“I was there when you started yelling at Dianda,” I said, voice carefully neutral. “Where did you go after that?”
“Just down the hall. I wanted to clear my head. I wasn’t gone for long—minutes, only—I planned to come back, make my apologies, even if I didn’t mean them, and maintain my standing within the conclave. But when I returned to the dining hall, there was no one there. It was like I’d been gone for hours.”
The sound. “I heard something, when I rode your blood.”
“My wife doesn’t believe in using magic to preserve food.”
The statement was odd enough that for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. “Um, okay,” I offered finally.
Antonio looked at me like I was beneath contempt. “It would be a waste of her skills. She uses a mortal invention instead. Tin foil. Have you heard of it?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as I nodded. “Yes. I’ve encountered the stuff.”
“There’s this sound when she tears off a sheet . . . I heard it. From this room. And then the shadows jumped.”
Wait. “What?”
“My Merry Dancers were never still, and their light meant the shadows were never solid. They didn’t have the opportunity to freeze.” He looked at the shadows around him, expression growing grim. “The world flickered like a candle. I never knew how much I would miss it until it was over.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But what do you mean, the shadows jumped? Did they actually come for you?” I hadn’t noticed anything like that. I had been hoping Antonio could reveal some motive or facet of the situation that his blood hadn’t given me, but moving shadows seemed a bit big for me to have missed.
“No, you stupid girl,” he said. “They shifted, as if my Merry Dancers had been moved. Which is quite impossible.”
But it wasn’t impossible for something else to have moved. “I heard the sound twice when I rode your blood,” I said. “Once here, once in the hall. Does that match with what you remember?”
The night-haunt who had been King Antonio nodded.
“One last question, and then you can go,” I said. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted you dead?”
His laughter surprised me. “Oh, you simple changeling creature,” he said. “I was a king, and a good one. Everyone wanted me dead.”
Egil took his arm. “We must away,” he said. He snapped his wings open, launching himself upward, into the air. Antonio was pulled along, and other night-haunts moved to support him, holding him in the air until the instincts of his new body took hold, and his wings began to work. Silently, those of us who were still among the living watched the dead flying away, until only the night-haunt with Connor’s face remained.
“October,” he said.
I turned to him. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I still felt guilty when I saw him, as if his death had been entirely my fault, and not the result of his own actions. I was grateful for those actions—I always would be—but I hadn’t asked him to die for my daughter. He had chosen to do that entirely on his own.
“Egil won’t thank you for stopping the goblin fruit. His memories of being Devin are too strong, and he blames you for letting the stuff into his streets in the first place, after he died. I’ve talked to the changelings who died because they got hooked, and they wanted me to tell you that they’re grateful, and they don’t share his anger. The flock is not your friend. The flock will never be your friend, not until you join us, and fly with us, and belong to us. But the flock isn’t your enemy, either.” He paused. Then he smiled, that old, familiar smile, the one that used to greet me when I woke up. My heart clenched. I loved Tybalt more than I would have believed possible, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss Connor. He’d been my friend before he was my lover. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to losing friends.
“I’ll see you soon,” said the night-haunt with Connor’s face, and launched himself into the air, and left me alone with the living.
TEN
WHEN THE NIGHT-HAUNTS TAKE a body from the mortal world, they leave a mannequin behind, one that mimics the mortal disguise of the deceased. Those mannequins rot, bloat, and decay, just like a human corpse. There’s no need for that sort of subterfuge in the Summerlands. All the night-haunts had left of King Antonio were a few scraps of clothing and the shattered husks of his Merry Dancers, which were already dissolving into sand.
“What would have happened if Toby hadn’t found the body?” asked Quentin, after a long silence. “Would the night-haunts just have come, and not left anything to let us know that somebody was actually dead?”
“Historically, if there was no one to witness the feeding, they would leave dried leaves and rose petals, love-lies-bleeding and sprigs of marigold,” said the Luidaeg. “It’s a very specific bouquet. Anyone who found it right after someone had gone missing would know what it meant. I’m surprised you don’t.”
“We haven’t reached ‘mysterious deaths’ in my lessons,” said Quentin uncomfortably.
“Also, I didn’t know the answer to that,” I said. “Mom never taught me. Neither did Etienne.”
“Deaths in Faerie are rare enough that they probably thought you’d never need to know.” The Luidaeg snorted. “They never did understand you very well.”
“I guess not.” I turned to Karen. “You okay?”
She was pale, even for her, but she wasn’t shaking, and her eyes were clear. “I didn’t know it was like that,” she said. “How long will that night-haunt look like him?”
“A year for every year he lived,” said the Luidaeg. “Anything more would be unfair; anything less would kill them all, and we’d be right back where we started. You’ll have two lives, when your time comes. The one you lead among the living, and the one you lead among the dead.”
“Wow,” I said. “If that’s meant to be reassuring, you need to redefine how you think about the word. Any ideas on that whole ‘I heard tearing metal and then the shadows moved’ thing?”
“Not yet,” said the Luidaeg. She put a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “You ready to go back to the conclave, kiddo?”
Karen looked startled. “What? Why would we go back? Isn’t it over now?”
“If you think a murder is enough to disrupt a collection of kings and queens, it’s a good thing you’ll never be asked to be a part of the monarchy,” said the Luidaeg. “If anything, this is going to make them more determined to come to a consensus. Their honor has been threatened. How dare the world intrude?”
“Yes,” I said softly. “How dare it.”
We left the dissolving fragments of Merry Dancer where they were. I didn’t have anything to carry them in, and I didn’t know what the protocols were for handling something that was, in its way, evidence of the existence of Faerie. Maybe once they’d finished dissolving, the sand would be returned to Antonio’s widow, or maybe it would just be scattered to the wind. Either way, that was something to worry about later. Now, I had bigger problems.
I saw the Luidaeg palm one of the larger shards, slipping it into the endlessly cascading waves of her gown. I didn’t say anything. If the sea witch had a use for a piece of Merry Dancer, I didn’t want to know what it was, and I’ve learned to trust her over the years. I’ve also learned that sometimes, I have to be able to put my life in her hands—and that’s usually easier for me when I have no idea what she’s planning to do.
The hall outside the dining room seemed almost obscenely bright after spending so much time in darkness. Arden’s staff had been through, lowering the lights and hanging wreaths of black roses and blood-orange poppies below the windows as a gesture of respect for the departed. The air smelled too sweet, like they were trying frantically to stave off any hints of death.