Seanan McGuire - Ashes of Honor

There are times I wish Faerie had more healers, or that my particular healing talents extended to people other than myself. Since I still can’t stand the sight of blood, I’m basically useless for anything more involved than smearing Neosporin on a scrape and calling it good.

Tybalt wasn’t quite staggering, but he was close. I tried to tighten my grip on his arm without being too obvious about it. He shot me a sharp look. “I am not going to drop dead on the lawn. It would be crass to die without at least saying hello first.”

“Oddly, not that reassured.” I kept pulling him along. “Samson tried to kill us.”

“Yes,” said Tybalt dryly. “I noticed.”

“No, I mean—he really tried to kill us. Both of us. Not just you, which would be forgivable under the Law.” Succession in the Court of Cats is often fatal. As a consequence, the Cait Sidhe are considered exempt from Oberon’s Law as long as they stick to killing each other. A Cait Sidhe killed by another of his or her kind isn’t considered a murder victim so much as, well…bad timing. If Samson had killed me, on the other hand…“Even if the Queen wanted to hand out fiefdoms and cookies, I’m pretty sure Sylvester would insist on something being done.”

“Among others, yes. You have a surprising number of willing noble patrons. Even so, you must understand…Samson allowed you to be brought into the line of fire not because he thought he could get away with it, but because he didn’t care.” Tybalt’s expression turned grave. “The intent was almost certainly to send us both running into the shadows, where our deaths would go unremarked—and my death would be less likely to reverse itself.” Seeing my bewilderment, he explained, “A King or Queen who dies on the Shadow Roads—not after falling off them, but truly on them—remains dead. The magic that restores us can’t find us in the dark.”

I blinked. “That must have been a fun one to learn.”

“If it were not so, I could never have killed my father.”

My eyes widened before I could stop myself from reacting. Tybalt was a King of Cats. I’d always known what meant—that sometime in the past, he’d killed someone to get his throne—but I’d never really thought about it before. I hadn’t wanted to.

Tybalt shot me a very small, very tired smile. “I’m done with secrets between us, October. If I am asking you to let me court you—and to court me in return—I cannot pretend to be other than I am. I am a King. Kings gain their thrones in certain ways.”

I blinked again. This time, I didn’t have any words to follow the gesture. Admissions of love are one thing. One strange, scary, unexpected, potentially insane thing, but still, they’re self-contained. They can be ignored, if they have to be; they can be politely forgotten by both parties and never spoken of again. It didn’t seem likely, given the circumstances. It was still an option. Courting, on the other hand…

Formal courtship is common among the older purebloods, played at by the younger purebloods, and practically unheard of among changelings. It’s somewhere between the Victorian ideal of calling cards, chaperones, and romantic failure to even hold hands, and the fairy tale ideal of glass mountains, dragon-slaying, and the occasional curse. The whole concept was terrifying.

Tybalt clearly realized he’d managed to unsettle me. His next words made it plain that he didn’t understand why : “I thought you knew what I was.”

“I did,” I said. “I mean, I do. I mean…I don’t know what I mean.” I mean, I don’t know why you’d want to court me. I mean that I don’t know how to court you. I mean that I don’t know whether I want to be courted.

I meant a lot of things. I just didn’t know how to say any of them.

“Please tell me when you acquire the knowledge,” said Tybalt. He stepped away from me long enough to open the door into the next building. His shoulders were squared, and the effort that it took for him to stay upright unassisted was impossible to miss. I ached to help him. I didn’t move. Not until he had the door fully open and was gesturing for me to step inside.

“I will,” I said.

He followed me through the door and didn’t object when I took his arm again, shifting so he could lean on me.

“I promise not to make a habit of this,” he said.

“Tell you what. You don’t make a habit of this, I won’t make a habit of getting myself gutted, how’s that?”

His eyes went to the slashes across the front of my shirt. “I believe I can agree to that.”

“Agree to what?” inquired April, with what sounded like genuine curiosity. We both turned to see her standing a few feet away, head cocked to the side as she waited for our reply.

I frowned. “Why don’t I smell ozone?”

“Answering a question with a question is inefficient,” said April. “You do not smell ozone because I am not functionally here. This is a projection.” Then she smiled—an expression so joyful and sincere that it made my heart ache. She looked like her mother when she smiled like that. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very nice, April. It looks just like you.” April was made of solid light, rather than anything messy like flesh or bone. She’d always been questionably physical. This was just one more step along that illogical progression. “Where are the others, please? Tybalt’s injured, and I need to get someone to help me clean him up.”

“You have also been injured,” noted April. “The amount of blood on your clothing indicates a blood loss of approximately—”

“Please don’t calculate how much of my blood isn’t actually inside my body right now,” I interrupted. “I really, really don’t want to know. Where are Li and Quentin?”

April frowned. “In the cafeteria. I will alert them to your arrival.” She disappeared, as silently and scentlessly as she had appeared in the first place.

“Oh, Tamed Lightning, is there anything you can’t make creepier?” I paused, and added, “Don’t answer that. Come on.”

Tybalt and I walked to the cafeteria in the sort of silence that spoke, very loudly, to the effort he was making to stay on his feet. I wanted to suggest he shift to feline form and let me carry him, but I was afraid if he did that, he wouldn’t have the strength to shift back. Eventually, the bright blue cafeteria door came into view. Quentin pushed it open a second later and held it for us, a worried expression on his face. That expression deepened when he got a good look at my clothes.

“Toby…?” he said, in a small voice.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Could probably use some cookies and orange juice, but I’m okay. Tybalt needs help.”

“I assure you, I am less injured than I appear,” said Tybalt. “I am simply conserving my strength while I recover from the effort of holding October’s intestines inside her body.”

Quentin looked between the two of us, paling. Then he stepped aside. “Li’s getting the first aid kit.” He looked past us to the hall. “Where’s Chelsea?”

“Why would Chelsea be here?” I asked, leading Tybalt into the cafeteria. He was leaning on me harder all the time, and I could smell fresh blood again. He was bleeding somewhere under his clothes from an injury I hadn’t seen. That wasn’t good.

“Because I bent your luck and hers together,” said Li Qin. She was spreading the contents of a first aid kit out on one of the room’s oddly shaped white tables. “She should have gone right to where you were.”

“She did,” I said. “That’s why we’re alive.”

“What?” Li Qin looked up, and paled. “Oh, sweet Titania…”

“Hasn’t been seen in a long time, and wouldn’t help us if she were here,” I said grimly.