The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,73

you. It’s not that I . . . I fell in love with a hero, October. I fell in love with you. I would never dream of asking you to change that essential part of who you are. I don’t want you to stop fighting. I just want to be fighting with you.”

“Right now, you fight by staying in the Duchy of Ships and protecting Patrick and Dean,” I said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. “They’re going to need allies. Clever allies. Allies who can pull them into the shadows if Torin’s guards come back. Can you do that for me?”

“Can you come back to me?” he asked.

“I can try,” I said.

Tybalt nodded, glancing to the Luidaeg. “Lady sea witch, if you would grant me a moment’s time?”

“Clock’s ticking, kitty-cat, but you do you,” she said.

He nodded, and turned back to me, and leaned in, and kissed me.

It wasn’t a kind or gentle kiss. It was the kiss of a man afraid of drowning, already trapped by some relentless riptide and being dragged farther and farther from the shore. He kissed me hard and fierce and unrelenting, and I kissed him back the same way, both of us fully aware that this could be the last kiss we ever had the chance to share.

But then, we always knew that. Our lives weren’t exactly safe, and one day, one of us wasn’t going to come home. We were both panting when we broke apart. His pupils weren’t slits anymore; they had widened until they almost consumed his irises, drinking in all the available light. I offered him a wan smile. He returned it, and together we turned to face the Luidaeg.

The blade of my knife was cool against the skin of my palm. I slashed downward, opening my flesh like a flower, and stepped into the Luidaeg’s kitchen, positioning my bleeding hand above her bowl. She watched impassively until she could be sure I wasn’t making a mess; then she plucked the knife from my hand and beckoned the boys forward.

“Kitty-cat first, then Quentin,” she said. “Tick-tock, kids, times a’wasting. You’ve spent too much of it on your petty little feelings, and now you need to hurry.”

Tybalt narrowed his eyes but stepped forward, watching impassively as she ran the already-bloodied blade of my knife across the tip of his index finger. He hissed a little at the pain, and she moved his hand over the bowl, squeezing out the required seven drops.

“Shapeshifter’s blood, to make the changes voluntary; they’ll need to move between sea and air until this is finished,” she said, and released his hand. “Quentin?”

My squire swallowed hard as he stepped forward and held out his hand. The Luidaeg took it gently, and rather than slicing his finger, merely pricked it, holding it above mine.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m not keeping any,” she said, in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring.

The liquid in the bowl sparkled and fizzed as our blood mingled with what was already there. When she judged that it had had enough, she handed me my knife and pushed us both backward, turning to rummage in the nearest drawer until she produced two small bottles. They were the sort of thing a sailor stranded on a desert island might use to throw messages out into the shoreless sea, hoping that someday they would go where they were meant to be.

“Once you drink this, you’ll have twelve hours,” she said, dipping first one bottle and then the other in the bowl. The first bottle came up filled with liquid so dark a blue that it was almost black, shot through with veins of bright, burning gold. The second bottle . . .

The second bottle was for me. The liquid it contained was layered like calico scales, white and red and black, and I knew the shape and texture my fins would take when I drank it. My body remembered what Simon had done to me, would always remember, and whenever I went back to the water, I would go in tricolor autumn, painted like the koi I’d been.

The Luidaeg handed us our bottles, expression grave. “Twelve hours,” she repeated. “You’ll go to the water, you’ll belong to the water, and you’ll be cast from the water all within that span. If you’re not on dry land when your time runs out, you’ll get to experience the wonder and joy of drowning. Toby will probably survive, she’ll just wish she hadn’t. Quentin . .