Ashes of Honor

bands of brown moving through the shadows. Then he was gone, not even leaving footprints behind.

“Stay close,” I said, gesturing for Quentin to move in next to me. “Get out your own charm. A little extra light could be a good thing in here—and it’s not going to make us any easier to spot. We’re already the only light in the place.”

Quentin nodded, digging the sphere from his pocket as he moved into the position I’d indicated. Together, the two charms were enough to make every detail of the walls visible. Not that there was much to see. If there were other doors around us, they were well fitted enough to be invisible, leaving nothing but blank wall both ahead of and behind us. I drew my knife with my free hand. Quentin did the same, producing a short sword I’d never seen before from his belt. I raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, saying sheepishly, “I asked April if she had anything I could borrow when you didn’t come back for so long. I figured it was better if I was prepared to defend myself.”

“It was a smart move,” I said, and started walking. Quentin paced me. “There’s just one thing I want to know.”

“What’s that?”

“Why the hell did April have a sword? I don’t think there’s anyone in that County who was traditionally trained.”

“She didn’t say.”

“Right.”

We exchanged strained smiles—just two more idiots whistling past the graveyard—and walked on in silence. Quentin let me take the lead, although only by a few steps. It was reassuring to know that he was at my back. I wasn’t walking into yet another brutally stupid situation alone. I needed people. Losing Connor had made me lose sight of that for a little while. Even that little while had been too damn long. I had too much to live for to sit around letting myself be lost in mourning.

The light from our charms reflected off a pair of green eyes ahead of us. Quentin stiffened. I smiled and held out my arm to stop him from doing anything we’d all regret. “What did you find?” I asked.

The green eyes rose, going from floor level to the height of a normal man, and Tybalt stepped out of the dark. “You were right; the receiving hall is ahead. But there’s something strange about this passage.”

“What’s that?”

“It used to be used frequently. I can smell the tracks of dozens of people, all of them hurrying about their business.”

I didn’t ask how he knew they were hurrying. If I can tease a person’s family history from a drop of blood, I’m perfectly willing to believe a King of Cats can tell whether they were in a rush by smelling the tracks they left behind them. “And?”

“And no one has been here in days. These passages have been deserted.”

“That fits with what April said about Riordan withdrawing her forces. If she’s moved her army somewhere, she probably moved most of her household staff to the same place. Otherwise, you wind up with a hungry army sacking the nearest McDonalds, and that’s not good for anybody.”

Quentin frowned. “But where are they all going?”

“That’s the twenty-million-dollar question. Come on.” This time, Tybalt walked with us, a silent, reassuring presence that paced slightly ahead as we made our way down the hall. I let him take the lead. He knew where we were going, after all, while I just had a vague sense that we were heading in the right direction.

The hall eventually started presenting us with turns. We had made the second when the charm in my hand flared to a brilliant, blazing red. Quentin’s charm did the same half a heartbeat later. The light painted the hallway the color of blood, dancing and wavering like candlelight, flickering like a star.

“Root and branch, she’s here!” I said, and took off running before I realized what I was going to do. At least I didn’t need Tybalt to direct me anymore; the charm knew which way to go, and I was just the vehicle it was using to get there. It yanked on my hand like a living thing, urging me to greater speeds. Tybalt paced me, each of his long strides equaling two of mine, while Quentin lagged behind—but he was still running, all of us racing toward something we knew nothing about.

Well. We did know one thing. We knew that whatever we were racing toward, Chelsea was there.

The hall ended in another blank wall. I nearly slammed into it, the charm pulling me on faster than my feet could process what was happening. I managed to skid to a stop, putting out my arm to force Quentin to do the same. He made a soft “oof” noise as he collided with my elbow. Then he ducked under my arm, shoving the short sword into his belt before beginning to tap a rapid pattern against the wood with his now-free hand. The charm kept trying to jerk me forward, not seeming concerned by the fact that I can’t walk through walls. That was my problem. It just wanted to get me to Chelsea, and if it had to break my skull to make that happen, it really didn’t care.

“Almost there,” said Quentin through gritted teeth. The strain in his voice told me just how hard his charm was yanking on him.

“Breathe,” I advised.

He shot me a grateful look and kept tapping. A few more seconds passed, and the section of wall slid smoothly open. There was fabric on the other side; another of those damn tapestries Riordan was so fond of. I signaled the others to silence—maybe unnecessarily, but I was definitely more interested in being safe than sorry —and moved past Quentin, stepping through the opening.

The tapestry was actually hanging about two feet away from the wall, creating an artificial corridor for servants to use when entering the reception room. That made sense; if the tapestry had been flush with the wall, it would have been hard to get the illusion of invisible service to work the way that it was supposed to. I inched carefully along until I reached the end of the tapestry, and peeked out into the receiving room.

It was empty, unless you wanted to count the enormous hole cut out of the air behind the throne. It was unguarded, and through it I could see the bracken-choked Annwn moors stretching off toward the distant shadow of a high-walled castle. I stopped where I was, staring, even as the Luidaeg’s charm tried to pull me toward the hole.

Tybalt and Quentin stepped up behind me and joined me in silent contemplation of the portal. We were safely hidden by the tapestry, and we needed a moment to regroup. It was a little reassuring that I wasn’t the only one completely floored by what I was seeing.

Finally, Quentin asked, “What is it?”

“Annwn,” said Tybalt. “One of the deeper realms.”

“Chelsea,” I said, and started walking. Tybalt and Quentin followed close behind me, all of us moving as fast as we could.

“What is it doing there?” asked Quentin.

“Well, sugar, it’s standing open, waiting for me,” said Riordan. I stiffened, coming to a stop. Tybalt hissed, a soft, almost smothered sound. Slowly, the three of us turned to see the Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass stepping out from behind a tapestry on the other side of the room, back in her jeans and black T-shirt, with a faint smile on her classically beautiful face.

“Where’s Chelsea?” I asked.

Riordan shook her head. The light from our charms glittered off the ruby at her throat. “That’s what I don’t like about you, Sir Daye. You’re always right to business, no pleasantries, no playing nice. It makes a body want to play rough, just to show you that you ought to have some manners.”

“I assure you, her manners are among the best in this room,” said Tybalt, tone frosty.

“I have no trouble believing that.” Riordan turned her attention on Tybalt, smile growing wider. “It was awfully nice of you to come with her. Saves me the trouble of having someone go find you.”

I stared at her, a sudden, horrible realization growing in the pit of my stomach. Duchess Riordan was paranoid. Everyone knew that. It was what made her such a dangerous neighbor to have. Why would someone with that well-earned a reputation for paranoia leave a hole in their defenses as large as the one Tybalt had exploited to bring us to her knowe?

Answer: she wouldn’t.

“Tybalt, get us a doorway to the Shadow Roads,” I murmured, hoping that Riordan was too far away to hear me. “Get us a doorway to the Shadow Roads now.”

He gave me a sideways look, but he didn’t argue. His fingers twitched, moving toward the shadows to our left. Then they stilled, his pupils narrowing to startled slits.