The light in the garden slanted through the roses around the bench, casting tiny prisms around me. I leaned on my hands, letting my attention drift. I’ve always loved the Garden of Glass Roses. It’s soothing, and sometimes, I need to be soothed.
The argument had moved on to how Sylvester’s guards were supposed to find a killer in a space the size of Shadowed Hills. Tavis was pointing out—with increasing volume—that if we didn’t start looking soon, it wouldn’t matter. The Queen would send someone to collect me, and we’d be done discussing.
The shouting was loud enough that I didn’t hear Etienne coming until he sat beside me, folding his hands in his lap. I kept my attention on the roses. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, until finally, quietly, Etienne said, “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t look at him. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.”
“I saw the sword, and I thought—”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” I glanced back to the group. Sylvester seemed to be getting the crowd under control. “Poor guy.”
Etienne followed my gaze. “The Duke?”
“Raysel’s in this to her eyebrows. Being willing to admit that, and to deal with it … imagine having to sacrifice your own daughter.”
Etienne stood, giving me a sidelong look. “What do you think he did when he stood by and let the Queen’s guard have you?” he asked, before walking back to the others without waiting for an answer. I stared after him, speechless.
Sylvester’s not my father. He’s the man who pulled me out of the mortal world, and who kept Mom’s secret for decades, watching me struggle to be Daoine Sidhe when he knew damn well that I wasn’t.
He’s also the man who took care of me when Mom wandered off on her little “expeditions.” The man who watched me grow up, got me knighted, and made sure I would always have a place. He was “Uncle Sylvester” long before I understood that we weren’t related. In all the ways that mattered, he’d been my father for a long time. It wasn’t like his real daughter had set the bar particularly high. “At least I’m not planning to murder my mom,” I muttered.
“October?” I looked up. Sylvester was gesturing me back. A consensus had apparently been reached, because the crowd dispersed as I stood, breaking into smaller groups and moving toward the door. Some offered me nods or fleeting smiles as they went, but none paused to say good-bye.
After less than a minute, only a few of us remained: Sylvester and Etienne, with matching grim expressions on their faces; Garm, looking quietly terrified; and Connor, who looked simply and deeply weary. Only Grianne had no expression to speak of, sitting frozen as a statue while her Merry Dancers flickered around her like strobe lights.
I turned to Sylvester, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”
“The others have gone to begin the search,” said Sylvester. He sounded as worn-out as I felt. “They’ll call if they see Rayseline or Oleander.”
“Do they know what Oleander looks like?” Oleander and Nerium looked nothing alike. It wouldn’t do us any good if they were so busy looking for a Hob that they walked right past the Peri, or vice versa.
“They know she may be disguised, and have descriptions of both of her known faces. She may have more; there’s nothing we can do for that.”
“It’s a start.” I glanced at the others. “So what are we going to do?”
“You’re going to close your eyes and allow Garm to make sure that if Rayseline has called the Queen’s guard, they don’t take you away again,” said Sylvester.
I blinked. “What?”
“Illusions,” said Grianne. All of us turned to look at her. She shrugged. “They work against us. They can work for us, too.”
Sylvester raised a hand, cutting me off before I could object. “Think about it.”
I didn’t like to admit it, but he was right: it wasn’t safe for me to be seen wearing my own face with the Queen’s guard, Raysel, and Oleander all out looking for me. Still … “Why can’t I cast my own illusions?”
“Garm’s Gwragen,” said Connor, like that explained everything.
Sadly, it did. “Fine,” I muttered, feeling balky and sullen. I hate having other people enchant me. It makes me itch even more than my own illusions do.
“Close your eyes,” said Garm. I did as I was told. His hands pressed against my cheeks as the air filled with the taste of moss and swampy water. My cheeks and ears began to tingle and itch. I didn’t move. Squirming too much could make him lose the spell, and I didn’t want to make him start over.
The smell faded, taking the tingle with it, although the itch remained. Garm pulled his hands away. “It’s done.”
“Whee,” I deadpanned, unsurprised when my voice came out higher than usual. The Gwragen are some of the best illusionists in Faerie. When they disguise something, they do it
Etienne nodded. “There are enough of us in the knighthood that you shouldn’t stand out.”
“Right.” Garm’s illusion had traded my clothes for the livery of Shadowed Hills. I ran my fingers over the embroidered daffodil at my breast. It felt real. I’m not normally that paranoid, but after what Amandine did … “You’re sure this is an illusion?”
“Of course,” said Garm, sounding amused. “It’s just a good one.”
“Right.” I was starting to sound like a broken record. “Let’s get going.”
“I won’t be coming with you,” said Sylvester.
That stopped the rest of us. “What?” I demanded, as Connor asked, “Why not?”
“I attract attention. Garm’s illusions are good; they aren’t flawless. I’d rather not subject them to any additional scrutiny.”
I sighed before leaning over to hug him. “Open roads, Sylvester.”
“Good luck.” He hugged me back before letting go and walking deeper into the garden. If there was a way to get from there to where Luna slept, he’d know it.
The rest of us exchanged a glance. Etienne voiced what we were all thinking: “His Grace didn’t tell us to stay together.”
“You’re right. He didn’t.” I looked at him. “Are you suggesting we split up?”
“We’d cover more ground that way.”
“And you don’t want me behind you and armed.”
“Well … no,” he said. “I truly believe your innocence. I’m still not comfortable with the idea that you’re a fugitive from the Queen’s justice.”
“I’ll stick with Toby,” said Connor.
“As will I,” said Grianne implacably. One of her Merry Dancers swung out to spin a lazy circle around my head. “It will be educational.”
From the looks on Garm and Etienne’s faces, she couldn’t have surprised them more by announcing her intention to leave the knighthood and become a professional streetlamp. “Are you … sure?” asked Etienne, cautiously.
“Do you wish to debate?” There was a cold challenge in Grianne’s tone. If they wanted to fight her on this, she’d fight. And she’d probably win.
“As you like.” Etienne offered a shallow bow. “Garm and I will go left. The three of you may go right.”
“Scream if there’s trouble,” I said. “I’m sure someone will hear you.”
“I’m sure someone will.” Etienne paused. “October … ”
“Get out of here. We have a murderess to catch.” I started down the hall, Connor pacing next to me, and Grianne bringing up the rear like a silent shadow with its own mood lighting. Etienne and Garm didn’t call us back. I didn’t really expect them to.
We could hear the other knights calling to each other as we walked through the knowe. They had their voices pitched low, but in a space as enormous and quiet as Shadowed Hills, even whispers carry. It was like walking through a world filled with ghosts. It didn’t help that Grianne’s Merry Dancers were burning a steady, spectral
