Chimes at Midnight

“Okay. One, he,” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, indicating Madden, “still has the crossbow. So she’s not the only threat here. Two, I’m still technically in charge. So could we please stop arguing about crushing the Princess’ head, and let her go already?”

Danny blanched. “Oh, hell, I forgot that part,” he said, and let Arden go. She stumbled forward before sitting down heavily on the steps and glaring up at Danny. He grimaced. “Sorry, Your Highness.”

“I hate you people,” she said, climbing back to her feet. She transferred the glare to me. “What are you doing here? Where’s my brother? What happened to you?”

“We are here because we still need your help, and now, so does Nolan,” I said. “The Queen of the Mists has him.”

“Bitch took him while she was arresting the Duchess,” snarled Arden. She bounded down the stairs to stand in front of me, so close that we were practically nose-to-nose. “Where. Is. He? Tell me. I will get him back, and then you will never see us again.”

“This is still your Kingdom.”

“And a fat lot of good that’s done me!” Arden snarled. “This Kingdom killed my father! My brother’s been asleep for so long that I have no idea how I’m going to get him to adjust to this world when he wakes up! This Kingdom has ruined my life, and now you’re here, stinking of goblin fruit and saying I have a responsibility to it? Screw that. Tell me where to find Nolan. We’re leaving.”

“You asked what happened to me,” I said. “Let me tell you what happened to me. The Queen? That same Queen who had your brother elf-shot, and who has him now? She sent a man to hit me with a goblin fruit pie.”

“I like pie,” said Madden.

“What does pie have to do with anything?” Arden glowered at me, looking frustrated. Honestly, I understood how she felt. There just wasn’t anything I could do about it.

“When we first met, did you assume that I was Daoine Sidhe?” Arden didn’t answer, but then, she didn’t need to. Her expression was answer enough. “My mother, Amandine, she’s—”

“Wait: Amandine?” Arden’s expression shifted from confusion to outright disbelief. “You can’t be Amandine’s kid. You’re part human. Juniper and thorn, you’re mostly human. She’d never bed a human man. Her husband would never stand for it.”

Now it was my turn to look confused. “What are you talking about? Mom’s not married. She was married to my father, but he’s dead now. And before he died, he was human.”

A strange look crossed her face. Then she shook her head, and said, “I don’t care. I don’t care who your mother is, or why that makes pie your weakness. I want my brother back.”

“Amandine isn’t Daoine Sidhe, and neither am I. It’s hard to explain, but when the Queen sent that man . . . I think she was trying to get me hooked so she could destroy my credibility. Maybe that would have worked, except I’m not Daoine Sidhe. I didn’t just get hooked. I changed the balance of my own blood so that the goblin fruit would be even stronger. I turned myself mostly human.”

“So turn yourself back,” she said.

“I can’t. I need a hope chest.”

Arden raised her eyebrows. “My brother is missing and you came to ask if I have something that doesn’t exist? Are you high? Oh, wait, goblin fruit—of course you’re high. There are no hope chests, October. They’re a fairy tale.”

“Says the lost Princess of the Mists,” I snapped. “They’re real. Evening had one. I found it after she died.”

“So? Then you don’t have a problem. Get the hope chest, do whatever it is you do with hope chests, and leave me out of it. I just want to get my brother and get out of here.”

“I gave it to the Queen.”

Arden barked a short, startled laugh. “Oh, is that what this is all about? You still think I’m going to help you overthrow her? Dream on. I am done with insurrections. Find yourselves another Princess.”

“That doesn’t sound very royal,” I said.

“What do any of you know about being royal?” she shot back. “It’s all betrayals and backstabbing and never trusting anyone.”

“I know a lot about being royal,” said Quentin.

It was a calm statement, made with absolute sincerity. We turned toward him. Quentin stepped around Danny, moving with careful grace, his shoulders locked in a line so precise it could have been drawn with a ruler. His chin was up, and his eyes were fixed on Arden.

She blinked before shaking her head. “Watching them doesn’t make you an expert. It makes you a voyeur. You don’t know anything, kid.”

“I know more about it than you do,” he said, as he reached the bottom of the steps. He shot me an apologetic glance before turning to face her again.

In that instant, I knew. That look . . . it answered all the questions he’d never been willing to, and put so many statements into a new context. I stared at him, slack-jawed, the urge to shake him and the urge to slap him warring for dominance in my mind.