Free The Winter Long by Seanan McGuire Page B

that’s never been the point of door duty here.” I started walking. If Etienne wanted to talk to me, he could come and find me. “If an enemy showed up, she’d let them in. Probably offer them tea and scones or something, too.”
    Tybalt blinked at me. “I . . . what?”
    â€œSylvester is a retired hero. He doesn’t get to have much fun these days, and most of what he does get is interrupted by his knights insisting that he’s not supposed to risk himself without really good reasons,” I said. “An enemy making it into the knowe isn’t a problem. It’s a treat. An enemy making it
out
of the knowe, on the other hand . . .”
    â€œI will never understand the Divided Courts,” muttered Tybalt darkly.
    â€œIf it helps at all, neither will I,” I said.
    The halls of Shadowed Hills were built to house an army, with smooth marble floors and high ceilings that could accommodate any number of aerial or oversized fae. I’ve seen Giants walking there, shoulders a little hunched, but heads still not hitting the ceiling. One thing was for sure: I didn’t envy the Hobs and Brownies whose job it was to keep the chandeliers and stained glass windows glittering.
    Ropes of roses and holly circled every window, acknowledging the season while steadfastly refusing to abandon the flowers that had given the Duchy much of its reputation. Luna, Sylvester’s wife, was a Blodynbryd, a rare form of Dryad tied to roses instead of to a single tree. She was also one of the greatest gardeners in Faerie, thanks to a combination of her innate nature and centuries of practice. The roses, and all the other flowers in the Duchy, were hers.
    We walked until we reached a filigreed silver gate that led to a solid wall instead of a hallway or a courtyard garden. I stopped, turning to Tybalt and Quentin.
    â€œSylvester will forgive me for intruding on his private quarters,” I said. “I’m not so sure he’d forgive me for bringing company. Will you wait out here, and trust that I’m not going to find a way to get myself killed while I’m waking the Duke?” Assuming it was Sylvester in there, and not his brother. I had every confidence that if I screamed, my boys would come for me.
    â€œYou’re planning to wake a man who once defeated an entire Goblin army with a sword, despite his arm having been broken in an earlier engagement,” said Tybalt dryly. “I believe waking the Duke is an excellent way to get yourself killed, should you startle him.”
    â€œThen I’ll do my best not to startle him,” I said.
    Tybalt sighed. “We will wait here.”
    â€œGood. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve told Sylvester what’s going on.”
    I turned to the gate. It looked delicate, like I could have peeled it off the wall with one hand. Appearances can be deceiving. This was one of the few doors in the knowe that was supposed to be locked to anyone who hadn’t been formally invited to use it, and the enchantment that was woven into the metal of the gate itself did a pretty good job of enforcing that restriction. Gently, I reached out and rested my fingers on the latch.
    â€œHey,” I said. I was speaking to the knowe, and not to either of my companions. In Faerie, sometimes, intent is everything. “It’s me, October. I really need to see Sylvester. It’s important. I know you’re only supposed to open for family, but he
is
my family, just not by blood. Will you please let me in?”
    The latch turned under my hand, and the door swung inward of its own accord, dispersing the seemingly solid wall like it was mist and revealing a small, circular garden under a deep purple Summerlands sky. I glanced back at Tybalt and Quentin, flashing them what I hoped was a reassuring smile, before stepping through the gate onto the cobblestone garden path. I heard the gate swing shut behind me, and when I