Chimes at Midnight: An October Daye Novel (5 page)

I lowered my hands, opening both eyes as I struggled to gather the shreds of my composure. “Goblin fruit is bad for Faerie.” If she was going to let my outburst go unpunished, I was going to try to reason with her. “It kills changelings. Your subjects. It makes even purebloods careless. Our secrecy is too precarious right now. I urge you to reconsider your position, and ban the stuff from the Mists.”

“Mmm,” she said, thoughtfully. Then, sounding almost bored: “No.”

“Your Majesty, please. I beg you—”

“You urge. You beg. You
raise your voice to me
.” Her tone turned suddenly icy as she rose, eyes narrowed, and spat, “
I
am Queen.
My
word is law. Not yours, not your allies,
mine
. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I whispered. Her anger was terrifying, and not just because of the notes of Banshee fury that I could hear wrapping themselves around the words.

But she wasn’t done. “I have tolerated your disrespect time and again. I have tolerated the disrespect of your so-called ‘friends.’ I am
done
, Sir Daye. I am done listening to your mewling protests, your demands for ‘equality,’ your cries for justice you have not earned. You have three days to put your affairs in order. At the end of that time, I will expect you to be outside my demesne.” Her eyes were cold. “Flee to your liege, if you like; so long as you remain confined within his Duchy, I will not challenge you. I respect his rights as your regent that far. No further. Should you set foot outside the bounds of Shadowed Hills but within the Mists after that time has passed, I will see you brought before my Court on charge of treason. Do I make myself
perfectly
clear?”

I stared at her in horror, trying to absorb what I was hearing. Yes, I had been disrespectful, but I had also saved her Kingdom over and over again. At some point, that should have earned me a little leeway. Instead, it had earned me a faster path to exile.

“That isn’t fair,” protested Quentin. “She never disobeyed you.”

“It is my Kingdom, little fosterling, and I shall ban whomsoever I like from its shores. Watch that I don’t ban you alongside her.” She turned toward Tybalt. “And you? Are you going to argue for her?”

Please don’t
, I thought, wishing desperately that he could hear me.
Please, please don’t.

“No,” said Tybalt.

“Good. Uncharacteristically wise.” The Queen’s eyes swung back to me. “Have you any other questions, Sir Daye?”

“No, Your Majesty.” I dug my nails into my palms until it felt like they would break the skin. “May I be excused? I have a great deal of packing to do.”

She settled back into her throne. “Yes, you may. You and all your merry little band of sycophants.”

I curtsied again, not trusting my voice. Then I turned and plunged into the crowd, not pausing to see whether Tybalt and Quentin were behind me. I knew they would be, just like I knew that May and Jazz would already be moving toward the exit. We all got there about the same time, moving through the clumps of whispering and pointing people, some of whom weren’t bothering to be subtle about it. My eyes were burning. I resisted the urge to wipe them. I’d be damned before I let the Queen see me cry.

Tybalt caught my wrist before I could charge out into the cave that connected the Queen’s knowe to the mortal world. “Let me see you out,” he murmured. “
Please
. I wouldn’t put it past her to play some final prank if we were to use her front door.”

I looked at him, the threatened tears finally beginning to fall, and nodded.

“We shall see you outside,” he said to the others, Quentin included. Then he pulled me into the thin shadow cast by a pillar, and out of the world entirely.

The cold wasn’t as bad this time, maybe because Tybalt didn’t have to focus on pulling two of us through the darkness. He was able to keep me closer to him. My tears froze against my eyelashes. I let them. This wasn’t the time for crying. This was the time for getting pissed.

We emerged into the parking lot after what felt like a dozen steps. Tybalt held on only long enough to be sure that I had my feet under me. Then he let go and took a step backward, giving me my space. I loved him even more in that moment. I’m not sure I could have let him go, if our roles had been reversed.

“October—”

“Not here.” I shook my head, scraping away my frozen tears with the heel of my hand before grabbing a handful of night air and spinning it into a thin human disguise that wouldn’t stand up to any real scrutiny, but would at least keep me from being immediately fingered as inhuman. I was still wearing the gray silk gown the Queen had dressed me in. It matched my mood nicely, although I really wanted a pair of jeans. “We’re going to get the others, and we’re going to go home, and then we’ll talk about this.”

“Speaking of the others . . .” Tybalt draped himself in his own human disguise as he looked past me to the beach. I turned to see May, Jazz, and Quentin running across the sand. I finally realized that May and Jazz were still in the dresses they’d been wearing when we arrived. Apparently, the Queen really
did
have it in for my wardrobe.

And for me. She’d banished me from the Mists. The idea was too big to wrap my head around. Exile was a threat she’d always held in reserve. It was riskier than either imprisonment or execution, because it was the one punishment that left me free to look for new allies. It potentially endangered her safety almost as much as it hurt me. It was just the only thing that didn’t require real charges; “I don’t like your face” was good enough. I never thought she’d do it . . . and she had. I just wasn’t sure why goblin fruit was the tipping point.

“Toby! Are you okay?” May nearly tripped over her own shoes as she made the transition from sand to pavement. Jazz caught her, both of them looking at me anxiously.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I was crying. I dug the heel of my hand into my eye again, trying to make the tears stop. “We need to get out of here before she comes after you guys, too.”

“Jazz and I will call Danny to come and drive us home.”

I dropped my hand, blinking at May. “I . . . what?”

“You need to go see the Luidaeg.” May shook her head. “Take Quentin with you if you want, or send him home with us. But if anyone will know a way to make this go away, it’s her.”

“I appreciate that you did not even pretend I was going to let her go off without some form of backup,” said Tybalt dryly.

“I may be a composite of multiple dead people, but I’m not stupid,” said May. She kept her eyes on me. “Go see the Luidaeg. Ask her what you should do from here. Because I really don’t have any answers.”

Jazz, who had been silent up until then, said, “And if her answer is ‘there’s nothing to be done,’ come home and tell us. Because we’re going to need those three days to start telling all the changelings in this Kingdom that it’s time to find another place to live.”

My exile meant the goblin fruit trade wasn’t going to stop. Any changelings who didn’t leave the Kingdom would be at risk. I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the enormity of it all. If there was a way that I could beat this, I didn’t see it. Unless the Luidaeg had some kind of magical solution for me . . .

I didn’t see any options at all.

W
E DIDN’T LINGER ON THE BEACH. We were too close to the Queen’s knowe for comfort, and the night was slipping through our fingers, already skating down the long slow slope toward dawn. I put my leather jacket back on, drawing it tight. Then Tybalt, Quentin, and I piled into the car while May produced her cell phone from somewhere inside the candy confection of her dress, raising it to her ear. I didn’t worry about them. Danny would get them safely home.

Quentin sat quietly in the backseat for the first part of the ride, mirroring Tybalt, who sat stiff and silent next to me. I was just starting to consider turning on the radio when Quentin said, in a careful tone, “Toby? Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did, but you can ask another one.” Anger and dread were warring for control of my emotions, and it felt like they were negotiating a team up. I had to find a way to fight this. If the Luidaeg couldn’t help me, I still had to come up with something. But what? She was the
Queen
. I was a changeling with some weird skills and a bunch of allies that I cared way too much about. What if she decided to go after them? Tybalt couldn’t abandon his Court. Sylvester wouldn’t abandon his Duchy. They were going to be sitting ducks if I was forced to leave.

I didn’t want to be in this situation. She hadn’t given me a choice.

“Why do you hate goblin fruit so much? I mean . . .” Quentin paused, choosing his words more carefully before he said, “I mean you hated it even before you knew for sure that people were dying. Lots of things can kill people. You don’t hate them all.”

“Most deadly things come with a choice. A changeling who tastes goblin fruit once—just once—doesn’t get any choice after that.” I frowned at him in the rearview mirror. “You’ve been watching me chase the stuff all over the Bay Area for months. I thought you’d know this by now.”

“Yeah, but you started when you were still . . .” His voice faltered as he realized he’d almost mentioned Connor. He glanced guiltily at Tybalt. Tybalt, bless him, didn’t say anything.

Purebloods don’t like to think about death much. It upsets them to remember that people aren’t eternal. Connor’s death nearly broke me. But he died to save my little girl, and I couldn’t shame him by refusing to go on with my own life. “The goblin fruit started showing up on the streets after Connor died,” I said. “I was looking . . . I don’t even know what I was looking for. I was looking for trouble. I found it.”

“I thought you were going to die, too,” Quentin admitted in a small voice. I stared at his reflection, shocked. That was something he’d never said out loud, no matter how much his behavior told me he was feeling it. He looked down at his hands, twisting them together in his lap, and said, “It’s why I kept telling Tybalt where you were going, and how much danger you were putting yourself in. I hoped maybe you’d listen to him, even if you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Tybalt nodded, confirming Quentin’s story. I winced.

“Oak and ash, Quentin, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” He raised one shoulder and let it drop again in a classic teenage half-shrug. “When I had to break up with Katie, I sort of felt like dying for a little while. I guess having someone you love
die
has to be a whole lot worse.”

“It is,” I said honestly. “It’s the worst thing you can imagine.” I glanced at Tybalt, who was still looking straight ahead, letting us talk without him. I took my right hand off the wheel and placed it on his knee, earning myself a quick, almost grateful look. “But it gets better.”

“That’s good. It’s just . . . you never told me why you started hunting goblin fruit the way you have been. I’m your squire, Toby. I’m supposed to support you while you train me, and I can’t do that if you never tell me what’s going on. It’s my
job
to be here for you.” He sounded profoundly frustrated. “People are dying. I get that. I could have helped, if you’d let me.”

I took a deep breath, pulling my hand from Tybalt’s knee and raking the hair out of my face. Finally, I said, “Let me ask you something. Have you ever tried goblin fruit?”

There was a long pause before Quentin answered, “No. I mean. Some of the older courtiers back home had tried it, but I wasn’t old enough when I came here, and Duke Torquill doesn’t allow the stuff in his Court.”

Quentin was originally from Canada—somewhere near Toronto, if I placed his faint and fading accent correctly. Where near Toronto was something I didn’t know. He was a blind foster to the Duchy of Shadowed Hills, which made his parentage and title, if any, a secret until such time as his fosterage ended or his parents chose to reveal themselves. “So you’ve never had any, but you’ve talked to people who have. What do they say about it?”

“That it’s like going to the deeper lands of Faerie, even if it’s only for a little while.” Quentin’s tone turned disdainful. “I’ve
been
to the deeper lands. I didn’t like it much.”

I had to fight the urge to laugh. It would just have offended his dignity, and it wouldn’t have been fair: I didn’t like the deeper lands much either. Tybalt wasn’t so restrained. He snorted. All three of us had wound up in Annwn, a realm that’s supposed to be long-sealed. Our stay had involved a lot of bleeding, mostly on my part, and a lot of pain, for everyone. I was just as glad to be home. “Yeah, but I bet it sounded pretty appealing before you knew what the deeper lands were like.”

“I guess so,” admitted Quentin.

“Now imagine how amazing that sounds to changeling kids. They’re on the outside looking in. They’re never going to have as much magic as everybody else. They’re not going to live as long as everybody else. Hell, half the courtiers I knew when I was a kid said even setting foot in the deeper lands would strike a changeling dead.” It was pure pixie-crap, of course. The first changelings came about because the fae insisted on abducting mortals and carrying them away to their enchanted castles under the hills. If changelings couldn’t survive the deeper lands, we’d have known that millennia ago. “Can you see how goblin fruit would sound appealing?”

“Well, sure, but goblin fruit is deadly to changelings. Everybody knows that.”

I sighed. Sometimes my squire was such a pureblood that it hurt. “Quentin, believe me, changeling kids get used to being lied to by people who want to keep the best things for themselves. There’s always someone who thinks the whole ‘it’s deadly’ thing is one more lie to keep them from being happy. There’s always someone willing to try one little taste. And one is all it takes.” No one evangelized for goblin fruit like a changeling on their first high, before the first pains of withdrawal hit them. They were true believers, each and every one, and they’d convince all their friends that the warnings were false.

Quentin frowned, disdain fading into puzzlement. “You hate goblin fruit because it messes with changelings? Not because it kills them?”

“It’s not just about that, although it’s part of it. Goblin fruit is too dangerous. It kills changelings. It endangers the secrecy of Faerie. The more it infects the streets, the more likely it becomes that someone will slip and hand a jar to a human. What happens then? And yeah, I also don’t like that it’s one more ‘we can have this because we’re so pure and awesome, and you can’t, because your blood is all tainted and gross’ reminder that we can’t ever be on equal footing.”

Quentin paused before he said, “You sound like my dad. He hates goblin fruit. He says it’s a divisive element and that it drains resources that should be going toward preserving unity.”

“Sounds like a smart guy.” I tried to keep my tone light. Quentin didn’t mention his parents often. No matter how curious I was, some rules aren’t meant to be broken, and that includes the rules that protect the blind fosters. I wouldn’t push. Which didn’t mean I didn’t want to.

“Yeah,” said Quentin. “I guess I understand why you hate goblin fruit. I mean, it makes sense, especially with . . . you know, everything.”

“You mean me being the only changeling knight in the Kingdom, and constantly dealing with a Queen who hates me?” I asked dryly. “Oh, and now? Banished. Because exile was so what I needed this week.”

“Yeah.” Quentin sighed. “I wish this didn’t have to be your problem.”

“Any chance of that just died.”

“I know. But I . . .” He met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I said. Then it was my turn to grimace. “Wow. That sounded about as sincere as a used car salesman, huh?”

“I was thinking you sounded as sincere as someone in a horror movie saying, ‘I’ll be right back.’ You won’t be right back, unless it’s as a head in a bag.”

“I’ve got to talk to May about the stuff you’re watching on television.”

“Who do you think keeps showing it to me?”

Tybalt chuckled. “He has a point.”

“Don’t help. I don’t think I could handle it if the two of you ganged up on me right now.” I pulled up in front of an all-night taqueria, glancing down at my distinctly nonstandard attire before digging my wallet out of the front pocket of my jacket and handling a twenty dollar bill to Quentin. “Go inside. Get as many burritos as this will buy, and get me a large coffee.”

“Yes, sir!” He snatched the bill from my hand and was out of the car like a shot, all anxiety forgotten at the sound of the dinner bell. I smiled a little, turning toward Tybalt.

“The Luidaeg likes it when we bring—” I began. His kiss cut off the rest of my sentence. While I was turned away, he had unfastened his seatbelt and closed the distance between us, and now he was pressed to me like a teenage boy after the prom. I fumbled with my own seatbelt until I found the latch and was able to squirm free, wrapping myself around him in turn. His fingers found the back of my neck, tangling in the small wisps of hair not contained by the net of ribbons. I splayed my fingers against his chest, bracing myself without pushing him away, and kissed him like I thought the world was going to end.

We were still like that when the rear door opened and Quentin said, sounding both amazed and a little disgusted, “Don’t you need to
breathe
?”

“Ah, you see.” Tybalt pulled his mouth away from my throat, turning a lazy, smug-eyed smile on Quentin. “I am a King of Cats, and she was a fish for quite some time. We are both very, very good at holding our breath.”

“Off.” I pushed him away, shaking my head. “You just had to go to the fish place, didn’t you? Quentin, did you get my coffee?”

“I like being alive,” he said, and passed me the cup.

“Good.” I took it, refastened my belt, and started the car, trying to pretend that Tybalt wasn’t grinning wickedly at me from the passenger seat. It wasn’t easy. “Buckle up.”

I let Tybalt hold my coffee as we drove the last mile or so to the Luidaeg’s neighborhood. The area where she lived wasn’t exactly what you’d call “upscale.” Or “nice.” Hell, even “livable” was pushing it, although the definition is different when you’re a functionally immortal sea witch who likes to be left alone. San Francisco grew up around the Luidaeg. She could live wherever she damn well wanted to.

The streets changed around us as we drove, careful maintenance giving way to benign neglect, then wanton vandalism, and finally the sort of disrepair that implied the residents had abandoned all hope. It was just another facade. The people living in the Luidaeg’s shadow enjoyed some of the lowest crime rates in the city. When we had earthquakes, their foundations didn’t crack; when it rained for a week, their roofs didn’t leak. The residents of the blocks surrounding the Luidaeg’s dockside home were her last passive line of defense against strangers, and she took care of them.

No one lived on the Luidaeg’s block. There was maintaining a neighborhood, and then there was putting up with neighbors. One was good sense. The other was likely to get someone killed.

I parked on the street, reclaiming my coffee from Tybalt and letting Quentin carry the burritos as we walked down the alleyway to the Luidaeg’s door. It was old, faintly bloated wood, set into a frame that looked so water-damaged it might fall apart at any moment. Appearances can be deceiving, especially where the Luidaeg is concerned. I knocked lightly. Then I stepped back, sipped my coffee, and waited.

“Think she’s up?” asked Quentin, rummaging through the bag of burritos.

“If she’s not, we’re probably all about to be torn limb from limb. Get ready to run.” I peered into my cup. “Maeve’s tits, I think they pumped this stuff up from the center of the Earth. It’s not coffee. It’s fermented dinosaur blood.”

“Cool.” Quentin pulled a foil-wrapped burrito out of the bag and began unpeeling it.

I raised an eyebrow. “‘Cool’? That’s all you have to say?”

“Be glad he’s not grilling you about the comet that killed them all,” said a dry voice. We turned, almost in unison, to see the Luidaeg standing in the alley behind us, two paper grocery bags in her arms. She looked faintly puzzled, but not annoyed. I’d take it. “What the fuck are you three doing here?”

The Luidaeg is fond of human profanity, I think because it tends to shock the purebloods. I shrugged. “We were in the neighborhood.” I didn’t want to tell her I’d been exiled until after she’d agreed to let us in.

“Uh-huh. Is there a burrito in that sack for me?”

“Lobster, shrimp, and every pepper in the store,” said Quentin happily.

“Ew,” I said, and took the bag. If I left it alone with the two of them, Tybalt and I weren’t going to get any.