Seanan McGuire - Rosemary and Rue

“Just now. I already know most of the last week.”

“Remember that Doppelganger attack I mentioned?” He nodded. “That happened. Look, you can come when I grovel at Sylvester’s feet about the fact that no one called him.”

“You’re still bleeding.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and my heartbeat doubled. Moving with what I hoped was casual slowness, I stepped out from under it. I didn’t need this. Not now. Probably not ever.

Get a grip, dummy, I thought. What, Devin’s not enough for you? “I reopened the wound when I tackled you. Don’t worry. I heal fast.”

Connor took a deep breath and asked, “Will you let me help you?”

He just kept coming up with the stumpers. Next he’d probably ask how I got in without using the front door. I turned back to the wall, saying, “Connor, I can’t involve you in this.”

“You think Raysel did it, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.

“I think she might have.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Does that bother you?” I looked over my shoulder, waiting for him to flinch or betray some sign of guilt—anything to get my hormone levels down.

He didn’t oblige. His expression was neutral as he said, “I don’t think she did it; it’s not her style. But I can see why you’d suspect her. Does that bother you? ”

“Yes,” I admitted. “It bothers me.” There was no point in lying.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t figure out why you went and married someone like her.” There: I’d said it. Maybe he’d give me an answer I could believe.

“It was political.” It was his turn to look away. “Salt-mist needed a truce, Raysel needed a husband. She liked my looks, her parents approved, Duchess Lorden told me to go, I went.”

“It was an arranged marriage?” My opinion of his taste went up about twenty points, but I was still horrified. Being a feudal society doesn’t mean we have to be that feudal. “We still have those?”

“My wife certainly thinks so.”

“That’s just not right.”

“That’s how things are. My home Duchy needs the alliance, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my home.” He squared his shoulders, and my heart did a stuttering box step.

“I’m sorry,” I said, voice unintentionally soft.

He stepped toward me. “So am I.”

For a moment, we just stared into one another’s eyes. His were brown from edge to edge, darkening at the center rather than resolving into a defined pupil. You could drown in those eyes. I wanted to. It would have been safer than whatever I was doing with Devin, and a lot less likely to get me killed . . . and it wasn’t an option. If I was looking for sex, I already had it, and if I was looking for love, I was probably out of luck—and either way, this wasn’t my road to take. Bracing my hands against his chest, I pushed him backward.

“We can’t do this,” I said. My voice was hollow. It wasn’t so much that I wanted him as it was that I wanted the idea of him; the idea of someone who would hold me and tell me things were going to be okay, without having to go back Home.

Connor gave me a hurt look, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder. “Why not? I want to. So do you. Why can’t we?”

“Let’s start with the easy stuff,” I said, stepping out from under his hand. “You’re married, and I don’t want to be banished. Is that a good answer?”

“Raysel won’t care; you know that. As long as we stay married, she stays heir, and that makes her happy. It’s not a marriage. It’s a treaty.”

“I care. I won’t step on her toes.” I took another step back, shaking my head. “It’s not worth it, Connor.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” he said, voice pitched low. The tone sent a thrumming down my spine. My central nervous system voted to abdicate. No, no, no. This was not going to happen. Not with him.

“Look, Connor, maybe it would be worth it. I don’t know. Ask me again when we know who killed Evening, and maybe I’ll have a good answer.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “For right now, can we just try to figure out who did this before they decide to try it again?”

He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and let his hand fall to his side. I felt a surge of relief mixed with remorse, and took a deep, slow breath. Oberon’s bones, what had I been thinking?

I cast a sidelong glance his way. He was studying one of the carvings on the wall, carefully not looking at me. The answer was simple: I hadn’t been thinking at all. I’d just been reacting. I didn’t love him, but there was a time when I might have, and that was enough to move me forward. I needed to be needed. This wasn’t the right way.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you looking for?”

His tone told me he wanted to move on. I seized the opening. “I don’t know—something useful. Answers, maybe.”

“Are answers usually that easy to find?”

“After the week I’ve had, the world owes me some easy answers.”

“Are you finding any?”

That ranked high on the stupid questions list. “Not yet. Just some empty halls and you.” I turned in a circle, scanning the room. There were shadows in the corners, even with the lights on. There were no bodies, and the ghost of Hamlet’s father didn’t seem likely to show up, but it was bad enough. I almost thought I could hear faint noises drifting down the center hall.

“Welcome to the haunted halls of Elsinore,” I muttered.

Connor glanced at me. “What was that?”

“Shakespeare.”

“Why?”

I paused, and in the silence of that moment, I heard the sounds from the hall again. They were real, and they were getting louder. “Did you come alone?”

“What?” He blinked. “Of course. Who would I have brought with me? Sylvester has people checking every place you might’ve gone.”

“Right.” I stepped backward. Whoever was coming down the hall was too quiet to be Manuel or Dare. “Not to be alarmist or anything, but there are people trying to kill me right now, which means staying here might not be the best plan.”

“What?”

There was a clean snapping noise from the direction of the hall. It’s hard to mistake the sound of a bullet being chambered, especially when people have recently decided shooting you is great fun. I grabbed Connor’s hand and bolted for the nearest door, hissing, “Run!”

There was a muffled snarl from the hall, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Sometimes I hate being right.

The door didn’t want to open. I yanked the key out of my pocket and shoved it against the lock, shouting, “Open, dammit! In Evening’s name!” Nothing happened. The steps were getting closer. Not letting myself look backward, I shouted, “In Oberon’s name! In somebody’s name! In my mother’s name, open up, damn you! ”

The lock released and the door slammed open, sending Connor and me tumbling into a narrow hallway. I paused long enough to kick the door shut and throw the lock before taking off down the hall. I didn’t know where it would take us, but I knew what would happen if we stayed where we were, and in this case, I preferred the unknown. Connor stumbled, and I caught his hand as I ran, hauling him behind me.

Connor was already starting to strain to keep up—Selkies are built for endurance in water, not on land. “Where are we going?” he gasped.

“Away!” I heard the door smash behind us, and the sound of running feet. I didn’t know how much of a lead we had, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. We’d escape, or we’d die. Even odds.

“We don’t know they want to hurt us! We don’t even know who they are!”

“Pardon me if I don’t wait around to find out!” The strain of dragging Connor was making my shoulder throb in earnest, but I didn’t let go. He’d die if I did.