Page 62 of A Killing Frost

I guess enough alcohol can turn anything dramatic. Quentin was still throwing up. I walked over to him, rubbing his back with one hand.

“Hey, buddy,” I said. “I’m sorry you got grabbed. Are you okay?”

“He said he’d be back for me, and that until he came, I should sit quietly and have something to eat,” he said, turning to look reproachfully at me. “He said I didn’t need to worry about a thing until he came back for me. I knew I knew you. I knew you were important, but I couldn’t worry about that. I needed to eat, and I needed to wait, and I needed not to think about anything that could possibly be upsetting.”

“That sounds like a very carefully considered compulsion,” I said. “Did you notice anything strange about it?”

“You mean apart from the fact that it was heavier than it should have been?” He clutched his stomach, still green around the edges. “I think I would have kept eating until I literally burst, because I couldn’t stop. Normally, compulsion spells can’t make you hurt yourself unless that’s all they’re designed to do. They certainly can’t make you do it as aside effect.” The loathing in his voice was thick as heavy cream. He wasn’t going to be forgiving Simon for a while, if he ever did.

“He’s using Evening’s magic to supercharge his own.” Her name should be safe enough here, this close to the ocean, where Maeve’s magic overwhelmed Titania’s. “It’s going to hurt him soon, if it hasn’t already. But we can’t count on him running out of her blood, not when he had so long to collect it. Did he say anything about where he was going?”

“Just that he wouldn’t need me as a bargaining chip.” Quentin paled further, eyes getting even wider. “Dean,” he gasped. “He... he hurt... we went to Goldengreen before he brought me here, and he hurt Dean. And all the others. I don’t think... I don’t think anyone’s alive in Goldengreen.”

I’d been halfway hoping he wouldn’t remember that until we were done dealing with Simon himself. “They’re not dead, Quentin,” I said. “He turned them into trees and toadstools, but those are living things, and the Luidaeg is working on bringing them back right now.”

“Really?” he asked, voice small and hurt and hopeful. It was painful to hear.

“Really-really,” I said. “She’d be here if she didn’t need to wake them up. And he didn’t get everyone. Marcia got away.”

Quentin frowned. “No, she didn’t,” he said. “I saw her in the courtyard. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t do anything but watch what he was doing to them. I wanted to kill him. I still want to kill him.” He blinked, expression guileless. “Please may I kill him?”

“I’d really prefer you didn’t kill him until he knows who he is and where he’s supposed to be going. Remember that he’s doing all this while under the influence of the Luidaeg’s spell.”

“Which he took on himself voluntarily.”

“Only to save his daughter,” I said. “If this is anyone’s fault, it’s hers. She’s the one who decided she knew better than anyone else, and that she could be the one to bring Oberon back. Simon didn’tdo this to himself because he wanted power. He just wanted to bring August home. Now come on.”

“Where are we going?” asked Quentin, still clutching his stomach.

“To do the same for him,” I said grimly, and led him out the kitchen door, into the cool air of the coastal night.

SEVENTEEN

MOST UNDERSEA DEMESNES AREhuge by land standards, consisting of miles upon miles of sea floor and coast. Half Moon Bay was as adjacent to Saltmist as San Francisco, and thanks to the presence of the Roane—formerly the presence of the Selkies—the paths between the two were better worn here.

We made our way along the beach, heading for the rocky tower rising in the distance, a natural result of time and erosion. There are wonders in this world that have nothing to do with Faerie. Natural archways created by ceaselessly rushing water created doorways into the center of the rock formation, and we walked through the largest of them, into a moon-washed chamber with salt-stained walls. The surf ran out halfway across the “room,” creating a line of darker, heavily moistened sand.

And there, at the edge of where the ocean met the shore, was Simon Torquill, bow still in his hands. He was facing the water, eyes locked on the reflection of the moon on the waves, looking like he was on the verge of tears. It was odd to see him that way. It was odd to see him in any way that wasn’t cool and conniving and somehow three steps ahead of the rest of us.

“What did you think was going to happen?” I asked, once we were close enough that I didn’t have to yell to be heard above the waves. Simon whipped around, starting to raise his bow, then sagged and let it fall back to his side. He looked at me like a man defeated. I shrugged. “Did you think the seas were going to open at your approach?”

“I thought I’d steal a skin from one of the Selkies, and let it carry me down to Saltmist,” he said, voice dull. “Once there, I could breach the doors and find Patrick. If they’re holding him captive down there, I can get him out. That boy, in Goldengreen... he looked so much like my Patrick, and nothing like him at all...”

I’d never thought Dean looked that much like his father, but it was possible Simon had seen something I couldn’t. “Patrick’s no one’s captive. Dianda isn’t in the habit of kidnapping her own husband.”

“Then why did he leave me for so long?” Simon glared at me, anguish in his voice and eyes. He barely seemed to realize Quentin was there. That was probably a good thing; Quentin clearly wanted to hurt him for what he’d done to Dean, and if he made another move toward my squire, I would help. I wouldn’t need to invite Simon to my wedding if he was dead. Sometimes the easiest solution to a problem is also the best one.

“He didn’t leave you,” I said. “He fell in love, and when the earthquake happened, both of you got distracted. He had to help Dianda rebuild Saltmist. You were looking for your daughter. I know you can’t remember her right now, because she’s part of your way home, but please try to believe me when I tell you she’s real. Her name is August. She loves you very much.” That was as close as I could come to praising my sister, who was every inch our mother’s child.

Simon frowned, shaking his head hard. “No. I could never—I would never—you’re telling me I have a child and I’ve somehowforgottenher? Is that how little you think of me?”

“I think you’ve been the monster under my bed for more than a decade,” I said. “I think you terrify me. I think you made a lot of really bad choices, and it doesn’t matter if you made them for what you thought were good reasons, because why you do a thing doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you do. And I think that no matter how powerful you are, magically, you’re not too powerful for the Luidaeg to enchant. You put a compulsion spell on my squire. She put a slightly more elaborate spell on you. It’s the same thing.”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, sounding utterly miserable. “I’ve never encountered anything I didn’t know how to fix before. This is... terrible.”

He raised the bow again, in a single smooth motion, pulling back the string and aiming his already-notched arrow directly atthe center of Quentin’s chest. My squire made a small, strangled sound of dismay. I fought the urge to jump between them. I was the one with the potential to fix this. If I got myself elf-shot, I couldn’t do that.

It was the right decision. But leaving Quentin to take the risk of what would happen if Simon’s hand slipped was more painful than anything else I’d done since this whole mess began.

---