Page 26 of A Killing Frost

“Raysel?” This had to be her creation. When the hallucinations belonged to me, they usually involved apartments I no longer lived in, or homes I’d given away. I had never seen this wood before in my life. “Raysel, are you here?”

“Where else would I be?” She sounded distantly amused, like this was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked her. The branches of the nearest tree quivered with the motion of an unseen figure, and Raysel continued, “It’s not like sleeping criminals have a lot of say in where they get to go.”

“You’re not a criminal,” I said. “Could you come down here?”

“A lie and an unreasonable request in the same breath? How could I refuse?” The branches quivered again, and Raysel dropped to the ground. She looked exactly as she had the last time I’d seen her, Daoine Sidhe to the core, sharp and poised and perfect by the standards of anyone inside or outside of Faerie. There were still no roses, but her appearance brought red into the wood in the form of her hair, bright as a flame against these trees. I was starting to understand why the Daoine Sidhe so often preferred to live alone. It let them tailor their environments to best suit their often ridiculously overdramatic coloration.

“Why are you here, October?” she asked. “Howare you here? Imade my choice.” A flicker of alarm worked its way into her expression. “You can’t make me do it again, can you? Because that hurt like hell last time, and I’m pretty happy the way I am now.”

“I can’t make you do it again, I’m afraid,” I said. “I don’t get to keep what I take away from people. It’s not like shuffling a deck of cards. Once I pulled the Blodynbryd out of you, it was gone forever.”

“Ah,” she said. She didn’t sound disappointed. Folding her arms, she leaned against the tree. “So why are you here? I thought we were done annoying each other until it was time for me to wake up.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “Your father hasn’t pressed to let them wake you up because he’s worried about what’s going to happen when you stand trial.”

A flicker of alarm passed over her face. “I killed two people. I deserve whatever happens to me.”

“The Luidaeg doesn’t intend to demand satisfaction in the matter of the Selkie woman’s death, since her skin was returned to the Clans, and I don’t think anyone is going to stand up for Oleander.” The woman had been a monster. A true monster, not the sham people have tried so hard to make of the Luidaeg. Countless deaths could be laid directly at her feet, quite possibly including King Gilad Windermere and his wife.

The Law is supposed to apply to everyone, but if no one is willing to stand up for the dead, it doesn’t. The perfect murder isn’t one where no one knows. It’s one where no onecares.

“Why would the Luidaeg be willing to stand aside for me? I haven’t made any bargains with her.”

“No, but I have.”

Raysel stared at me, her thin veneer of cockiness dropping away. “I... but I’ve been awful to you. Why would you intercede on my behalf?”

I shrugged. “Because we’re more than the substance of our scars, and I loved you before you hurt me. Because I know you’ve been lashing out, and people who are in pain aren’t always careful about where they throw their punches. Because you loved me, too, before the world made you feel like you had to hate me.”

Raysel blinked, face crumpling like a piece of paper. “I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “I don’t know why I felt like I had to do the things I did. They all made sense while I was doing them, but the longer I spend asleep, the less sense they make.”

“Your blood was at war with itself,” I said. “That has to have made it hard to think rationally about things.” More and more, I was coming to suspect that all the stories about changeling madness I’d been fed as a child were actually about mixed-blood fae like Raysel. People whose blood could be traced back to some combination of either Maeve or Titania and Oberon seemed to be fine. People who were descended from MaeveandTitania could wind up having problems.

The bad blood between our Queens was apparently literal enough to be hereditary.

“I still did them, though,” she continued doggedly. “I don’t think I should get to just walk away from that.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, after I speak on your behalf at the trial, I’ll claim offense against you and make you spend a year serving my household,” I said.

It was intended as a joke. To my immense surprise, Raysel’s eyes widened and she sagged, relief flooding her face. “Oh,wouldyou?” she asked.

I blinked. “Um.”

“I don’t want to be here with my parents, not when they have all these expectations of me and who I’m supposed to be, and I don’t know how to fulfill them. But I don’t want to be alone, either. I don’t ever want to be alone again.” She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, shivering. “Alone is where the cold comes from.”

“If that’s really what you want,” I said.

“It is.” She paused, frowning. “What’s happening to your hair?”

I reeled back, reaching up to touch my head. It felt normal. Then I slid my hand down to the point of my ear, which was getting sharper by the second. I winced. “Damn.” I dropped my hand. “I normally get to this space when I’m changing someone else’s blood. I guess this time I’m changing my own. I need to get out of here before I’m not even partially human anymore. Are you all right with your parents waking you up so you can stand trial and move on with your life?”

“I am.” Raysel nodded. “I appreciate you asking. No one ever asks what I want. And I’m sorry you had to hurt yourself for me.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, although I wasn’t so sure. Now that I was paying attention, I could feel the fizzing burn of my blood shifting in my veins. It was slow, like a moth chewing its way through apiece of silk, but it was happening faster than I liked. “Until next time.”

Problem: I wasn’t actually sure how to break the connection. Well, Raysel had given us a wood, with accurate recreations of our actual bodies, which meant—yes. I felt my hip and found my knife there. Drawing it quickly, I jammed it into my forearm, not taking the time to be careful. This space wasn’t real, and I needed to get out of it as soon as I could.

There was no pain, but there was blood, immediate and bright as rubies in the dimness of the forest. I pulled the knife loose and clamped my mouth down over the wound, drinking deeply of the idea of my own magic as I closed my eyes. I almost immediately began to feel dizzy and felt a pulse of dully aggravated pain shoot through my temples—the beginnings of magic-burn, a sensation that’s so unfamiliar these days as to be vaguely shocking.

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