wound up like Slate, if that was the price I had to pay to make my daughter safe, so be it.
If I was haunted for the rest of my life because Maggie needed me to make hard choices, so be it.
And if I had to die a horrible, lingering death so that my little girl could have a chance to live . . .
So be it.
I tightened my grip on the hideous weight of the ancient bronze knife.
I put one hand gently on Lloyd Slate’s forehead to hold him still.
And then I cut his throat.
It was a quick, clean death, which made it no less lethal than if I’d hacked him up with an ax. Death is the great equalizer. It doesn’t matter how you get there. Just when.
And why.
He never struggled. Just let out a breath that sounded like a sigh of relief and turned his head to one side as if going to sleep. It wasn’t neat, but it wasn’t a scene from a gorefest slasher movie, either. It looked more like the kind of mess you’d see in a kitchen when preparing a big bunch of steaks. Most of his blood ran into the carved indentions on the table and seemed to become quicksilver once there, running rapidly outward through the troughs and down the lettering carved in the sides and the legs. The blood made the letters reflect the eerie light around us, giving them a sort of flickering fire of their own. It was a terrible, beautiful sight. Power hummed through that blood; the letters, the stone, and the air around me were shaken by its silent potency.
I sensed the two Sidhe behind me, watching with calm, predatory eyes as the Knight who had betrayed his queens died. I knew when it was over. The two of them let out small sighs of . . . appreciation, I suppose. I couldn’t think of any other phrase that fit. They recognized the significance of his death while in no way actually feeling any empathy for him. A life flowed from his broken body into the Stone Table, and they held the act in a respect akin to reverence.
I just stood there, blood dripping from the bronze knife in my hand onto the earth beneath my feet. I shivered in the cold and stared at the remains of the man I’d murdered, wondering what I was supposed to feel. Sadness? Not really. He’d been a son of a bitch of the first order, and I’d gladly have killed him in a straight-up fight if I had the chance. Remorse? None yet. I had done him a favor when I killed him. There was no getting him out of what he’d gotten himself into. Joy? No. None of that, either. Satisfaction? Precious little, except that it was over, the deed done, the dice finally cast.
Mostly? I just felt cold.
A minute or an hour later, the Leanansidhe lifted a hand and snapped her fingers. The cloaked servitors appeared from the mist as silently as they’d left, and gathered up what was left of Lloyd Slate. They lifted him in silence, carried him in silence, and vanished into the mist.
“There,” I said quietly to Mab. “My part is done. Time for you to live up to yours.”
“No, child,” said Mab’s voice through Lea’s lips. “Your part is only begun. But fear not. I am Mab. The stars will rain from the sky before Mab fulfills not her word.” She tilted her head slightly to one side, toward my godmother, and said, “I give thee this adviser for thy final quest, sir Knight. My handmaiden is among the most powerful beings in all of my Winter, second only to myself.”
Lea’s warmer, more languid voice came from her lips as she asked, “My queen, to what degree am I permitted to act?”
I thought I saw the fell light gleam on Mab’s teeth as Lea’s lips said, “You may indulge yourself.”
Lea’s mouth spread into a wide, dangerous smile of its own, and she bowed her head and upper body toward the Queen of Winter.
“And now, my Knight,” Mab’s voice said, as her body turned to face me exclusively. “We will see to the strength of your broken body. And I will make you mine.”
I swallowed hard.
Mab lifted a hand, a dismissive gesture, and the Leanansidhe bowed to her.
“I am no longer needed here, child,” Lea murmured. “I will be ready to go with thee whenever thou dost call.”