“I have asked myself that question a thousand times without finding an answer. If I had even the faintest clue, I would have tracked that person down years ago and made them pay for everything they had done to me, to my family, and to you,” said Sylvester, a new chill leeching into his words, until every one of them could have frozen me where I stood.
Or maybe that was just the snow we were all standing around in. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to conserve warmth, and said, “Okay. So you don’t know anything that can help us find Simon, and some old promise to my mother matters more to you than I do. Good to know where I stand.”
“October—”
“We’re leaving.” I turned to head for the doors. Sylvester grabbed my arm. I stopped, slowly turning back to look at his hand. Voice level and calm, I said, “Let go of me.”
“I would never allow anyone or anything to harm you. If you believe nothing else, I need you to believe that.”
Except that he was harming me; he had been harming me every time he kept the things I needed to know secret from me. He just couldn’t see it. “I need you to let go of me.”
And then Tybalt was there, shoving his way between us, forcing Sylvester to let me go. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. A low growl was rolling through Tybalt’s chest, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I glanced at Quentin, who was watching the whole scene with wide, frightened eyes.
“I speak to you now as a King to a Duke, and with the utmost respect,” said Tybalt, in a tone that made it clear he could care less if Sylvester took offense. “If October is hurt because you kept a promise to her mother rather than upholding your duty to one who is your sworn vassal, believe me when I say that I will return here on my own, and I will make you sorry you ever allowed harm to come to her.”
Sylvester smiled a little, eyes still filled with shadows. “Tybalt, if October is hurt because of what I didn’t tell her, I’ll leave the door open for you.”
“Great. Since we’re at the threats and dick-waving part of the day, I guess this is where we go,” I said. “Sylvester, if you decide to change your mind about being an asshole, you have my number.” I turned and stormed back into the knowe before he could reply, with Quentin and Tybalt close at my heels. Everything felt wrong. My stomach was a hard, cold knot of anger and dismay. The world—my world—was changing again, and I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like it one bit.
The halls of Shadowed Hills were deserted, which made sense, given the time of day: any sensible purebloods would be asleep, and most changelings who live in the Summerlands learn to keep pureblood hours. We were almost to the door before I heard footsteps hurrying up from behind, and turned to see Etienne walking toward us as fast as decorum allowed. He was wearing his uniform, but it looked a little more rumpled than I was used to, like he had finally allowed himself to relax a little bit. It was a surprisingly good look on him.
Etienne had always been the most hidebound of Sylvester’s knights. We were all expected to wear ducal livery if we were standing guard, but most of us called it a day when we reached “presentable.” Not Etienne. If he had to leave his quarters, his boots gleamed with polish, and his hair was styled until it looked shellacked. Not now. His tabard was only laced halfway down the sides, and his hair was mussed in that “straight out of bed” way endlessly imitated by fashion magazines and aspiring models. For the first time, I could understand what Bridget had seen in him. He looked like a man, and not like a Ken doll with a sword.
“October, wait!” he called, and walked a little faster, not quite breaking into a run. Running in the halls was against the rules, after all.
I stopped walking. Quentin and Tybalt did the same, and Quentin shook his head. “I’ve never seen Sir Etienne this unkempt.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I wish I had a camera.”
Etienne, who was close enough to hear us, glared. “Show some decorum,” he said. “It might serve you well in your future dealings with the nobility.”
I wanted to protest that I didn’t intend to have any future dealings with the nobility, but as I was standing between my boyfriend the King of Cats and my squire the Crown Prince of North America, that would have been a little disingenuous. “I’ve done okay without any decorum so far,” I said. “I’ll take my chances. What’s got you out of bed in the middle of the day? Please tell me you’re not going to ask me to babysit. I’ve got a sort of full plate right now.”
“October, I would trust you to the ends of the earth with my child’s life and safety; should she ever be endangered again, Oberon forbid, there is no one I would rather set upon her trail,” said Etienne. “But the Fire Kingdoms will freeze before I allow you to babysit.”
I snorted. “Shows what you know. I’m good with teenagers.”
“Yeah,” said Quentin. “She hasn’t gotten me shot in ages.”
“Aren’t you helpful,” I said, glaring at him.
Quentin beamed.
Etienne looked between us, apparently bemused. “Your method of communication remains as irreverent as ever,” he said. “Chelsea woke me, but she has nothing to do with why I came to catch you. Is it true? Is Simon back in the Mists?”
“He came to my house,” I said. “He tried to talk to me. When that didn’t work out for him, he attacked Jasmine and ran. I’m going to the Luidaeg’s now to ask her what we should do, but I wanted to check on Sylvester first.”
“And because of their similarity in appearance, you felt the need to lay eyes upon him yourself, rather than using the telephone,” said Etienne grimly. It wasn’t a guess: he was the one who’d trained me, and he knew how my brain worked. “That makes sense, although it seems needlessly reckless. You shouldn’t be involved in this. Let Sylvester handle it.”
“Fuck. That. For one thing, I’m almost as mad at Sylvester as I am at Simon right now. For another, what do you want me to do? Wait for Simon to come back to the house and condemn us all to a new life in somebody’s fish tank? Nuh-uh. I’m willing to be patient when patience is called for, but that isn’t being patient, that’s being stupid.” I shook my head. “I’m going to the Luidaeg. She doesn’t volunteer information, but at least with her, I know she’s telling me the truth when she speaks.”
“October—”
“I know Simon was married to my mom.” Was still married to her, although I didn’t want to say that out loud; it was too disgusting to waste time thinking about. “Is there anything else you people haven’t been telling me?”
Etienne looked alarmed. He raised his hands, palms toward me. “Peace! I never spoke of it because they were separated, and I assumed you knew and didn’t want to discuss it. It would have been unseemly to bring it up.”
I stared at him, my anger taking on a new white-hot form. “Oh, my sweet Maeve, you thought Sylvester took me as his knight because of Simon, didn’t you? That was why you never believed me when I said I’d earned my post. You thought I was . . . I think I’m going to be sick.”
To his credit, Etienne looked ashamed. “I learned better.”
“Oh, oak and ash.” I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. The situation wasn’t Etienne’s fault. He hadn’t done this to me. When I opened my eyes again, he was watching me warily, like I might bite. Forcing my tone to lighten, I said, “Look, I need to run, but once this is all taken care of, we should take the kids and do something fun. Hit Great America for the day.”