Artificial Night, An - Seanan McGuire Page 0,129

For someone with such red hair, he could blend astonishingly well.

“Since Luna told me they’d brought you home.”

“I’ve been just inside. Why did you come wait out here?”

“Because I know you better than you think I do.” He sighed, looking deeply weary. “I know the rest of this conversation. You apologize, I tell you it’s all right. You tell me you’re going back to Blind Michael’s lands and say I can’t stop you. Does that sound about right?”

“Yes . . .”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you.”

Okay: that was something I hadn’t expected to hear. I stared at him, and he smiled. I wanted to ask why he wouldn’t try to stop me, but I couldn’t find any words. Not a single one.

“I know you too well, Toby,” he said, still smiling. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t, believe me. I’d love to have some illusions to cling to—but I don’t anymore. I just know you too well.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be. I went off to play the hero myself, once. I’d do it again, if I had to.” His smile turned wistful. “I’d do it all again, and I’d do it differently. When certain people wanted to walk away, well . . . it would be different. But we can’t change the past, and now I get to watch you ride away. I saw you born. I watched you grow from a confused little girl into one of my finest knights. I shouldn’t have to see you die.”

I closed my eyes, shuddering. He wasn’t trying to talk me out of it, and somehow, that made it worse. “I’m sorry. But this is important.”

“That’s the only reason I can let you go. Look at me, please.” I opened my eyes. He was holding out his sheathed sword with steady hands. “I know where you’re going. I won’t stop you. But I won’t let you go alone.”

“Sylvester—”

He kept talking, ignoring my objection. “This was my father’s sword. He gave her to me the first time I rode to war; he said she’d never failed him, and that she wouldn’t fail me either. If I had a son, she would be his—she would have belonged to Raysel, if Raysel wanted her. But my daughter never understood what it meant to bear your father’s sword.”

“Sylvester?” This was too much, too fast. I didn’t know how to defend myself from it.

“She’s not a gift: I want her back. If I have to, I’ll reclaim her when I ride to avenge you. But you wouldn’t forgive me if I followed you now; you wouldn’t let me steal your vengeance, and dear May’s presence tells me you won’t come home whether I ride with you or not. I can let you go if you take my father’s sword.”

“Why?”

“Because when I was younger, I was a hero.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead as he pressed the sword into my hands. “Go in glory, Toby. If you have to die, do it well. If you can come back to us, come home.”

I bit my lip to keep myself from crying. “Sylvester—”

“You can’t thank me, and you can’t promise to come back, and those are the only things I want to hear.” He smiled again, smoothing my hair with one hand. “If he kills you, take him with you. End this. That’s all I ask. I love you.”

Turning, he walked away into the woods, leaving me alone with Spike and, clutching his father’s sword. When I was sure he wouldn’t hear me, I whispered, “I love you, too.”

I knelt, meeting Spike’s eyes. “You stay here. Watch Sylvester. Don’t let him cry for me. All right?” It looked at me assessingly before bounding after Sylvester. I straightened. If someone was looking after Sylvester, even a rose goblin, I could go. I could leave him if he wasn’t alone. Not that I had much of a choice.

The sword was surprisingly light; I wasn’t large, but I could lift it. That was probably part of why Sylvester gave it—her—to me. He knew she’d serve me well, and while he couldn’t take vengeance himself, he could make sure his sword did it for him. Clever guy. I could almost make myself forget that he’d mourn for me. Almost, but not quite. Slinging the scabbard over my shoulder, I started down the hill, pausing at the edge of the trees to fill my hands with shadows and wrap myself in a human disguise that hid both my pointed ears and the sword.