Chimes at Midnight

“Please,” said Arden fervently. “This place is . . .”

“It may be booby-trapped,” I interjected. “Oleander was here.”

Ormond’s expression hardened. “Will that snake never stop poisoning our gardens?” he asked sourly. “Be assured, we’ll watch for signs of her.”

“Okay. If you find a trap you can’t defuse on your own, mark it with a redwood bough.” Glancing to Arden to be sure she was all right with what I was saying, I continued, “It’d be best if you could start here, get this room and the entry hall into a presentable condition. Arden, did you have a room here?”

“Yes,” said Arden, sounding puzzled.

“Melly, if you can find the Princess’ room, you might be able to find her wardrobe . . .”

Melly straightened, all but glowing in her excitement. “Oh, dresses! Yes, of course! Highness,” she bobbed another curtsy to Arden. Then she was off, moving almost too quickly for my human eyes to follow as she vanished into the remaining curtain of cobwebs.

Arden blinked. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to that.”

“Fake it.” Footsteps from the entry hall signaled the approach of a much larger force. I turned to see Sylvester stepping into the receiving hall. All his knights and men-at-arms were behind him, even Etienne. Grianne was standing at Sylvester’s right, signaling that she was, for the moment at least, his second-in-command. It made sense: without his powers, Etienne couldn’t safely move outside the knowe unescorted. It still sucked.

Sylvester paused long enough to look around, assessing our progress, before turning and murmuring something to Grianne. She nodded, and her Merry Dancers—the two globes of living light that accompanied her everywhere she went—rose to ceiling level, lighting up the receiving hall and throwing the grime into sharp relief. I didn’t say anything, but I was glad to have the extra light, no matter how nasty it made everything look. Sylvester nodded, looking pleased, and led his forces across the room to where we were waiting. No one said anything.

When he reached us, he drew his sword, placed its tip against the floor, and knelt. “Your Highness,” he said.

Arden looked flustered. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, he does,” said Tybalt. She glanced to him, startled. “Accept the fealty you are offered. It is your responsibility, your privilege, and your burden.”

“. . . right.” She turned back to Sylvester. “Thank you.”

Acceptance of fealty is one of the few times in Faerie when thanks are appropriate. Sylvester rose, resheathing his sword. He was trying to watch Arden—I knew him well enough to know that—but his eyes still skipped to me, taking in my too-human state and the faint glow of the firefly sitting on my neck.

“We are here to support your claim to the throne,” he said, tearing his eyes away from me and looking back to Arden. “Will you have us?”

“Gladly,” said Arden.

“I have also brought my housekeepers, as I thought you might need some small assistance in preparing for parley.” I was impressed: he managed to say that with a straight face.

“Melly and Ormond are already starting to scrub things,” I said. “Don’t mess around: the place is a sty. Did you see the Undersea forces at all?”

“They’re on their way up from the beach,” he said, looking only faintly annoyed by my determined effort to ignore propriety.

“Good. And Goldengreen?”

“Amassing in the parking lot.”

“Better.” I looked to Arden. “Your army is here. Your knowe is open. This is your time to act.”

She took a deep breath, and turned to Sylvester. “Your knight is a Candela, I believe?” she said, indicating Grianne.

“She is,” said Sylvester.

“May I borrow her?”

A smile flashed across Sylvester’s face, there and gone so fast that it would have been easy to miss. “Please.”

Arden turned to Grianne, taking a deep breath as she visibly centered herself. “I’d like you to carry a message to the imposter who currently holds my throne, if you would be so kind.”

Grianne cocked her head, waiting.

“Tell her . . .” Arden took another deep breath. “Tell her I will no longer sit idly by while she pretends to my father’s name. Tell her the true Queen in the Mists is in her knowe, and claiming that which is hers by right.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Grianne. Her Merry Dancers descended and swirled around her as she turned and ran toward the wall. There was a green glittering in the air. Then she dove into it, and was gone.

Arden stared after her, something midway between hope and horror in her face.

“Well, then,” I said. “No turning back now. May?”

“I’m on it.” May waved her hands, and while I couldn’t see the casting, I could see the results: in the blink of an eye, she went from herself to me, as I normally was. She even created an illusionary leather jacket, completing the picture. “Now go get that boy and bring him home.”

“We will.” I turned to Sylvester. He would barely meet my eyes. Our last parting had been hard, on both of us, and he clearly wasn’t sure I’d forgiven him for keeping Tybalt away when I needed him there.