Seanan McGuire - Chimes at Midnight

The Queen screamed, struggling against me. I’d done this twice before, but both times, my subjects had been willing. The Queen was fighting me, in every sense of the word. That didn’t matter. That couldn’t matter. Now that I’d started, I had to win. I still felt bad for her. Having your blood changed is always painful.

The last threads of Siren were tangled deep. I took a breath, bracing myself, and got a mouthful of her blood—something I’d been trying to avoid, even as I mingled her blood with mine.

She’ll kill me when she knows; she’ll kill me, and this changeling bitch won’t even care . . .

I forced the veil of her thoughts aside, grabbed the last threads, and pulled. The fight went out of her; the Queen went limp in my arms. She felt smaller somehow, frailer. I raised my head, spitting to try to clear away any traces of her blood before I could be hit with another wave of her memories. Then I looked around the room.

Everyone was staring at me.

“What?” I dug the sap out of one ear with my free hand. “Haven’t you ever seen that trick before?” I spat again. “Anybody have any mouthwash?”

“October . . .” Tybalt approached cautiously, looking like he expected me to cut and run at any second. I swallowed back a sudden twinge of fear, remembering his claws at my throat.

“Hey. Take her, will you?” I pushed the unconscious Queen toward him. He caught her easily, hoisting her onto the throne. My assessment had been correct: it looked like she’d lost at least a foot in height, becoming slimmer and even paler, impossible as that seemed. What little color she’d had must have come from the Siren side of the family. “Has anybody checked on May?”

“Jin is with her now,” said Tybalt. “Toby . . .”

“Good.” I turned to scan the room. Everyone seemed to be in one piece—mostly, anyway. “Can you go and get Lowri and Nolan? I think Arden’s going to want to see her brother.”

“All right,” said Tybalt, sounding defeated.

I glanced back to watch him walk away. And then I moved toward Arden, who was still standing behind the throne, looking stunned. “She violated Oberon’s Law, even if it didn’t stick,” I said. “She attacked you in your home.”

“What did you do to her?” she asked.

“I made her stop.” I shrugged. “It’s what my line is good for. We’re like hope chests with thumbs.”

Arden started to respond, but stopped as she looked past me, eyes widening. “Nolan!” she cried, and took off running. I turned. Tybalt was dragging the Queen’s guards who had been at the door. Lowri was carrying Nolan, her hooves slipping in the pools of blood that covered the floor. The receiving room looked like a slaughterhouse. Between me and May, we’d basically bled our way into a private abattoir.

This was my life. One compulsion-induced torn throat didn’t change that. I ran after Arden, veering off at the last moment to bring myself into collision with Tybalt, rather than with Lowri and Nolan. Tybalt blinked at me, clearly startled. There was a moment of hesitation, a shadowed fear in his eyes. Then he beamed and dropped the guards onto the bloody floor, catching me in his arms as I flung myself at him and kissed him like the world was on the verge of ending.

There was a lot of cleanup left to do, both literally and politically. The former Queen would have to be contained, and Arden’s claim to the throne would have to be formally recognized. I needed to find out where Tybalt had put the hope chest, and return it to the Luidaeg, who should have had it in the first place. Comfort would need to be given, questions would need to be answered, and wounds would need time to heal. But right here, right now, it was over.

Tybalt locked his arms around my waist and kissed me again, and everything was right with the world.

MAY HUMMED AN OLD ENGLISH FOLKSONG about decapitated women as she fussed with her hair, which was streaked with white, blue, and electric green for the occasion. I eyed her before going back to checking the fit of my own spider-silk gown in the mirror. I didn’t need to bother—the dress fit like it was made for me, and always would, because that’s what spider-silk does . It was the most formal dress I owned, black with gold and silver highlights, cut straight across the chest and with a knee-length skirt. I’d worn that dress the night I first met Patrick and Dianda Lorden. It was my “try to avoid a war” dress. It seemed appropriate to the occasion.

“You weren’t decapitated, you know,” I said. Stacy had done my hair, curling it gently before pulling it off to one side with a ribbon. Somehow, it didn’t make me look like an escapee from a 1980s teen comedy. It was elegant, simple, and perfect.

“Close enough,” said May. Her dress was rainbow taffeta, likely rescued from a thrift store somewhere in the Mission District. It didn’t match the black velvet band she had tied around her throat. She was healing, but slowly. It would be months before she could go out in public without either fabric or illusions covering her.

There was a knock at the door. I turned to see Sylvester standing there, in full formal regalia, looking embarrassed to have interrupted. “Are you ready?” he asked. “I’m trying to gather everyone who needs to be on time.”

“I’ll catch up,” said May.

“Then I’m ready.” I walked over and placed one gloved hand on Sylvester’s arm, allowing him to lead me from the room.

A week, and all the Hobs from the old Queen’s knowe—under the ecstatic instruction of Melly and Ormond, who felt they had first claim—had worked wonders. The Windermere knowe was a gleaming showpiece, all polished wood and glossy floors. The less public areas would need more time, but it was already suitable for habitation, which was a good thing, since Arden, Nolan, and Lowri hadn’t left since the old Queen was defeated. Lowri was serving as the head of Arden’s guard, which was made up half of defectors from the old Queen and half of recruits who had shown up looking for a place to serve.

Faerie is like that. Create a vacuum, and we’ll rush to fill it. Just in time, too. In the confusion of our allies waking from the Siren song and our enemies figuring out whether they were still our enemies, the old Queen had escaped, aided by loyalists who had managed to sneak in, hidden amongst the more sincere defectors. We needed the extra security now if we wanted to be sure of Arden’s safety.

We stepped out of the hall and into the receiving room, which was filled almost to capacity. Sylvester’s Court was in full attendance, as was the portion of Dianda’s that could survive on land. Tamed Lightning and Dreamer’s Glass had sent emissaries, as had many of the other smaller fiefdoms. I didn’t recognize everyone. I knew enough of them to know that some were here to curry favor, and some were here to see what they believed would be a righting of past wrongs. The Luidaeg wasn’t present. I hadn’t heard from her since she’d gone looking for Mother’s tower. One more thing to worry about; one more thing to deal with later.

Arden was on her throne, wearing a simple green gown and chewing on her thumbnail. I let Sylvester pull me through the crowd to a spot at the front, where Quentin and Tybalt were waiting.

“Hey, you,” I said, kissing Tybalt on the cheek. Then I ruffled Quentin’s hair. “Also, hey, you. You nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen them in years.”

“I’m terrified. I’ve been worried about meeting your parents for years.”

“Pretty sure I couldn’t have come up with anything bigger than crowning a new Queen to bring them here.”

I paused. “That’s actually a reasonable answer.”