I nodded at my father. “I can do it,” I said. “I can be what I was always meant to be.”
My father gave me a slow nod and smile. “Of course you can,” he said. “You’re my daughter, after all.”
17
At Home in Arkham
THE JOURNEY HOME was almost comically uneventful. We picked up Conrad and Cal in Chinatown and flew back across the Rockies under the cover of a river of stars wide and broad as the Mississippi. My father’s personal aircraft, the Munin, was much smaller and faster than the zeppelin Cal and I had crossed on, which was made of wood rather than metal, so the trip took a matter of a day.
When we got home, however, the good mood had largely ceased. Arkham was still under quarantine, but there was no one manning the walls to make sure citizens stayed out. I hadn’t seen one Proctor since we touched down, and my days largely went back to what they’d been when I first arrived—read, sleep, eat and do it all over again.
Bethina flung herself on Cal and barely left his side as soon as she saw him in San Francisco, and home was no different. Conrad and I were getting along as well as we ever had. Valentina, when she returned to Graystone shortly after us, was the only one still chilly toward me.
She knew what I’d done, how my releasing the Old Ones had nearly killed my father, and only by a lucky chance had they been distracted by Nylarthotep from casting their net of dreams over the world.
My mother was on my mind a great deal, but I had to wait until everyone else in the house was asleep or otherwise occupied to act on my anxious, ever-running thoughts.
Archie and Valentina were in charge of the Brotherhood now, but that was only half of my problems solved. There was still my mother, and everything she represented.
I set my chronometer to wake me when it was just light, the first streaks of milky sunlight catching the granite cliffs around Arkham, setting them to glittering as if they were alive.
A bowl of fog still rested in the garden and the orchards around Graystone, and danced across the waters of the pond like it was a spirit seeking a place to rest.
I bypassed the garden, the pond, the hedge maze and the barn, and walked on to the apple orchard.
I remembered the first time I’d come here, how scared I’d been to walk through these grounds. I could sense the malevolent force lurking.
This time, when I came upon the small ring of mushrooms in the center of the apple trees, I stepped in without hesitation.
My Weird flared, and I got the sense that the twisted, ancient hulks of the apple trees had taken an interest in my presence, that if I watched long enough, I’d see the gnarled branches uncurl and beckon to me.
Instead, I focused on the energies swirling around me. The hexenring was different from a man-made Gate, but it worked on the same principles.
I shut my eyes and reached for that place inside that connected me to the universe, to the places beyond the stars that only the Weird could touch. I felt the tug, the pain in my head, and when I opened my eyes I was in the Thorn Land.
My accuracy was getting better—I’d come through within sight of the Winter Court, inside a hexenring by the side of a crumbling farmhouse. When I reached the gates of the court, the Fae moving around the courtyard stopped what they were doing and stared at me.
I stared back, suddenly no longer as nervous. They’re afraid of me, I realized. That was a new feeling, and I let the surge of power ripple up and down my spine.
“Don’t just stand there,” I said when the closest Fae held my gaze a bit too long. “One of you go find Tremaine.”
He scurried away, and I stayed where I was. The courtyard had eternally falling snow that blanketed the ground beneath the silver branches of dead trees. Ripe red fruit still hung from them, in spite of their desiccated state, and crystals dangled, suspended above my head. Occasionally they collided and chimed, giving the ever-blowing wind a voice.
Tremaine appeared from the archway that led deeper into the palace, a blot on this ethereal space. His waistcoat was a deep blue, the color of the night sky, and contrasted with a silk shirt in the gradient red of an angry sunset. His crystal buttons and black cravat were impeccable, but his face was a mess of anger and uncontrolled rage.
My mother came in on his heels, starting to say something to placate him, but I held up my hand.
“What I have to say is important, so you better shut that shark mouth of yours and listen,” I told Tremaine.
He shot me one of his infuriating grins, so smug I was sure he had to practice it in front of the mirror to get it so perfectly right. “Come back to threaten me? I wouldn’t think I was in such a position, were I you.”
I glanced from side to side and saw the guards of the Winter Court moving in. My mother took a step forward. “Stop! You stop this at once. That’s my daughter!”
The guards drew back, lowering the short gladii they carried as weapons. I returned Tremaine’s smug look. “I guess the sister of the Winter Queen has a little more pull than some sneaky regent that nobody actually likes.”
I heard snickers go around the courtyard. There was nothing the Fae enjoyed more than a good show—the bloodier, the better—and I intended to give them just that.
Tremaine’s cheeks grew two blooms, crimson fire-flowers of rage that told me I’d managed to throw him off balance. “How dare you come back here and hurl insults at me after what you did!”
“I’m not staying long,” I told him. I saw my mother flinch, but I could deal with that after I’d said what I’d come to say.
“I’m not Fae,” I told Tremaine, raising my voice so everyone gaping at us could hear.
Tremaine’s mouth curled cruel and sharp as a fishhook. “Tell me something I don’t know, Aoife.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I shot back. “I know that you want me on your side so much you can taste it. I know that with a power like mine, you could destroy the Summer Court and get what you’ve always wanted—the favor of your queen. Real power. That’s what I have, and it’s what you want so badly it burns in your blood.”
There was only silence now, except for the wailing of the wind. The entire Winter Court was waiting. On a high balcony, I saw a flutter of white and red as the queen appeared, staring down at us. A bright-eyed cardinal sat on her shoulder, also staring. I wasn’t silly enough to think she’d missed a word of what Tremaine and I had said. Octavia didn’t get to be Winter Queen by being unobservant.
“I’m also not human,” I pressed on. “Thorn is in my blood as much as Iron. I can’t live in the Iron Land or I’ll go mad. Nor can I live in Thorn, because I’m not one of you. I can’t live the life of a Fae. I’ll grow old while you all stay exactly the same.”
“I assume you have a point,” Tremaine snarled. “Make it, why don’t you?”
“I propose a truce,” I pressed on. “I will be a citizen of both lands, ruled by neither. I’ll do favors for you, Tremaine—when I feel like it—and in return, you stop. Stop trying to trick me, stop grasping for power, stop trying to manipulate Octavia and my mother.”
He surprised me by not immediately shouting. A calculating look stole across his face and one hand tapped his velvet-clad leg. Then, as quickly as the wind whipped fallen leaves across the courtyard, he stepped within arm’s length of me and extended his hand. “You have a bargain.”
This was it, then. A Fae bargain was serious business, and he’d made it in front of everyone, even Octavia.
I took a step of my own and gripped his hand. It was cold and smooth, like snakeskin, and I could feel the incalculable strength behind his grasp and see the flash of the silver blade he kept spring-loaded in his sleeve. I wasn’t naive—I knew if we hadn’t had an audience, that blade would have found a new home in my still-beating heart.