. It seemed like every time I reached the limits of my body's experience, someone went out of their way to hurt me in a whole new way.

I knew enough about my body and the way it worked to be certain that there wasn't time to turn and fight before I succumbed to my injuries. Maybe it was cowardly of me, but I didn't want Tybalt to attack my attacker only to find that I'd bled out while he was distracted.

“
Run
,” I hissed, feeling bloody froth burst at the corners of my mouth as I pitched forward into Tybalt, knocking him back in the process. I caught a glimpse of his eyes, now wide and round with shock, before we fell
into darkness. He'd clearly seen the blood; he knew I was hurt; he knew I wouldn't be telling him to flee unless I was also scared. So he fled.

I had never loved him more.

Tybalt carried me through the dark, my lungs aching and the blood freezing on my lips. I hadn't been able to catch a proper breath before we fell. That, combined with the pain in the left side of my chest, told me that whatever had hit me had probably punctured my lung. Definitely a new one on me, and when combined with the cold and the lack of air, it made it hard to stay awake. I clung to consciousness the same way I was clinging to Tybalt's shoulders, refusing to allow the deeper dark to claim me. I needed him calm, rational, and not stalking the halls of Arden's knowe searching for my killer.

We tumbled out of the darkness and into the bright, pancake-scented confines of the Luidaeg's chambers. She was seated at a large round table with Karen and Quentin, all of them turning toward the sound of our arrival. Karen went pale. Quentin jumped to his feet. And the Luidaeg, bless her, cleared the breakfast dishes to the floor with a sweep of her arm, creating a great clatter of crockery.

“Get her on the table!” she commanded. “Quentin, warm, damp towels, now. Karen, go to my room. Bring me the brown case.” She paused for barely a second, looking between the two of them. “Well?
Move
.”

“Shouldn't we get Jin . . . ?” asked Quentin.

“
Move
!” the Luidaeg howled.

They moved.

Tybalt carried me to the table, lowering me onto my side. Sheets of frozen blood cracked and fell away with every motion, freeing more to seep into my clothing. The Luidaeg grabbed one of the blood crystals before it could hit the floor and pressed it to my lips, like a nurse offering an ice chip to a wounded soldier.

“Suck on this,” she said. “It'll make you feel better.”

I managed to muster a nod and open my mouth, letting her place the blood on my tongue. It began to warm and soften, and she was right; it
did
make me feel better. The taste of blood always did. My blood was the best choice in some ways, because it didn't come with any unwanted, potentially uncomfortable memories: it was mine. I already knew all the secrets it had to tell me.

It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe. I closed my eyes, focusing on the soothing taste of the blood. I was in good hands.

“What happened?” the Luidaeg demanded.

“I don't
know
!” Tybalt sounded frustrated—and more, he sounded scared, like this was outside his frame of reference. “We were in her room, and there was a sound, like unoiled hinges creaking. She froze. Then she was falling into me, telling me to run. I never saw what struck her. Can you get it
out
?”

I knew whatever it was had to be still embedded in my back; the pressure on my lung wasn't getting any better. If anything, it was getting worse, making it harder and harder to pull in a full breath.
If I suffocate, will I still heal?
I thought, dazedly. I'd drowned once, I was pretty sure—maybe more than once. Something Connor had said to me on the beach, right after I'd returned from the pond . . . I had recovered from those short deaths. What was one more?

One more was one too many. It was a relief when the Luidaeg said, “Yes, but you're not gonna like it.” Her hand touched my shoulder, skin cool against my own. “Honey, I know you can hear me, and that's important. The stake that hit you is like a harpoon. There are hooks. The cleanest way to get it out—forgive me, October—the cleanest way is to push it through. It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt
bad
. But it has to be done. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded. It took everything I had left, but I nodded. The Luidaeg took her hand away.

“Good girl. Tybalt, you may want to look elsewhere. Quentin, get ready with those towels.”

That was all the warning I received before she gripped the stake, twisting it and sending bolts of agony through my back and shoulder. Then she shoved, driving it deeper into my flesh. I think I screamed. I think I vomited. All I know for sure is that consciousness slipped away, replaced by blessed black nothingness. True nothingness: there was no pain, no awareness that time was passing, only absence. It was pleasant.

The pain returned, bright and blazing, and accompanied by the feeling of fingers inside my chest, poking through the ruined tissue that had been my lung. I screamed, or tried to, anyway; screaming was difficult without air, and my body was refusing to do anything that might have reinflated the collapsed organ.

“Towel!” snarled the Luidaeg, withdrawing her hand. There was a clattering sound as she dropped something on the table, and pressure was suddenly applied to my chest. It hurt, but in a different way. “Dammit. She's lost a
lot
of blood. I need a knife.”

“Why?” Tybalt's voice. He sounded panicked, and I couldn't blame him; when the Luidaeg started asking for knives, someone was about to bleed. She wasn't always careful about her cuts, either, although I liked to think she was careless with me because she knew I'd heal.

I wanted to reassure him. I couldn't find the air.

“Because I'm going to bleed for her.” Some of the pressure was removed from the towel at my breast. “Come on, kitty-cat. Scratch me, and let me bring her back to you. She'd do the same for me.”

I
did
do the same for you,
I thought. I still couldn't speak. I wasn't dead, but I wasn't getting any air. Everything was turning fuzzy and hard to focus on. My eyelids didn't want to respond. That wasn't fair. If I was going to die here, I wanted to see them before I went. I wanted them to know I was saying good-bye.

There was a ripping sound. The Luidaeg hissed, sounding pained. Then something was being shoved against my lips, and the smell of blood was invading my nostrils, so delicious I couldn't have resisted it if I tried. My mouth opened almost without my bidding, and I was drinking deeply, greedily, pulling at the Luidaeg's wrist like it was a lifeline. I needed the blood so much that I didn't think about the consequences until the world was washed in red, and everything changed.