Seanan McGuire - Late Eclipses

Connor leaned against the wall, struggling to get his breath back. I cast him a sympathetic look before asking, “So which way is it to Luna’s room?”

“From here?” Manuel turned in a slow circle. I flexed my hands, resisting the urge to shake him until he answered. I’d already rushed off half-cocked once; I wasn’t going to do it again. He stopped and pointed down a side hall. “That way, right, left, and two more rights. We’ll come out in the library next to the Ducal quarters.”

“Then let’s go.”

We started off again, jogging until Connor was breathing better, and then breaking into a run. The knife I’d taken from Manuel was my only weapon, and if I used it, it would be to kill, not wound; Oleander’s poisons were too well-made for me to assume they’d leave people alive. If I struck out, even to defend myself, I really would be breaking Oberon’s law.

I’d worry about that when the time came … and after I knew that Luna was safe.

We ran for about ten minutes. Manuel took the lead, calling out the turns as we came to them. I wasn’t tired. I should’ve been, just like the hide-and-seek spell should’ve left me reeling from magic-burn. This wasn’t like the Luidaeg’s transformations; this wasn’t going to wear off. Tybalt seemed to think I could undo it myself—but that wouldn’t make me Daoine Sidhe. Whatever I was, it was something I was going to have to learn to live with. Of course, that was assuming I survived to live with anything at all.

“Here.” Manuel waved us to a stop.

I reached for the door he indicated. “If this is a trick …”

“I never wanted Luna to die.” He looked from me to Connor. Streaks of pixie-sweat were drying on his cheeks and forehead, making him look as young as Dare was when she died. “I just wanted to avenge my sister.”

“I believe you. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay,” I said, and opened the door.

Light flooded the hall, filling my vision with bright spots. I blinked them away and saw that we were exactly where Manuel said we’d be: the library next to the Ducal quarters. Connor followed me, and Manuel brought up the rear, tapping the door behind himself. It slid closed, becoming a simple decorative panel.

Manuel offered the ghost of a smile when he caught my expression. “A lot of the servants’ entrances are hidden. It’s so we won’t disturb people.”

“Right,” I said. Kerry showed me the servants’ halls when we were kids, but I forgot about them once I grew up. Oleander wouldn’t have been that careless, and if she knew about the secret doors, she could have come and gone with ease. Shadowed Hills mostly employs Hobs; the knights and pages aren’t technically “servants.” All she had to do was pay attention and she could avoid them all.

Manuel kept smiling, almost desperately. He still wanted me to approve of him. Hell, after everything he’d been through, he probably didn’t care who approved of him, as long as someone did. Dare had been his only living relative, and Devin never taught his kids how to grow up. No wonder Oleander and Raysel were able to convince him to go along with their plan. They just had to give him their attention.

“It’s cool,” I said. His smile brightened, losing its anxious quality. “Now come on. We have to get to the Duchess.” I took Connor’s hand, pulling him along at a fast trot as we followed Manuel out of the library and down the hall to the filigreed silver gate leading to the Ducal quarters.

Manuel stopped, looking dismayed. “It’s closed. We can’t get in.”

“Let me,” said Connor. He released my hand and reached for the door handle, turning it—or trying to, anyway. It remained firmly shut. Connor scowled. “That’s weird. It’s supposed to open for family.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Connor, with everything that’s happened … do you really think Raysel would leave the locks open?”

“I guess not.”

“Let me try.” I stepped forward, ignoring Manuel’s startled stare as I rested my forehead against the door. “Me again,” I murmured. “Sorry, but I need another favor.”

Manuel snorted. “Quiet,” I said, sharply, before turning my attention back to the knowe. “Sorry about the interruption. Your Duchess is in danger. I know I’ve been asking a lot lately. But please, let us in.” I stepped back.

“Was that a spell?” asked Manuel. “I didn’t feel any magic—”

“Hush,” I said. Then I repeated: “Please.”

The door swung open, revealing the garden on the other side.

I cast a smile at the ceiling before grabbing Connor’s hand and running through the open door. Manuel followed us, demanding, “How did you—”

“Just run!” I said, passing the fountain. There were two smaller, freestanding gates on the other side. One would take us to Luna’s room, and the other would take us somewhere else in the Ducal quarters. I just didn’t know which was which. “Connor?”

“This way.” He pulled me forward, taking the lead as we passed through the gateway on the left and into a small, round room filled with lights.

The vast bed where Luna slept still dominated the room, but the rose goblins covering every surface were new. They were on the bed, the floor, even twining their way between the lamps and candles. Spike was curled in the middle of Luna’s chest. It raised its head as we entered, chirping a greeting.

I smiled. “Hey, guy. Good to see you.”

Manuel stopped next to me, and frowned. “Toby, where’s Luna?”

“She’s right here.” I stepped closer to the bed, a strange mixture of love and regret catching in my throat. I could see her breathe when I stood this close. She wasn’t dead yet.

“No, it’s not,” objected Manuel.

“Yes. It is.” I leaned down to touch her cheek. She wasn’t burning up anymore, but she was still warmer than she should have been. I understood Manuel’s confusion, because the woman in the bed looked nothing like the Duchess of Shadowed Hills. She looked like Luna, Blodynbryd daughter of Acacia and Blind Michael.

She was taller than the Duchess we knew, thinner, and more fragile-looking. Her skin was the alien white of new marble, and her hair was a long tangle of pink and red. The fox ears and tails she’d worn so proudly were gone, her second, stolen heritage burned away by the resurgence of her first. We might save her life, but we couldn’t save the skin she’d worn.

“I don’t understand,” said Manuel.

“You don’t need to,” said Connor. “Where’s Rayseline?”

“I don’t know. She said she was coming here.”

I straightened, turning to face him. “What did she say, exactly?”

“That she was going to see her parents. To get to the root of things.”

“The root of things?” I stared. Connor had gone milk-pale. “Oh, oak and ash. Come on!” I ran back out the door, almost stumbling as my feet hit the cobblestone path, and charged straight through the other gate. Connor was close at my heels, and Manuel wasn’t far behind.

Every child in Faerie learns the sacred symbols of our world. It’s the fae equivalent of Sunday school, packed with useless knowledge and bits of history that humans take for fairy tales. We’re taught to swear by the sacred woods, by Titania’s rose, and Maeve’s tree, and by the root and the branch—Oberon and his children. Oberon is the root of Faerie. By that same archaic, undeniable interpretation, Sylvester is the root of Shadowed Hills.

The gate led to a terraced hall, laid out like the walkway of a Spanish villa. Arches branched off to the left and right, but I kept running, following the curve of the main hall. Connor was gasping. He was close to the end of his endurance, but we couldn’t afford the risk of slowing down.