Roadside Magic (19 page)

J
eremiah’s legs felt odd, disconnected from the rest of him. Forcing his eyes to open took a great deal of concentrated effort, and once they opened, all he could see was red.

Well. This is a new thing.
He blinked several times, a shiver pouring down his body as acrid sweat broke out. Salted with mortal metal, but with a smoke-ice edge, the shuddering should have brought him to his feet, the lance springing into being between his palms.

He managed a twitch. Strength returned slowly, his vision cleared, and he stared at a ceiling that was unquestionably dwarven work, glossy blackstone carved with their angular writing, stylized beasts running from tiny hunters. The bloody light slid over them, tricks of vision or chantment spurring them to seeming-movement. A stag, its throat cut, kept running. The hunters fell upon one another with axes and bows, their tiny sharp-carved mouths open wide in soundless screams.

Weird. Like professional wrestling, only in stone.

A scraping sound. His body obeyed him now, and he propped himself up on his elbows. The cot underneath him, though too small, was sturdily built. The other smell—of earth
and metal and simmering sidhe sweat—told him, if not the particulars, then at least the general of where he was.

Dwarves. Great.
Maybe they owed Robin a favor or two? She’d disappeared through a dwarven-made door not so long ago.

Robin. Where is she?
The earth had opened up. One moment Unwinter, the next, falling. The dwarves had intervened. Why?

The sliding scrape became the patter of glove-shod feet, and a familiar shape danced into view. A slim sidhe boy, his irises burning yellowgreen and his pupils hourglass-shaped bowed, his leather jerkin bright as a new penny and not yet supple with use. The points of his ears poked up through a mat of frayed brown silk, and his wide cheery smile gleamed pink instead of white. The light was kind to him, making his cheeks as smooth as a mortal baby’s ass, and his grin was full of good cheer that stopped just short before plunging over the brink of homicidal.

“Welladay!” Puck Goodfellow cried, and Jeremiah finished pushing himself upright. “Look who has awakened, and is colt-staggering.”

Trundling along in the Fatherless’s wake was a sour-faced, beardless dwarf who cut the free sidhe a wide berth on his way to a table loaded with burners, alembics, and piles of odds and ends. Jeremiah swung his legs off the cot.

It was always better to face Goodfellow on one’s feet. Or as close to it as one could manage.

“Puck. A pleasure to see you.” A lie, but not an insult.

A slight movement behind Puck was the beardless dwarf, who snorted, striding across to the table. He began clinking and rummaging with great officiousness. “Save your love songs. The sooner I’m shed of you both, the better.”

“Charming, isn’t he?” Puck hopped sideways, a dancing step. “A great healer among the clans. Nothing but the best for you, Gallow.”

“I’m honored.”
There’s bound to be a price for this.

“Can’t stave it off forever.” The beardless dwarf stalked to the edge of the cot. He held a bubbling, foul-smelling flagon. “You drink this, and I’ve got four more doses for you. More I cannot give.”

Four doses?
“You have my thanks,” Jeremiah said cautiously.

“No need. We were paid for your life.”

“Oh?”
By whom?

“Drink.” The dwarf shoved the flagon into his hands. “I suggest quickly, too, before it cools, since it’s even worse then.”

It smelled of manure and tasted like skunked beer and cinders. Jeremiah gagged, sputtered, and managed to get down every dreg. Puck whistled innocently, examining the walls.

The healer took the cup back and handed him a pouch. It clinked, and inside were four crystalline vials holding blue-tinted sludge. “One daily. They’ll lose efficacy nearer the end, but better than nothing.”

More than I thought I’d get
. “I suppose I shouldn’t swim for half an hour after taking one.”

The healer stared at him, clearly unamused. “I know who you are,
Gallowglass
. Unwinter’s poison interests me, or I’d have left you to rot. I had kin among Finnion’s clan.”

The marks twitched, writhing under Jeremiah’s skin. His first education in the hunger of the lance; they had not expected him to survive, and dumped him in a dark room to molder. But he had, and when he woke . . . well. No love lost between him and any of the stone-shapers. “Then you’ll have weregilt soon.”

“A colossal waste either way,” the healer said with a sniff, and strode for the door. “Best get moving. Some of Hilzhunger’s aren’t as patient as I.”

So it’s Hilzhunger who has me. Great. Okay. Where the hell
am I going?
He glanced at Puck Goodfellow, who looked vastly amused by this entire exchange. Jeremiah coughed, the draught threatening to come back up. The cough turned into a word, the only possible reason the Fatherless could be standing here so far below the free earth. “Robin.”

Puck’s grin did not alter one whit, but he paused. “Yes, Gallow-my-glass. We have a little bird to rescue.”

“What is thy interest in the Ragged, Goodfellow?”

Puck still did not move. His eyes flamed yellowgreen, and the strength flooding back into Jeremiah’s body was welcome.

But not enough.

“Oh, the Ragged delights me.” Puck turned, skipping. “Such a fine voice.”

And you used her to invite Unwinter into Summer
. What hold did Puck have on her?

None, now,
she’d said. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding her.

“I might ask you the same,” Goodfellow continued, as he strode for the door left ajar by the healer. Glove-shod, and in new leathers. There was something off about him, too. “What do you intend with my little Ragged, Armormaster?”

Your little Ragged?
“My lady Ragged has many enemies.”

Puck laughed, capering, and pushed the door wider. “Indeed she does, sirrah. Indeed. A hunter has snared her, and who knows what Summer intends? We must hasten.”

“Crenn.”
Of course. He was off alerting the dwarves, or Summer herself. He’s grown canny. Did he predict Robin?

How could he, when
I
can’t?

“What reward could
she
offer him, do you imagine?” Puck’s laugh, merry and raw, bounced off the stone. “He bears you a grudge, I’ve heard.”

“So many do.” It was work to keep up with Puck, and Jeremiah began to suspect that were he to fall behind, the Fatherless might not stop. The antidote—or as close to an antidote as a dwarven healer could manage—burned in his limbs. False strength, maybe, but he’d take it.

The scar on his side twitched, but Jeremiah broke into a run, following the brown-haired boy.

G
reen hills of Summer lay in the distance under a blue dusk, the stars just beginning to twinkle in indigo. The white paths gleamed, and the orchard was a cloud of fleece, cupped around Summerhome’s familiar, beautiful towers. Pennants snapped in the freshening breeze, bringing the spice and velvet of appleblossom scent to every corner of Seelie. Even this one, where worn stone steps rose between juicy green thornvines, their tangles starred with small yellow roses bearing only five petals apiece. Pixies glimmered and fluttered among the vines, clouds of pinprick light as they chimed excitedly. Some pointed at Robin, their mouths tiny
O
’s of surprise, showing sharp ivory fangs.

Robin dug her heels in, but Crenn was much stronger. He didn’t hurt her, but he did prod her in the ribs a little ungently. Her throat, still numb, tingled a little, and she gagged afresh on the strawberry-mint of shusweed.

The stairs went up, and up, and up. One of the roses snapped shut, a pixie’s wings beating frantically inside it, the tiny thing’s glow fading while the tight-cupped petals
squeezed
. A formless
murmur filled the air, and Robin blinked away furious, scalding tears.
You bastard. You utter bastard.

She had sometimes contemplated what it would be like, to be robbed of the song’s power. To be just as helpless as a mortal girl under her stepfather’s belt.

The thought spurred fresh panic, and she almost dove to the side, into the thorns. Better than what probably awaited her at the top of these stairs, no doubt. Or maybe he was just going to toss her from the cliff—for the murmur, growing louder now, was the mouthing of the Dreamless Sea upon the sugar-white Seelie shore. The chalk cliffs rose high, kissed with low cloud on some mornings. If not for the chantment in Robin’s heels, the hunter might have had to carry her.

Now
there
was a thought. But if she went limp and made him drag her, he would.

He yanked her back from the edge of the step. “Shhh, pretty girl.” Hot breath in her ear. “It will be done soon.”

Oh, it certainly will. Hate you. I wish Gallow were here to kill you
.

Except Gallow had probably perished of poison by now, even if Hilzhunger’s clan had a healer skilled enough to stave off some of the effects. They had no love for him, and it would suit them to hand his corpse over to Unwinter and perhaps claim a rich reward.

She kicked at Crenn; he avoided the strike, and she spat a mouthful of shusweed juice at him. It flung wide, spattering the vines, and they writhed with dissatisfaction.

“
Stop
it.” Crenn grabbed her arms, shook her so her head bobbled. She tried to knee him; he spun her, his arm a bar across her throat. “
Listen
to me, pretty. She cannot kill you, Gallow saw to that. Endure.”

Fine thing for you to say
. She longed to open her mouth and
let the song free. She could produce nothing more than a formless croak.

Helpless. Again.

“You’ll have help,” he whispered, those lips pressing against her ear. His breath was sidhe-warm, sweet with drugging certainty. “I paid them for Gallow’s life and to spare; now
you’ll
have help, too.”

He is already dead, and you are a liar twice and thrice over.

“
Listen
. I’ll only say this once.” His arm tightened. She had rarely been so close to a man before. Hard muscle, the woodsmoke of a sidhe’s fury, an indefinable tang of lemon and
male
, along with a fresh green edge that was probably swampwater and moss. “He comes too late, or not at all, does the Gallowglass. I speak from experience. He’s not worth you, pretty girl.” A pause, she tried to kick him again, clawing at his arm with broken fingernails. He exhaled sharply, and she wondered if he was going to do what men always did when a woman was helpless. “You have more friends than you know,” he finished. “Remember that, and endure.”

He half-carried her up the next few steps, then twisted her arm behind her back, his fingers gripping just short of bruising.

Oh, fine friends indeed. None of them will aid me.
That was the most important lesson she’d ever learned, in the sideways realms or the mortal.

When it counted, you were always alone.

She kept pitching from side to side, seeking escape. He was so damnably
strong
, and he hadn’t lost hold of her once.

The last step came as a surprise. She pivoted, seeking to throw him back down the long chain of stone edges, but he gave one of his bitter little laughs and pushed, neatly throwing her off-balance instead. Dusk had deepened while they
climbed, and a salt wind tugged at Robin’s curls, fingered her velvet coat, and stung her eyes.

He means to throw me from the cliff
. Her entire body turned cold. But there was no cliff. The vines tangled over a rough stone wall barring the Dreaming Sea from view, and she looked up.

And up, and up. A tower rose from this thorn-grown courtyard. White, but it didn’t glimmer like Summerhome. Instead, it was matte, except at the very top where a hurtful glitter gave one piercing flash. No doubt that high spire caught the last gleam of Seelie’s sun.

Or something else.

Robin’s mouth turned dry.

There, at the foot of the steps leading to the tower’s single narrow, graceful entrance, stood Summer.

Just as lovely as ever, her long golden hair in rippling waves, her mantle deepest pine, its long sleeves brushing the ground. The Jewel at her forehead was dull, a foxfire glow instead of a beacon, and her face was one of the sharper ones, cheekbones like blades and her scarlet mouth lush-cruel. A crimson scarf was knotted about her right wrist, floating and flowing as the wind tugged at it, and over her head pixies flittered in complicated patterns, drawn by the faint glow ribboning upward just as fireflies would be, down in the shadowed dells.

The first feeling was shock.
She’s changed
.

But how? She was ageless, eternal, so all the songs said. The change was difficult to pin down, too. Robin had no time to think, observe, and suss it out, because Summer spoke.

“Robin,” the Queen of Seelie murmured. “Robin, Robin, Robin.”

Shudders seized Robin Ragged, racked through her, and Crenn grabbed her arm to keep her upright. Summer’s eyes,
black from lid to lid, held few sparkles now. They danced where the very center of the pupils should be, and if you drew close, breathing in her drugging breath, you could watch those lights forever—and not feel a single thing as the flint blade pierced your chest.

The changelings rarely struggled. When one did, Summer gazed upon it exactly like this, and it stilled soon enough. Even those closed in wicker towers and set alight with elf-fire did not scream, for she stared into each one’s face for a long moment before they were led, small and docile, to the oven. Little gingerbread dolls, ready to be consumed for her glory, to keep Seelie just sideways enough and safely away from the deeper folds of the Veil.

At least Pepperbuckle is out of her reach
. Robin sagged in Crenn’s grip.

“My little Ragged. How you wound me.” The Queen sighed. “I longed to see your face, but you were gone.”

You bitch. You killed Sean.

Except she could not lay that death fully on Summer’s threshold. It had been Robin who thought
just one more day, just one more day
, keeping him because she could not bear . . . and now, Sean was dead, his parents were dead. Everyone was dead.

Except Robin. And this sidhe bitch who ruled everything she looked upon.

“I brought her.” After the soft music of Summer’s tones, Crenn’s words were harsh. Robin lunged, almost broke free of his hold—but he dragged her back. “Without a scratch, though that took some doing. Unwinter wants her, too.”

“He may not have her.” The Queen smiled, her pearly teeth peeping past those carmine lips. “Not until I am finished, and I am not yet.”

Crenn nodded. “You promised her life to Gallow, I’m told.”

“Rumor again, huntsman?” Her smile widened. “Her life I did pledge, at the spring revel, no less. I do not intend to deprive her of one moment of it.”

“Then what do you aim to do?”

Now her gaze turned to Crenn. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“I haven’t been paid yet.” He shook Robin, but halfheartedly. She sagged, her fury turned to ashes now. What was the point?

What was the point of
anything
?

At least she’d avenged Sean, and Daisy. And Pepperbuckle was safe.

At least that.

“You think me false? Come.” Summer indicated the tower’s narrow, arched mouth. “Just a few more steps, and you’ll have delivered. Then you’ll be beautiful again, Alastair Crenn. You’ve done what no other knight of Summer could do.”

He made no reply. Just stood there, holding her arm.

She tried to yank away. Velvet tore. She shoved him, and his hand fell free.

“Nothing to say, Robin? No song to sing?” The Queen shook her head. “I expected more. Ah, I see. Shusweed.” Summer sighed. “Well, Crenn. Bring her hither.”

Robin hopped away from him, her heels clicking. She lifted her chin, glaring at him,
willing
him to . . . what?

Gallow would not do this
. She swiped at her mussed hair, settled her torn coat.
He is dead now, and there is no hope. But I won’t scream and struggle. She’ll like that too much.

Robin Ragged lifted her chin, stalked for the tower.

The Queen smiled, a benevolent, pacific expression. Robin drew abreast of her, glanced back at Crenn. Hoped he could read the disdain on her features.
You bastard. You’re ugly
within
,
and that’s where it counts. No amount of glamour will ever make you half as fine as Jeremiah Gallow, even if he’s a cursed male.

When she turned back, Summer still smiled. “Tell me,” she murmured, “what do you see when you look into a mirror, you little Half slut?”

Robin’s mouth was dry, and the shusweed numbness still sank its claws into her throat. Still, she had a gobbet of dry phlegm.

She hawked, just as the boys in the trailer parks did, and spat directly at Summer.
I wish I were plagued. Then maybe you’d take it, and sicken and die, you whorebag.

For the first time, the Queen of Seelie actually looked
shocked
. Her eyes swelled, her mouth dropped open, and Robin might have enjoyed that if she hadn’t already been moving. She flung herself up the three low stairs and plunged through the entryway.

Whatever Summer had in store, at least it was Robin’s own choice to face it, now.