Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(73)
“Uh, no.” I laughed bitterly. “The last time I argued with somebody who had a crown, I wound up ambassador to Silences. I’m not making that mistake again. Tybalt?”
“How finely you pack an entire request into a single word of two syllables. Would that my name were shorter, that I might encourage you to even greater acts of brevity.” He offered a quick, not quite mocking bow to the High King and Queen. “My lady needs a chariot, and I will serve her as well as any horse. I shall see you anon.” With that, he slung an arm around my waist and stepped backward into the shadow.
The last thing I saw before the darkness blocked out the world was High King Aethlin’s puzzled gaze, and High Queen Maida covering her mouth to hide her smile. Then everything was dark and cold, and they were blessedly the least of my worries. I didn’t need to think about politics or playing fair; all I had to do was run. And so I ran.
FIFTEEN
WE FELL OUT OF the shadows, into the light of my temporary quarters. Tybalt let go, virtually shoving me away as he stumbled to the bed, grabbing the bedpost and holding on for dear life. I staggered to my feet, watching him long enough to be sure he was breathing without obvious distress. He liked to make a show of how invincible he was, how untouchable and eternal, but the truth of the matter was that he’d exhausted himself to the point of death twice while carrying me through the shadows—and while a short run inside Arden’s knowe was nothing compared to some of the jaunts we’d taken, part of me would always be waiting for the day he collapsed and didn’t get better.
It was almost ironic, in a terrible way. I was the one with mortal blood. He should have been the one worrying himself sick over me. But I was also the unbreakable one, thanks to the gifts I’d inherited from my mother; I was the one who’d live no matter what I did to myself. I’m pretty sure we’re tied for deaths these days, although I’ll never tell him if I can help it. Call me paranoid, but I don’t feel like “I got stabbed in the heart and I think there’s a good chance that I died” is the sort of conversation we can have without it devolving into a screaming fight.
“You do have a shorter name,” I said, forcing my voice to stay as light as possible. I moved toward the suitcase I had packed for the occasion. If the High King wanted me to change my clothes, I needed to do it. “I just don’t think you’d be thrilled if I started calling you ‘Rand’ all the time.”
Tybalt shivered, still clinging to the bedpost. “The sound of that name upon your tongue is sweet torture. Would that you could have known him, the man who would not be King.”
“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out.” I turned back to the bed, leaving my suitcase unopened. I moved to stand behind him, placing my hand flat against his arm. He didn’t lift his head. “Tybalt. Hey. You don’t get this Shakespearean unless something is really wrong. What’s going on?”
“There was a time when I could have said ‘a man was murdered’ or ‘a woman lies dreaming for a century’s time,’ and had that be enough, you know.” He finally lifted his head and turned to look at me. “There was a time when those words would have unlocked an ocean of sympathy, not a shrug and the words ‘today is Thursday.’”
“It’s not Thursday,” I said automatically, before I winced and asked, “So what, is this about me being too flippant?”
“No. No, love, no.” He let go of the bedpost and turned. He grasped my upper arms, holding them tightly enough that I could feel each of his fingers individually. It wasn’t tight enough to bruise, but it came close. “This is about the fact that once we leave this room, I have to go back to holding myself apart from you. When the false queen was setting herself up as your enemy and opponent, I had the luxury of pretending to be an enemy. Anything I did would be taken as humorous, because it would antagonize you. Now . . . I shed the mask that allowed me to protect you when I allied myself with you in the public sphere.”
“So you’re afraid I’m going to get myself hurt . . . ?” I ventured, watching him intently. This side of Tybalt—the side that had buried his first wife, the side that had held him away from me for years, out of the fear that any mortal woman he dared to love would suffer the same fate as Anne—was still new to me. It was no less endearing than the arrogant face he showed the world. The fact that I was allowed to see it at all made it precious to me. But sometimes it was still surprising, the places where his actual insecurities were buried.
He nodded. There was a gravity bordering on pain in his eyes. His pupils had expanded to soak up every bit of the available light; in someone less feline, the resulting effect would have looked drugged. On him, it just made me want to hold him fast and never let go.
Too bad that sort of mercy wasn’t in my job description. “I might,” I said. “I can’t promise anything beyond ‘I’ll do my best to be careful,’ and even that goes out the window if it’s me or Karen, or Quentin, or Arden. I’d take a bullet for my kids because I love them, and I’d take a bullet for my Queen because my oaths say I have to. That’s who I am. I don’t get to change it just because the waters are too deep.”
To my surprise, he chuckled, letting go of one arm and running the knuckles of his right hand down the curve of my cheek. “I love you because of who you are,” he said. “I wouldn’t change a thing, even if it were possible to do so. I hate that we’ve spent so much time among the Courts of your people of late, where I’m as much a hindrance as I am a help.”