Page 34 of A Killing Frost

Still bracing May against my side, I took a big step forward, into the exact spot where Spike had jumped. The white empty space immediately disappeared, like we’d crossed the threshold of some unseen room, and we were back on the Rose Road, surrounded by walls of thorns and flowers, the scent of roses in full bloom spreading everywhere.

This wasn’t where we’d left the Road; the roses here were darker, deeper in color, the red trending toward black, and the scent of them was older and wilder, like something that had never seen the inside of a garden. I tried to turn and call to Quentin that it was safe and found myself confronted by an unbroken wall of thorns. He’d have to follow on his own if he was going to follow at all.

Spike trotted a few feet down the Road, then sat and began grooming one of its forepaws, as smug as any cat has ever been since the beginning of the relationship between humans and domesticated felines. Maybe since before that. It’s difficult to say.

There was no sound or rip in the air or anything else to herald Quentin’s appearance. He was just suddenly staggering out of theair and into the rose-scented warmth of the Rose Road, a startled expression on his face. As I’ve taught him, intentionally or no, he immediately turned it into anger, rounding on me.

“Youleftme!” he shouted. “You were there and then you weren’t there and—and I didn’t know where you were, and youleftme!”

“I left you and you followed,” I said. “That was all you had to do. Right now, you have as much information about the situation as we do.”

“Whatisthe situation?” asked May. She sagged a little but didn’t sit down. I guess a butt full of thorns wouldn’t have improved her situation any.

“We keep going,” I said. “But now we know we’re on the right track.”

At least I hoped that was what we knew. All I was sure of was that we had to keep going. We were in deep enough that the only way out was through.

NINE

WE WALKED FOR WHATfelt like forever, mostly in silence, except for the occasional yelp or muttered swear when someone discovered an unexpected thorn with a part of their anatomy. May had almost stopped bleeding by this point, thanks to her blood either running out or clotting so much it couldn’t escape anymore. I wasn’t sure she had enough blood left to allow her heart to beat. It didn’t seem to be slowing her down any. She was unsteady, leaning on me or Quentin when she felt like she was going to fall over, but she was otherwise walking just fine. It was weird as hell, and that’s coming from me.

The roses continued to darken as we walked, until they were no longer red trending toward black, but were simply black, obsidian roses dancing with captive rainbows, charcoal roses with smoldering hearts, raven-feathered roses whose petals were fringed around the edges. These weren’t roses that could ever have grown on mortal soil. They were more akin to the roses Luna cultivated in her walled gardens.

The thought made me pause and move closer to the wall. Quentin looked at me curiously, but kept his hands on May’s arm, keeping her from falling over, and didn’t ask what I was doing.

“Hi,” I said brightly. “Maeve, right? I’m a friend of your daughter’s. Antigone, I mean. The eldest. Agoodfriend. I helped her bring back the Roane. She’s not sad all the time anymore.”

Keeping my expression bright and guileless, I reached out and closed my left hand around the stem of the nearest charcoal rose.It was as hot as its burning flower implied. The thorns scorched my palm even as they pierced it, and it was all I could do not to shriek and jerk away.

Still, I held on. I’ve gotten to be pretty good at enduring pain. “You may be wondering why we’re here,” I said. “To be honest, given how fetishistic your sister’s eldest daughter is about roses, I’m sort of wondering whythisis the road where the Luidaeg called on you, but hey, I’m not one of the Three. I’m not even one of the Firstborn. So what do I know?”

Quentin and May stopped walking. Quentin looked at me, face gone pale as milk. It was dangerously close to looking back, and I had to resist the urge to snap at him.

“I know these are your roses, and I know if you’re still around, you listen to your daughter, and that means there’s a chance you’ll listen tome. I know you want your sister’s eldest daughter to stay asleep as badly as I do, and I know the man I’m trying to find is very invested in waking her up. I know you’re the Winter Queen, I know you’re supposed to be the cold one, but I think... I think we got that wrong at some point. I think when we started turning our history into stories, we forgot who the real monsters were, and we started painting them in places where they’d never been. I don’t know this for sure, but I listen to the way your daughter talks about you, and I think... I think you’re kind. I think you care about what happens to Faerie, and what happens to your kids. I don’t know where you are and I don’t know why you don’t come back to us, but I’m asking you now, can you help? Can you get us where we need to be? Please?”

The stem in my hand grew even hotter, until I could no longer hold onto it. I let go and stepped away, the punctures in my hand already scabbing over. Quentin caught me before I could back into May, and I flashed him a quick, grateful look before returning my attention to the wall of roses.

They were moving.

Like the roses in Luna’s greenhouse garden, they were twisting away from us, vines rising up and twining together until they had formed a sort of archway, leading into yet another black hole.

“The last time we jumped in one of those, my Fetch wound up with most of her guts missing,” I said politely.

“Hi,” said May.

“Is there any way we could get some stairs?” Even for me,asking specifics of a missing Faerie Queen was pushing my luck. I summoned up my most winning smile, the one that reliably made Tybalt go very still and ask what I wantedthistime. It made my face hurt.

It’s not possible for roses to look amused, but these ones came remarkably close. A vine snaked through the air toward me, curling at the last second and stroking my cheek with surprising gentleness, the thorns somehow avoiding my skin. I kept smiling. Let my face hurt. We were sort of in the presence of my step-grandmother, who had been absent from Faerie for more than five hundred years, and the last thing I wanted to do was make her think I was ungrateful.

More vines uncurled and snaked into the darkness, basket-weaving together to form a latticed staircase that would have to be navigated carefully, butcouldbe navigated, without any further falling. The vine pulled away from my face, its motion already slowing.

“Wait!” I shouted impulsively. May and Quentin both turned to look at me. I swallowed hard, staying precisely where I was, and focused on the roses. “I just wanted to say, before you go... I know you didn’t have to help us. I don’t know why you’re staying away, but I know you didn’t have to help us, and we really, really appreciate it.”

The vine flicked in my direction, a small, sharp motion, and finished its withdrawal. I shivered, then started toward the opening.

“Are you sure we should go down there?” asked Quentin. He was learning to rush in, and to risk himself for the sake of the quest, but he was still more cautious than I’d ever been. It wasn’t a trait I was particularly working to beat out of him. He’d make a better High King with at least a small sense of self-preservation.

“Positive,” I said. “The Queen of Faerie opened a door for us. It would be rude not to use it. Big rude. Worse than insulting the Luidaeg rude—and possibly also insulting to the Luidaeg, when she hears about it, since we’ll have wasted her mother’s time. And also, not, because I’d lay pretty good odds that either Simon or the woman he’s been looking for are down there, and I really don’t want to see her. Today, or ever again. Sometimes what we want doesn’t matter.”

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