“That explains why the Luidaeg assumed you would live,” said Jin. “I’m sure that also explains why I need you to lie still and recover. You’ve been unconscious. You need to rest.”
“If I’ve been unconscious, all I’ve been doing is resting,” I said. “I need to find out what’s going on. I need to tell High King Aethlin what happened.” They must have found Quentin by now, sleeping peacefully in the high tower. I needed them to understand.
Jin shook her head. “He already knows. He took a sample of your blood as soon as we were sure you would live. It told him the whole story.”
I stared at her. It was hard not to feel like my privacy had been invaded, even though what she was talking about Aethlin doing was exactly what I did every time I rode someone’s blood without their consent. I would have said he could go ahead if I’d been awake, not because I wanted to, but because I knew that refusing would have been seen as suspicious. I would also have been able to focus my thoughts on Verona and her crimes, rather than allowing him to roam at will through my memories.
At least it had been him. He already knew most of the secrets I was tasked with keeping, although he might not have been quite so aware of Arden’s insecurities. I pushed the sleeves of my shift up to my elbows, trying to cover my discomfort with a question: “How’s Madden?”
“The knife missed all the major organs, and you did a pretty decent job with the field dressing for someone who has no medical background.”
Jin probably hadn’t gone to a human medical school. Ellyllon were natural healers, and their knowledge of the body and its ailments was mostly instinctual. I decided not to point that out. I was already pissing her off enough by refusing to get back under the covers, and I had once seen her knock Sylvester out with a touch of her fingers and a gentle command to go to sleep. “Good. Arden needs him, and he didn’t deserve to die that way. Where are we in the knowe?”
“Oh, no.” Jin narrowed her eyes. “Get back in the bed. I am not going to be responsible for you running off and hurting yourself again.”
“No, you won’t,” I agreed, and stood. “But I’m awake now, and I need to tell High King Aethlin that I’m his to command. I can’t just lie around here waiting until you feel like I’m well enough to deal with my daily existence.” Especially with the conclave still going; especially with Tybalt still sleeping. I needed the High King to remember that I was here.
Quentin was probably going to be a sufficient reminder of the urgency of the matter at hand. I couldn’t imagine any parent would want to leave their eldest child to sleep for a hundred years if there was any way around it.
Jin took a breath, looking like she was going to object again. Then she stopped, and sighed, and said, “I never win this fight. Just once, I’d like to win. You know that, right?”
“I do,” I said solemnly. “Next time I’m at Shadowed Hills, I’ll stub my toe and let you put me to bed for a week, okay?” The idea was appealing. Peace, quiet, access to the kitchen . . . I could deal with that sort of break.
“It’s a promise,” said Jin.
“Great,” I said. “Now where are my clothes?”
Her smile was slow, and more than a little sadistic. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to do you a favor beyond saving your worthless life? That’s not on the books for today.”
“Don’t think I’m going to stay in here just because you refuse to give back my shoes,” I said.
“I don’t think even you will go streaking around a royal knowe.”
“You call this streaking?” I held out my arms. “I’m more covered than a tent. Don’t think I won’t walk out that door.”
“You won’t.”
“Watch me.” I walked past her, choking a little on the cloud of pixie dust thrown up by her frantically buzzing wings, and out the door into the hallway on the other side, where my dignified escape was promptly thwarted by Sylvester Torquill.
“October!” he cried, rising from the lion-footed chair where he’d been sitting, nervous as a father waiting for news from the delivery room. He swept me into a tight hug before I could react, lifting my feet off the ground. I made a small sound of protest. He didn’t appear to notice, occupied as he was with swinging me around and exclaiming, “Jin said you were recovering, but I never expected to see you up and about so soon! And looking so well! My darling girl, can you ever forgive me?”
“Not dead,” I managed to wheeze. “That means I need to breathe.”
“Sorry! Sorry.” He set me gingerly to my feet and took an exaggerated step backward, giving me my space. “Are you all right?”
“I’m still in one piece, despite the best efforts of gravity and the ground,” I said. I felt light-headed with relief. This was the closest thing to an intimate moment Sylvester and I had shared since the night I’d learned that he had lied to me for my entire life. He’d done it out of loyalty to my mother and love for me, but he had still hurt me, and that had damaged my trust in him. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed feeling like I could turn to him in times of crisis.
“Please don’t do that again. My heart can’t handle it.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not the only person who’s going to say that to me,” I said. “Did you get your sword back?”
“I did,” he said. Then he smirked. “Even dropping yourself from a great height is not enough to defeat the art of a good blacksmith.”
“I’ll try harder next time.” I took a deep breath. Let it out. And said, “I’m still mad at you. If you ever keep secrets from me for my own good again, we’re done. I will ask you to release me from my oaths, I will find a new liege, and I will be gone. But I miss you. I miss my friend. I miss my liege. Please, can we make up now?”
Sylvester nodded. He looked tired. Daoine Sidhe don’t age after they reach maturity, staying young and vital forever, but there were still shadows around his eyes, and he looked older than he had before Evening Winterrose came back, before I learned that he could lie to me. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I will do my best never to break your trust again.”
This time, I was the one who hugged him, wrapping my arms around his waist and breathing in the reassuring dogwood and daffodil scent of him, letting it fill my lungs. Sylvester put his arms around my shoulders, and I allowed myself to take a moment and just exist.
But only a moment. I had work to do. “I need to get to the conclave,” I said, letting go and stepping away. “I need to find out what’s going on.”
Sylvester blinked. “Forgive me if this is indelicate, but . . . were you planning to go in what you’re wearing?”
“First Jin, now you, I swear, it’s like you think this is a bikini or something.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t have clean clothes here, and I’m not going to my room to change. I can’t lace myself into half those outfits without help.” Quentin usually helped me, or Tybalt, and both of them were asleep in a high tower, waiting for the people who held the final say to tell me whether or not I was going to get them back.
Fae don’t age, but humans do. If I wanted my boys returned to me, I was going to have to burn away the last of my humanity, and I was never going to forgive the gathered Kings and Queens of the Westlands for demanding that of me. Never.
“I could spin you an illusion—”
“No. I got hurt in their service. They can take me as I am.” Still mortal. Still breakable. Still longing to go home.
“At least take my coat.” Sylvester shrugged out of his greatcoat, which hung to his knees and would fall almost to my ankles. It was soft blue wool, embroidered with abstract yellow daffodils and white dogwood flowers, and it felt like he was still hugging me when I pulled it on. I had to belt it tight around my waist to keep it from slipping off my shoulders, but when I was done, it looked almost like an overdress rather than a coat stolen from someone bigger than me.