Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

“Luna’s there.”

“I know. I’ll visit—I can do that, now. I can visit all my children.” This time her smile was sweet and wistful. “I’ve missed them. Luna especially.”

“I think she’s missed you, too.”

“She was always a good girl. She tried to stay. But she was dying here.”

I looked at her thoughtfully. There were traces of green in the mingled gold and brown of her hair. I was willing to bet that as the forest restored itself, Acacia would bloom. “She wasn’t the only one.”

“No; she wasn’t.” She sighed. “He wasn’t always like that. I won’t defend what he did or what he became, but there was a time when he was …”

“Sane?” I suggested.

Acacia looked at me, expression grave. “Are the fae ever sane? We live in a world that isn’t there half the time. We claim that windmills are giants, and because we say it, it’s true. Our lives become myth and legend, until even we can’t tell what we truly are from what we’re told we ought to be. How can we live that way and be considered sane? My lord was never sane, but he was my love once. He always will be, somewhere. Wherever it is that the once upon a times go when they die.”

I nodded and rose, this time careful not to put any real weight on my left arm. Once I was up I leaned against the nearest tree, taking a slow inventory. My entire body was covered in blood, but the cut on my arm was the only lingering injury. All the other wounds were made by magic and seemed to have faded the same way.

I looked up to see Acacia watching me. “I think you’ll live,” she said.

“So do I,” I replied. “I should probably—”

“Yes, you should.” She gestured toward the ground. Sylvester’s sword was there, properly sheathed; so were the knives I’d used to kill Blind Michael. “I’ve readied your things, and I’m sure there are people who need to know you’ve survived. I would have wagered on your death. I’m sure they’ve done the same.”

Impulsively, I reached for her hands. “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, and smiled. “I have to stay here. The children need me.”

Oak and ash, the Riders. “Will they—are they going to be all right?”

“No,” she said, simply. “They’re going to be Riders, and they’ll be here forever. But they’ll be better than they were. These are my lands now. The Rides are over, and we’ll live another way. I don’t know how. But we’ll do it.”

“Alone?”

“If we have to.” She let go of my hands. “You’ve given us what we needed, October; you’ve given us our freedom. Now go home and give your family the same gift.”

I bent to collect my weapons, pausing before picking up the second knife. I’d killed with it—it was mine now. In the end, I slid both knives into my belt, slinging the sword over my shoulder. “How do I get home?”

“Come here.”

Her smile was warm and welcoming. I stepped forward, stopping barely a foot away.

“Trust me, and close your eyes,” she said. I did as I was told, and felt her kiss first my eyelids, then my lips. “Good-bye, Toby.”

A breeze rose around me and the smell of the air changed, shifting from forest loam to flowers. I opened my eyes, unsurprised to find myself in the Garden of Glass Roses. The light through the windows indicated that it was past noon, although the light in Shadowed Hills can lie. Crystal butterflies flitted from place to place, unconcerned by the sudden appearance of a changeling in their midst. I could tend myself; it was their job to tend the flowers.

“Good-bye, Acacia,” I said, and started for the exit. I needed to find Sylvester and the others, and let them know that I was all right. If I was going to be a hero, it was my job to make sure every part of my family was protected, including their hearts.

Damn it, when did I become the hero?

I stepped out into the empty hall, wincing at the sound of my heels on the marble floor. Sliding Sylvester’s sword down from my shoulder and clutching it to my chest, I started walking.

Shadowed Hills is large, but some parts of it remain constant; the route to the throne room is one of them. I walked down halls and through antechambers until I was standing in front of the familiar double doors. There wasn’t a footman in sight, so I opened the doors myself and stepped inside.

Sylvester, Luna, and May were on the dais at the front of the room. Sylvester was sitting on his throne with Spike in his lap, while Luna sat on the steps in front of him, trying to calm my sobbing Fetch. All four looked up and stared at me when the doors closed. I stared back. What else was I supposed to do?

Luna let go of May and rose, one hand pressed to her mouth. She looked honestly untidy; her shirt was rumpled, and the fur on her tails was uncombed. May stumbled to her feet a moment later, still crying. She looked just as bad when she cried as I do.

None of us moved for a long time. Then, carefully, Sylvester said, “Toby? Is that you?”

“Yes, it is.” I held his sword out, the scabbard resting flat on my palms. “I brought your sword back. Thanks for the loan.”

I swear I don’t remember him moving. Or me moving, for that matter. No one moved, yet somehow we were all standing in the center of the room, everyone trying to hug everyone else at the same time. Spike was twining back and forth between my ankles, and someone was crying. I thought it might be me.

“You’re covered in blood,” whispered Luna. “There’s so much blood.”

I forced myself to meet her eyes, saying, “The Luidaeg sent me back on the Blood Road.”

She stiffened, eyes widening. “Then … my father … is he … ?”

“Yes, Luna. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”

“Oh.” She turned away, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. No more children. No more regrets.” She looked back, smiling through her tears. “I’ll cry for him, but I’ll smile for them. And for you.”

“Good,” I said, and looked to my Fetch. She’d backed off when the first frantic embrace ended, watching me warily. “May?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about going back.”

“Yeah, well.” She sniffled. “Does everything have to be about you? Dope.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “I guess I am sort of a dope.”

“Okay,” she said, and smiled hesitantly. It wasn’t my smile. She was already coming up with a smile of her own. I leaned forward and hugged her. After a moment, she hugged back.

Was she proof that I’d die? Okay, well, maybe. But normally a Fetch shows up right before death occurs. I’d faced down and killed a crazy Firstborn after May arrived. I’d done some ludicrously stupid and suicidal things, and I’d survived them. So what if she was proof that I’d die? I’d known that for years, and treating her like a death sentence wasn’t fair to either one of us.

Sylvester was watching when I let go of May, eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like pride. I didn’t even pause. I just stepped into his arms, letting him close them around me and seal the world out. There was blood on my hands. I’d killed Blind Michael, and nothing would change that. A lot of people had been hurt; some of the kids were almost certainly scarred for life; and for the moment, that didn’t matter. Not if he could still hold me.

“Thank you for surviving,” he whispered so softly that I almost couldn’t hear.

I raised my head, staring at him. The prohibitions against saying “thank you” are incredibly strong. Thanks imply obligation and fealty. Then again, Sylvester already had mine, on both counts. I smiled at him, answering, “You’re welcome.” Then I put my head back against his chest and closed my eyes. And stayed there.