Ashes of Honor od-6

by Seanan McGuire

  The Folletti weren’t screaming anymore. I had time for that to register, barely, when the first of them struck Etienne from behind. He shouted and disappeared, leaving the Folletti to stumble forward. Quentin ducked as best he could while tied to a chair, missing a sweep of the Folletti’s sword, and kicked out at the same time. His feet impacted with the Folletti’s ankle, sending him stumbling and sending Quentin’s chair over backward. I forced myself to walk faster, every muscle in my body protesting the movement. I could feel the twisted things inside me trying to untangle themselves and my skin trying to knit back together at the same time. It was too much. All of it was too much.

  The Folletti got his balance back and raised his sword, the tip aimed at Quentin’s chest. I had no more running left in me. It was all I could do to stay upright, still stumbling forward, knowing that I would never get there in time. On my best day, I couldn’t have made it there in time. There are races in Faerie who can bend space, sling fire, and freeze their enemies with a glance. All I could do was refuse to fall down and die. And it wasn’t enough.

  Quentin didn’t make a sound. He didn’t even move. He just stared up at the Folletti standing over him, his hands balled into fists and still held down by the ropes that bound him.

  I was so distracted with the effort of staying upright and moving that I barely heard the gunshot. The Folletti who was standing over Quentin stiffened, his sword dropping from his hands before he pitched forward, landing on Quentin with a thud. There was a second gunshot. I whipped around—too fast, way, way too fast, according to the still-gaping wound in my abdomen—to see Officer Thornton standing at the edge of the clearing, his service weapon held at arm’s length. One of the temporarily blinded Folletti must have dropped it. If Officer Thornton had been hiding in the brush, he would have seen his chance when the gun hit the ground.

  As to how he wasn’t blinded, I guess there are some advantages to having less sensitive eyesight.

  “All you…you…whatever you people are, drop your weapons!” he shouted. “Drop them right now!” Prolonged exposure to Faerie isn’t good for human sanity. From the look on Officer Thornton’s face, he was finding that out firsthand.

  Riordan scowled. “Where the fuck are my guards?” she shouted. With a sound like the wind, screaming, the Folletti finally descended on the officer.

  I was injured, and he was the one with the gun. Much as I wanted to worry about him, I couldn’t afford to. I turned back toward Quentin, forcing myself to keep going, and finally dropped to my knees next to his chair. Pulling the bloody knife from my belt, I began sawing through the twists of braided bracken that held him.

  “Toby!” Quentin’s eyes went wide, fixing on my middle. “You’re hurt!”

  “Understatement of the week,” I said, still sawing. “I’ll be fine. Can I borrow your shirt? I need something to bind the wound so I can use both my hands.” The blackness had receded to the edges of my vision. I honestly didn’t know whether that was a good sign or not.

  “What happened?”

  “Samson. Again. What is it about Cait Sidhe and disemboweling me? Do they need more hobbies?” The last of the bracken holding Quentin in place snapped. I leaned back, only wincing a little as the motion pulled on the skin of my stomach. I was out of resources. This was taking too long to heal.

  Quentin rolled out of the chair and scrambled to his feet before pulling his shirt off and offering it to me. That gave me an excellent view of his injuries, which weren’t as severe as Tybalt’s or Etienne’s, being confined to massive bruising of his abdomen, throat, and arms. It was still enough to make bile rise in my throat, barely outpacing the rising tide of rage.

  I took the shirt and wound it around my stomach, tying it as firmly as I could with the blood soaking through the fabric. “Help me up,” I said, once I was sure the knot would hold. Quentin reached down and took my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Come on.”

  Officer Thornton was keeping the Folletti occupied on the other side of the clearing. I hadn’t been counting gunshots, but the odds were good they hadn’t either; most of them probably had no idea how many bullets were in a standard sidearm. The latest of Riordan’s wagons had rolled clear of the portal, its drivers looking with confusion and awe at the landscape…

  And on the other side of the portal I could see Tybalt creeping up behind Chelsea, moving slowly, so as to remain as much a part of the scenery as possible. She seemed oblivious to his approach. That was good. That meant he might actually be able to get hold of her. All he had to do was grab her, get her through the portal, and not stop to think about what that was going to mean for the rest of us.

  No Chelsea, no portal to Annwn. No portal to Annwn, no way we were getting out of here. “I hope he can forgive me,” I murmured. At least we had farming supplies. We really could take over one of those castles, as I’d been joking with Raj about.

  We probably wouldn’t paint it pink, though.

  Quentin followed my gaze. His eyes widened as he realized what my plan had to be. Then he nodded and offered me his arm. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

  “That’s because I am,” I said, taking his arm and leaning on it heavily, grateful for the support. Then I paused, frowning. “Wait. Where’s Etienne? He didn’t reappear after the Folletti—”

  “Behind you!” shouted Etienne.

  We whipped around to see one of Riordan’s empty wagons bearing down on us with Etienne on the driver’s seat. He rode past us and pulled the horses to a stop. “Get in!”

  Quentin scrambled to obey, crawling up into the back of the wagon before turning to pull me up after him. I helped as much as I could, finally collapsing onto the rough wood. He put a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. Then he turned and bolted for the front of the wagon, joining Etienne on the driver’s seat.

  I heard, rather than saw, what came next.

  “Take the reins!” shouted Etienne. The smell of cedar smoke and limes drifted back to where I was lying, and the wagon started moving again, rattling across the uneven ground with bone-shaking jerks and bounces. I was in enough pain that I didn’t care as much as I might have. I just lay there, watching the sky pass overhead, and wondered what was going to happen.

  More gunshots in the distance; more screaming from the Folletti. And then a hand grabbed hold of the foot of the wagon, and Duchess Treasa Riordan yanked herself up into view. Her face was distorted by rage, and there were bits of broom in her red-black hair. She grabbed for me, snarling, “All you had to do was stay out of the way, you stupid little half-blood bitch! I was giving you people what you always wanted! I was getting out of your precious territory!”

  I managed to shove myself out of her grasp—barely—before saying, “You shouldn’t have started by kidnapping kids if you didn’t want me to get involved.” I kicked at her hand. She shifted her grip out of my reach, and kept pulling herself up, while Quentin continued to drive us, full-speed, toward the portal.

  Riordan reached into her shirt, producing a slender knife. It was a ritual blade, the kind some Daoine Sidhe purebloods use when a spell calls for bloodletting—like the tool you use to hurt yourself can somehow make the act less painful. And it didn’t matter, because I was already so hurt that one more injury might well push me over the point of no return. I tried to scramble farther toward the front of the wagon, pushing against the wood with my ankles and elbows.

  Light glinted off the ruby around her neck. The ruby…in Samson’s earliest memories, she’d been wearing a diamond, but after she got hold of Chelsea, the stone changed color. And Riordan made blood charms. Suddenly, I understood how she’d been calling Chelsea back to her over and over again. All it took was a little bit of blood. Any extra would have been used to craft the teleportation charms she’d been giving to Samson.

  He was the one who opened the door to the Fire Kingdoms. He killed Tybalt. The realization made me furious and tired at the same time—it was just one thing too many.

  And not everythin
g had been dealt with. “Changeling children exist to be disposable,” said Riordan, getting to her feet. She straightened, holding the knife in front of her as she effortlessly kept her balance in the jouncing wagon. “Why else would anyone lower themselves to copulating with a mortal?”

  I kicked at her again. She stepped aside. “Children are never disposable!”

  “Spoken like someone who should have been drowned before she could grow up to bother her betters.” Riordan shook her head. “You’re still a changeling. Even if you spoil things for me, no one’s going to be able to touch me.”

  “Quentin’s not a changeling,” I gasped, levering myself into a half-seated position, with my shoulders braced against the back of the driver’s platform. Raising my voice, I shouted, “Quentin! Drive faster!”

  “The horses don’t go any faster than this!” Quentin shouted back. He sounded strained, but not worried. That could only mean one thing.

  He didn’t know Riordan was in the wagon.

  Riordan herself grinned, clearly coming to the same conclusion, and took a step toward me. I fumbled my own knife from my belt, holding it in front of me. I wasn’t going to scream. No matter what, I wasn’t going to scream. If there was any chance of Quentin getting out of here—if he could keep his panicked horses under control long enough to get to the portal that Chelsea was still holding open—then I had to make sure he would take it, and that meant not distracting him with my own impending stabbing.

  “I really hate you,” I muttered, trying to get into a defensible position. It wasn’t working. I’d lost too much blood, and my body was giving up on me.

  “The feeling’s mutual, sugar,” said Riordan, and raised her knife.

  Tybalt seemed to appear out of nowhere, vaulting over the side of the wagon and grabbing Riordan by the throat. His teeth were too large for his mouth, distorting it until there was no way he could have managed human speech. He didn’t need to. The roar he directed into Riordan’s face made his message perfectly clear.

  “Tybalt!” I shouted. “The charm!”

  He grabbed Riordan’s ruby with his free hand, yanking it loose and tossing it to me. I caught it, barely. Then he lifted her, struggling, and flung her off the back of the wagon. She screamed as she fell. I didn’t see her hit the ground.

  “October!” Tybalt rushed over to me, dropping to his knees as he tried to gather me into his arms and check my injuries at the same time. It was an impossible task. He did his best. “Are you all right?”

  Manic giggles bubbled from my lips before I could stop them. I pressed my forehead into his shoulder, and said, “No. Not even a little.” Then I stiffened. “Tybalt, Chelsea—”

  “Etienne has her. He’s helping her keep the portal stable long enough for us to get through.” Tybalt raised his head, looking past me to where Quentin was steering us, hell-bent, toward the portal. “We’re almost there. Can you hold on?”

  “I made it this far, didn’t I?” I tucked the ruby into my pocket and closed my eyes. Sometimes the hardest part of heroism is admitting that the battle is out of your hands. This wasn’t my fight anymore. It was Etienne’s, and Chelsea’s, and Quentin’s race against a changeling girl’s endurance. All I could do was let Tybalt hold me and try to pretend that I wasn’t still bleeding. At least it was slowing down. Maybe that was a good sign. Or maybe I was just running out of blood.

  My wounds weren’t closing. The damage was done.

  The smell of sycamore smoke and calla lilies grew as we approached the portal. Tybalt snarled, carefully settling me on the wagon floor, before leaping to his feet and swatting something out of the air. One of the surviving Folletti screamed. I sort of wished I could lever my eyes open long enough to watch. Then the smell of smoke and lilies became overwhelming, and the whole wagon shuddered, shaking hard from side to side.

  The ground beneath us changed textures, going from uneven earth to the smoothly polished stone of Duchess Riordan’s “parking garage.” Chelsea wailed, and I heard Etienne answer her. I couldn’t make out words, but his tone was soothing. The wagon slid to a halt. Almost immediately, a hot wave of magic washed over us, mingling the scents of smoke, calla lilies, and limes. Etienne was helping his daughter close the portal.

  Somewhere behind us, Riordan screamed, the sound cutting off in the middle, as if a plug had been pulled—or a hole had been closed.

  “October?” Tybalt’s voice was close enough that I knew he had to be right beside me. I just couldn’t have said exactly where. “October?!”

  There are limits to everybody’s endurance. Mine have changed a lot in recent years, but they still exist, and I had reached them. With a sigh, I stopped clinging to consciousness and let myself tumble the rest of the way into the dark.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I’M NOT SURE WHICH was more surprising: that I woke up in the white velvet room off Duchess Riordan’s entry hall or that I woke up at all. I blinked up at the ceiling, realizing a moment later that the light levels had changed. The globes of floating witchlight were gone, replaced by a portable array of modern-looking fluorescent lights. “What the—?”

  “She’s awake!” I recognized Jin’s voice before she leaned into my field of vision, scowling down at me. “By which I mean, of course, ‘She’s miraculously not dead, again,’ since by all rights, you should be. Oberon must really love your dumb ass.”

  “Jin?” I levered myself into a sitting position, blinking at her. We were alone in the room, but only on a technicality; I could see faces peeking around the edges of the doorframe behind her. Tybalt, Quentin—and May, of all people. “What’s going on?”

  “You nearly died. Again. I put you back together. Again. Oh, and you owe Tybalt and May so many favors I can’t even put it into words, since he’s the one who made sure we both got here, and she’s the one who donated three pints of blood to your sorry ass.” Jin folded her arms and scowled at me, her wings vibrating into a hazy blur behind her. “Congratulations, you’ve figured out where your crazy healing powers stop working. You should be dead.”

  “You already said that.” My mouth tasted like road kill. I licked my lips, which tasted like blood—not much of an improvement, all things considered.

  “I intend to keep saying it until you start to listen. You. Should. Be. Dead.” Jin looked over her shoulder, calling, “She’s awake, and there’s nothing I can do to make her less stupid. You can come in now.”

  Tybalt was the first into the room, with Quentin close on his heels. I expected May to be right behind them. I was wrong. Instead, Li Qin sauntered in, an In-and-Out Burger takeout bag dangling from one hand. She held it up while Tybalt and Quentin bent to crush me from either side in an exuberant hug and asked, “Hungry?”

  As if on cue, I was suddenly starving. “Yes,” I said, sitting up farther and freeing one arm to reach for the bag. “What are you doing here? Where did these lights come from?”

  “Ah. You see, the regent of Dreamer’s Glass has disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and the nobles she shares a border with were concerned, especially since she left no named heir. So Tamed Lightning decided to occupy her fiefdom. Just in case people get ideas they shouldn’t.” Li Qin’s smile was surprisingly predatory as she gave me the bag. “Naturally, if she fails to return, we’ll be claiming the regency. It’s only fair, considering we’ll be expending resources in her defense.”

  “And the lights…?” I opened the bag, grabbed the first burger, unwrapped it, and crammed about a quarter of it into my mouth. Calories. Thank Maeve.

  “Home Depot, with one of April’s Summerlands-compatible batteries powering them.” Li Qin’s smile died as quickly as it had come. That was good. It had been starting to creep me out. “We have a problem.”

  I swallowed. “Don’t we always? What is it this time?”

  “Chelsea,” said Tybalt, pulling away from me. His voice was grim. I looked toward him. He met my eyes, shaking his head. “She’s still bouncing, and she’s speeding up. Etienne is fol
lowing her, and she’s managed to stay out of Annwn so far, but I don’t know how long he can keep up—and I don’t know what’s going to happen when he loses her.”

  I winced. “Oh, Oberon’s eyes. Did you try catching them?”

  “In between running for your doctor and your Fetch? Yes.” A humorless smile crossed Tybalt’s face. “I once thought myself a King of infinite space. It seems a Tuatha in panicked pursuit of his daughter can put a girdle ’round the earth in forty minutes.”

  “Okay, points for the Shakespeare references, but you lose some for mixing your plays.” I pushed Quentin gently away and levered myself to my feet, noting the way my head spun as I stood. That was a combination of vertigo and needing to eat more of the burgers Li Qin had so thoughtfully provided. “We need to find them. We need to stop her before she damages something we can’t repair.”

  “How are you planning to do that?” asked May. “I mean, they were moving pretty fast the last time we saw them. It’s not like you’ll have time to string a net.”

  “It’s not like we’re going to need to.” I took another bite of burger, swallowing it without really tasting it before I said, “Chelsea herself said that she kept cycling back to places she’d already been, like she couldn’t help opening those doors over and over. Riordan was using blood magic. I have the charm she was using. We can get Chelsea to come here.”

  “How are you going to stop her?” asked May.

  I stuck my free hand into the pocket of my leather jacket—now in need of a serious cleaning—and produced the baggie holding Walther’s jar of power-dampening solution. “I’m going to hit her with a guaranteed stop sign. And then I’m going to give her the Changeling’s Choice, whether she wants to take it or not.”