Seanan McGuire - Late Eclipses

“It’s probably been longer.” I raked my hair back with my free hand. “I know it’s rude of me to ask, but could you—”

“We’ll keep quiet; we know the Duke doesn’t want you found. He’ll be glad you’ve gone to ground here, it’s what he hoped for.” He winked at Connor, grinning broadly. “I see you’re the cause of the young Master’s absence. Good for both of you.”

“Er.” I exchanged a glance with Connor. He was blushing madly. Judging by the heat in my cheeks, I wasn’t much better.

Ormond kept talking, ignoring our dismay. Hobs are like that. They’d play matchmaker in the middle of a nuclear strike if the opportunity presented itself. “Why don’t the two of you stop in the pantry? There’s apples and such.” He indicated a door near the spice racks. “You’ll both feel better for having eaten, and I’ll call Melly. She’ll gladly put you up in the servants’ quarters while I fetch His Grace.”

This was all getting a little out of control. “Look, we really don’t want to get you in any trouble. We can find him on our own.”

“There’s no trouble here.” Ormond’s expression turned grim. “We saw you all over these kitchens when you were just a pup, and maybe it’s been a bit since you came belowstairs, but we remember you. Amandine’s girl, and the Duke’s girl, and there’s never been a rotten bone in your body. Whatever that washed-out ‘Queen’ says, you didn’t hurt anyone. Especially not our Duchess.” He glowered, daring us to argue.

I gaped at him. Connor took a half step forward, clearing his throat. “That’s very kind. Can you tell Melly we’d be honored if she found a place for us to rest while we figure out what to do next?”

“It’s my pleasure.” Ormond hopped down from the stool he’d been using to reach the sink. Like most Hobs, he was small, barely reaching my waist. “Get yourselves some food before everyone thinks I’m abusing you, and I’ll let Melly know she’s to make a room for two fugitives. She’ll be delighted. She hasn’t had nearly enough in the way of blood and grass stains to wash out of the linens since the Duke gave up questing.”

“Right,” I said faintly, as I watched him turn and walk away. Once he was out of earshot, I said, “Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Did we just let Ormond walk away thinking we ran off to have an affair?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” I asked, turning to face him.

Instead of answering aloud, Connor quirked a smile, put his hands on either side of my face, and kissed me.

I was basically a kid the first time I kissed Connor. He was attached to Shadowed Hills as the diplomatic representative from Roan Rathad, and he was as baffled by the land fae as I was by purebloods in general. Kissing me was something he understood, and my changeling heritage didn’t bother him—Selkies are born mortal, after all, and they only become fae if they’re lucky enough to receive a skin. After Devin—after the men Devin hired me out to—Connor’s salt-sweet kisses and careful hands were a revelation.

It didn’t last. We’d barely progressed past stolen kisses and casual groping when the folks back home put their collective foot down. Selkies only get involved with other Selkies, or with pure humans. No changelings. No mixed-breeds. Not ever. I got involved with a human man. By the time that ended, Connor was caught in a marriage of political convenience that conveniently ignored the “rules” his family used to kill our brief-lived relationship. Not the sort of thing that inspires renewal of past passions.

His lips still tasted like sweetened saltwater. I kissed him back without realizing I was going to do it, and once that was done, there was nothing to do but step closer, still kissing him. The webbing between his fingers was cool in comparison to his hands; the rest of his body was hot, pressing against me like he thought our clothes might conveniently disappear.

No such luck. Connor reluctantly broke the kiss, stepping just far enough back to see my face as he said, “Maybe we did.” He left his hands against my face.

“They’ll be thrilled,” I said, trying to sound dry and mostly succeeding in sounding dazed. The Shadowed Hills house-Hobs would be thrilled if Connor and I ran away together. I was a much saner match for him than Rayseline, and they all knew how much I meant to Sylvester. Most of the staff had been with the Torquill family for generations.

I froze. Connor must have taken my expression for rejection, because he dropped his hands, a hurt look flashing over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought—”

“Ormond mentioned Meriel’s dismissal like it was a big deal.” I grabbed Connor’s hands before he could step back. “Was it?”

“What? I don’t know. I wasn’t here then.” Connor’s expression turned confused. “Who’s Meriel?”

“One of the house-Hobs.” Sick realization was washing over me. Hobs don’t get fired from Shadowed Hills very often. They leave on their own even more rarely. House-Hobs are territorial enough that they don’t like to create unnecessary jobs even for their own children, which meant someone had to leave to make an opening for Nerium. Why didn’t Ormond mention that departure? It would have been a lot more recent. “Has anyone been fired recently? Or left? Or gone on vacation?”

Still confused, Connor said, “I have no idea.”

Nerium, who was at the Ball. Nerium, who knew me. I left my wine unguarded when I danced with Sylvester, and Nerium knew where I’d been standing. Sure, I didn’t drink the wine when I came back to it … but Oleander bragged about putting contact poison on the door handles of my car.

It was always possible that I was being paranoid. Something about this situation still didn’t add up. “So who the hell is Nerium?” I muttered.

“That’s not a person,” said Connor, sounding relieved to be sure of something. “That’s a plant.”

“What?”

“Nerium oleander. That’s the scientific name of the oleander.” I stared at him. He shrugged. “I heard Walther explaining his antitoxins to Tybalt. Six times. Dude was a little tense, what with all the poison and dying and you not waking up.”

“Connor?”

“What?”

I swallowed hard, letting go of his hands. “I know how Oleander got into the knowe.” His expression turned perplexed again. I raked my hair back from my face. “I think we’re in serious trouble.”

“Yes,” said a voice from the kitchen door. We turned, and found ourselves looking at Etienne. His sword was drawn, pointing at us. Eyes narrowed, he continued, “I think you are.”

Swell.

ITOOK 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.