Late Eclipses (17 page)

I stopped, suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Please don’t treat me like a kitten. I know what Luna Torquill is, and I’ll grant that Oleander has motive. Still, why would she risk coming back here? Being caught in this Kingdom would mean her life.”

“I don’t know. People say she kills for money. Maybe she’s here on a job and just having a little fun on the side.” I rubbed my forehead, longing for aspirin. “There’s no one else who works with poisons the way she does
and
has a grudge against me. I came to look for signs that she was behind the attack on Lily, and I saw her across the parking lot. I chased her into the botanical gardens, but she vanished, and—” Tybalt was looking at me oddly. I frowned. “What?”

“No one but the two of us has been here in hours. I don’t smell her, or anything like her magic, anywhere around us.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Weariness washed over me. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Liar.” Tybalt glared at me. “Forgive me for calling you on it, but you’re lying. You aren’t tired. You’re exhausted. You keep squinting like you have a migraine, your voice is raspy, and you look like you haven’t slept in a week. You’re going to run yourself to death.”

“It’s been a long night,” I snapped.

He snorted. “Maybe it’ll be a relief to bury you. You’ll be quieter. Now what?”

“I need to check in with the Tea Gardens,” I said. “After that . . . I need to find Oleander. I don’t know what I was chasing, but if it wasn’t her, I need to know what it was.”

“A tall order.”

“Yeah, well, thinking small hasn’t been working out too well so far, now, has it?”

The briefest flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “Fair enough, and I suppose it’s a start.” He turned to start down the path toward the parking lot. Lacking any other options, I followed. “I’ll tell my people to watch for her, and I’ll send Raj if we find anything. If she hurts you . . . my eyes are everywhere. She’ll find no peace and no rest until I have my vengeance.”

I blinked. “Tybalt—”

“You’re more fun alive than dead.” He gave my hacked-off dress a once-over before adding, “You look like an idiot. Although I must say I approve of the jacket.”

“Asshole.”

Tybalt’s smirk was short-lived, quickly replaced by something less familiar: concern. “I do have to wonder what it is you were chasing. If Oleander is involved . . . ”

“She hasn’t gotten to me, if that’s what you’re wondering. She hasn’t had a chance.” I didn’t drink anything I couldn’t identify after getting to the Ball, and Sylvester’s staff was well-screened enough that I wasn’t worried about my single glass of wine.

Tybalt looked at me dubiously, and kept walking. Much as I hated to admit it, his presence was reassuring; if Oleander wanted to come back, she wouldn’t catch me alone.

I stopped when we reached the Tea Garden gates, squinting as I tried to work out the best way of getting inside. Shouting would just attract the police, and that was a complication we didn’t need. “Care for a little trip through the shadows?”

“Always amusing, but not necessary tonight.” Tybalt pointed off to my left.

I turned.

Marcia was standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, crying. She’d been crying for a while. Her mascara was running in patchy streaks, and her fairy ointment was all but washed away.

My stomach sank, but I held to hope, asking, “Marcia? Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I called the apartment, and May said you were here. I knew if I waited long enough, you’d come. I just had to wait until . . . ”

Tybalt’s hand was on my shoulder, steadying me. “Marcia, what’s going on?”

“It’s Lily.” Those two words held all the things I didn’t want to hear. “She’s been asking for you.”

I took a deep breath, shrugging Tybalt’s hand from my shoulder, and nodded. “Well, here I am. Let’s go.”

It only took a few moments for Marcia to get us into the Tea Gardens. She never stopped trembling. Her dread went beyond grief and made a sad, terrible sense, highlighting one of the ugly truths about Faerie. Lily might have been the only person in Faerie who’d ever shown Marcia any kindness. I was afraid of losing a friend. Marcia was afraid of losing her entire world. I complain about being a changeling, but things could have been a lot worse. If my blood were any thinner or my mother less highly thought of—Amandine isn’t titled, but everyone knows her—I could have been Marcia. There’s always something worse than what you have.

We climbed the moon bridge in silence. Lily’s knowe resolved around us as an almost featureless expanse of half-frozen marsh. It seemed like the only solid ground was the spot where we were standing, and the patch of green surrounding the willow grove a few yards in front of us.

Marcia made a small, strained sound when she saw the trees. I squeezed her fingers, trying to offer what comfort I could. It wasn’t much. There was no way it could have been. Lily’s subjects were gathered on that tiny patch of land, clustered tight to keep from falling into the surrounding swamp. They spanned the gamut from purebloods to changelings, with a few even I couldn’t identify somewhere in the middle. A Hamadryad leaned against a woman with blue feathers instead of hair; a half-blood Urisk sat in the grass with the head of his Glastig companion in his lap.

Walther was standing at the edge of the crowd. I started toward him, dragging Marcia along. Tybalt followed a few feet behind. The faces I knew were a minority. I should have known more of them. I should have been there more. I should . . .

I broke that train of thought as firmly as I could. It was too late for “should.” I’d been there as much as I could. That would have to be enough.

Walther straightened when he saw us. “You found her,” he said, relieved. Tears were running down his face, but his unnaturally blue eyes weren’t puffy or bloodshot. Purebloods get all the breaks.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” I said.

“She’s resting,” said Walther, ignoring my lame attempt at an apology. “I thought we should leave her alone until you got here.” The words “because it’s almost over” hung unspoken between us.

“That was good of you.” I tugged my hand free of Marcia’s. “Can I see her?”

“She’s waiting for you.”

Marcia sobbed, knocking me aside as she rushed into Walther’s arms. He stroked her hair one-handed, cradling her with his free arm. I looked away.

“Maybe I should go in now.”

“Yes,” Walther agreed. “Maybe you should.”

Something in his tone made me hesitate. “Walther, how much worse . . . ?”

“Just go,” he said. That seemed to be all the answer I was going to get. I took a deep breath as I turned and walked into the grove. Tybalt followed me, and Lily’s subjects followed him. They didn’t have permission to come, and they came anyway. That, more than anything, told me how bad things were; they’d never have broken protocol like that if they expected her to recover. I was moving quickly, anxious to reach her before it was . . . just before.

Then she came into view and I froze, rational thought shutting down as my eyes refused to process what they saw. That’s when I realized that whatever happened wasn’t going to be fixed or forgiven; it was going to be Evening Winterrose all over again, one more person I loved and couldn’t save.

Then the shock passed—shock always passes when you don’t want it to—and time started moving mercilessly forward.

Lily’s head was propped against the edge of the pool, hair cascading around her. It didn’t just obscure the lines of her body; it wiped them out, erasing the point where she ended and the water began. Her skin was translucent, strengthening the illusion that she and the water were the same—if it even was an illusion, anymore.

“Lily?” I whispered.

She opened colorless eyes, offering me a heartbreaking smile. New gashes opened in her throat as she moved, “bleeding” water. “You came. I knew you would. You were always stronger than she thought you’d be.”

“Oh, Lily.” I knelt next to the pool. Her hand sought mine, and I clasped it tightly, not letting myself flinch from the cold.

“Thank you,” she said. Looking past me to Tybalt, she added, “Thank you both.”

Some of her subjects gasped. I sighed, the last of the fight slipping out of me.

“There isn’t much time,” she said. “It’s all slipping away, like water running downhill. This will be done with soon.”

“You’re going to be fine,” I said, trying to sound comforting. “Just tell me where your pearl is. We’ll find out what’s wrong, and we’ll fix it.”

“The tide may turn that way, but I think not. Only time heals a heart of pearl, and my time is over.” Catching my expression, she added, “I’d tell you if I could, truly.”

“There’s no reason left to hide it.”

“I don’t know where it is, child.” Her voice was calm. “It passed from my knowledge as I sickened, and now I can’t say if it’s safe or stolen. It’s done.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“What you believe doesn’t matter.” Tilting her head, she asked, “Did I ever tell you what came between your mother’s heart and mine?”

“I don’t think this is the time—”

“Your friend would disagree,” she said, almost playfully, her attention darting to Tybalt. Focusing on me again, she said, “He all but burns with what he doesn’t say to you, and this time is mine to spend. Do you know what happened?”

I sighed. “No.”

“It was you.” Her laughter was a heavy, watery sound that turned into a cough. I winced, tightening my grip on her hand until the coughing passed.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” I said. A small, traitorous voice in my head said,
No, and you don’t want her to, because if she does, you’ll know.

“It’s all right,” she said, with surprising strength. “I have time for one more story. It was you, October, you and your father. She loved him, you know, not just for what he represented, but for who he was. My foolish little princess. She dared too much, given what she was, what she was refusing to be.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She thought he’d save her, and when he didn’t, she thought you would. Oh, my dear, what she did to you, what you didn’t know she was doing, and how you fought! Like a lion you fought, never knowing the battle.” Lily sighed. “You were the last of her protections against roses and crossroads and all they meant, and when you failed her, she didn’t know what to do. My foolish princess who thought she’d be a shepherdess, if only she could make you a sheep. I loved her because she brought me to this wonderful land where I found such friends—I even loved her when she left me for you.”

I frowned. “She didn’t leave you.”

“You both left me. But you came back, and you brought her shadow with you, to sit at my table. I was so grateful when you brought her back to me. It was never your fault; you carry the sins of your mother as she carries the sins of hers. Try not to blame her. She didn’t mean to lay those sins on you. She tried to take them back, when she thought she could.” She closed her eyes, shivering. “I’m cold. Why am I cold?”

I lifted her icy hand, pressing it to my cheek. “I don’t know, Lily. I’m sorry.”

“No sorrow. There was so much your mother never let me say.
Anata wa jibun no koto wa shiranakatta wa
. . . you never knew yourself. So much like my Ama-dear, trying to prove she didn’t need me when she needed me more than ever . . . do you remember where the Undine began?”

“I do.” My mother and I used to walk in Lily’s gardens, back when she never let me out of her sight. I lived my life at arm’s reach, and thought that was love. Childhood is a game of concessions, and everyone pretends to understand the rules, even though the only constant is that no one wants to be alone. Back then, we were content with our mutual captivity, before she started shoving me away; before I started running.

We were in Lily’s gardens when Amandine taught me about the Undine. “Even new Undine are older than the rest of us,” she said. “They remember when the ocean ruled the world.”

“Where do they come from?” In those days, her every word was gospel truth, and I would have asked anything to keep her talking to me.

“Tears. The first time Oberon left Maeve for her pretty sister, she didn’t understand, and she nearly died of sorrow.”

“She cried?” I pictured Maeve as looking like my mother, beautiful and alien and broken, and I would’ve done anything to keep her from crying.

“She did. Her tears were the first Undine. They’re hers alone, and because of that, they can’t mate with humans.” Her smile was bitter. I knew she was thinking of my father. “There are no changelings among the Undine.”

Then she took me back to the Summerlands—home for her, and never for me—and put me to bed. I dreamed all day of children who’d never break their mother’s heart, because they were born from nothing but tears.

Lily’s cold fingers pulled me back to the present. I shivered. Lily was a constant, like the Torquills; someone who’d always be part of my life. I’m fae enough not to take kindly to change, and she was dying. “Please don’t go. I’m not ready.” I was begging. I didn’t care.

“Don’t worry, love.” Cracks were opening around her eyes; water glimmered in their depths, where bone should have been. “It doesn’t hurt. You silly ones with your blood and your bones, always so concerned about dying.”

Tears ran down my cheeks. I wiped them away, but they kept coming. “Please.”

“Don’t cry.” Lily pressed her free hand against my neck. I was numb enough not to flinch from the cold. “I’m sorry to go, but it’s all right. Rivers dry up; tides ebb; the sea goes on.”

“We don’t.”

“Are you sure? Immortality isn’t flesh. You know that.” She took a bubbling breath. Soon those breaths would stop, and she’d be gone. I was holding as tightly as I could, and she was slipping away. What’s the point of holding on if I can’t save the ones I can’t afford to lose?