Page 43 of Silver and Lead (October Daye #19)

THIRTEEN

T HERE WAS A TIME when I thought a smile was an inherently positive expression.

That was before I spent some time working as a shelf stocker at Safeway, and more importantly, before I started spending my time with the sea witch.

The Luidaeg had been hurt deeply enough and frequently enough that her smiles had transformed over the course of centuries, becoming endless passages full of knives.

I was nowhere near her league, but when I wanted to smile in a threatening way, I could absolutely manage it. Bucer recoiled, making a small, unhappy noise that was more like a bleat than any human sound. I kept smiling as I walked toward him.

“Come on, Bucer, is that any way to behave toward an old friend?” I asked.

“After I cut you free and got you to a sanctuary? I haven’t done anything to hurt you, not once today, but you’ve tricked me without raising a finger, and you may have put the people I care about in danger.

You may have put my liege’s daughter in danger.

She’s defenseless. That was a bad decision on your part. ”

“I didn’t decide anything,” protested Bucer. “If you break a bone, you heal whether you want to or not. If I’m scared and need to get to safety, I’ll put that into the air whether I intend to or not. I didn’t manipulate you on purpose.”

“But you knew it was happening.” I stopped smiling.

“You knew as soon as I agreed to turn and walk away from my own front door that it was happening, and you let me walk away. That’s where you really fucked up, Bucer.

That’s where you should have said ‘hey, Toby, maybe my magic is making you make bad choices.’”

“Would rushing Dame Altair have been a good choice?” asked Bucer, desperately. “I let you have a good reason to protect yourself, and to protect your baby.”

“Don’t pretend you were thinking about the baby.”

“I was, really. Because if I let you get hurt badly enough to hurt that baby, you’d kill me.”

I stopped for a moment, his words echoing in my ears.

No matter why I’d turned away from that door, no matter how out of character it had been for me, it had been exactly what Tybalt would have wanted me to do if he’d been able to influence my decision.

He’d tried to keep me safe not because he thought I could be hurt—he knew better than that—but because he wanted to protect our child.

All his smothering, borderline obsessive attempts to keep me home and safe had been aimed at my innocent passenger, who would be out in the world soon enough, but was still my responsibility now.

And that didn’t matter one damn bit, because he was my husband and May was my sister and Raysel was my cousin and responsibility, and this asshole had been willing to let me walk away from them all.

He’d been willing to leave them in danger for the sake of his own skin.

All the self-serving bullshit about keeping my baby safe was exactly that: bullshit.

He’d been more interested in protecting himself than he’d been in anything else.

“Who says I’m not going to kill you anyway?” I asked, and somehow the question came out both perfectly reasonable and utterly threatening.

Bucer paled. “You’re a hero! Heroes can’t just go around killing people!”

“I’m a hero with the Queen in the Mists on speed dial,” I said.

“I call Arden, I tell her what you did, and she’ll have her guard here in the snap of her fingers.

Literally. She’ll portal them in, and you’ll go into her custody.

It’ll be much harder for you to escape than Dame Altair was ever going to be. ”

“Wait!” He threw his hands up, borderline frantic. “Please, you can’t do that to me. We were at Home together. That has to mean something.”

I paused, tilting my head to the side as I studied him. “Maybe it does.”

He perked up, expression going hopeful. “Really?”

“Really,” I said. I smiled again. “It means I know, for a fact, that you can control yourself better than you’re trying to pretend.

Devin would have had your hooves and horns if you’d been a walking consent violation when you were around people he considered his possessions.

But I’m not going to hand you over to Arden just yet. ”

“Really?”

“Really.” I shrugged. “You’re too upset by the idea, which tells me you don’t want to meet her new Adhene, no matter what you were saying earlier. She’d know you were lying immediately. I need to know what you’re lying about.”

“How are you planning to find that out? Drink my blood?”

“No. When I drink someone’s blood, I get their memories and their magic, and I don’t want to risk making it easier for you to influence me, if your magic reinforces itself.

You could make this so much simpler, for the both of us.

You could tell me what you’re lying about, and we could call it square. ”

“You’d let me go?”

“Not at this point. You made me complicit in leaving my family in danger, and that’s not something I can forgive that easily.” I looked over my shoulder at the kitchen door, which Marcia had politely closed when she left with Quentin. There were no pixies or bogeys I could see. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up .” I closed the distance between me and the kitchen table in three long steps, regretting the motion almost as soon as it ended.

My pregnant body was neither made nor inclined to move that fast. I grabbed the untied chain from the table where it had been placed during our meal, shaking it at Bucer.

He swallowed hard and stood, hooves clattering against the stone floor. “Toby…”

“Shut up and turn around.”

He started to object, then caught himself and sagged, turning around and putting his hands behind his back without being ordered to do so. Clever boy.

I began wrapping the chain tight around his wrists and forearms, going all the way up to the elbow. Bucer made a soft hissing sound, teeth bared.

“I don’t heal like you do,” he said. “I need a little blood circulation to my hands.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before.” I grabbed the chain, yanking it toward me so that he stumbled.

“I’d tie your hands in front of you to make this easier on myself, but I don’t want you to be able to catch yourself if you fall trying to get away from me.

Here’s how this is going to work. You’re not going to influence me again.

Or Quentin, or Tybalt, or any other member of my family.

You’re not going to try to do it to Marcia, either, or Dean, or anyone else inside this knowe.

You’re going to be a good little criminal, and let me haul you around the city until I’m finished with you. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Bucer, meekly.

“Good.” I wrapped the remaining chain around my own hand and stormed toward the door, hauling him along with me. He did stumble, hooves finding little traction on the well-washed floor, but caught himself before he could slam into me.

I kept pulling as I walked, dragging him out of the kitchen and down the hall beyond, heading for the central courtyard where Dean seemed to spend the bulk of his time in the knowe.

If not there, he’d be down in the cove, and Bucer would get the chance to experience stairs with his hands tied.

Not the most fun thing, but at least the sand would soften his fall at the bottom of the stairs.

Maybe I was being uncharitable in the way I was thinking about him.

Maybe not. He was the one who’d decided to put the whammy on me and on Quentin, and make us think that leaving our people behind was a good idea.

He was lucky I hadn’t hit him until he passed out and started dragging his unconscious body around the knowe—and that I was pregnant enough that even the idea of trying to haul that much dead weight made my back hurt.

The courtyard was set up in concentric circles, each one brimming with trees and bushes, all thriving despite the fact that we were indoors.

That was courtesy of the Goldengreen residents who had once belonged to Lily’s court in Golden Gate Park: she had been a safe place for multiple Dryads and Hamadryads to make their homes, and now they lived here, their ambient magic making sunlight unnecessary for the plants around them.

Some of them were resting in and around their trees, outlines of faces etched in the bark or brown-streaked bodies curled in the interwoven roots of the captive forest.

Dean was in the center of the room, standing on the cobbled central zone, Quentin and Marcia nearby. Quentin was standing so close that their shoulders were almost brushing, and he was the first to look around at the sound of Bucer’s hooves against the floor.

He looked incredibly relieved when he saw the pair of us approaching. The question of why was answered half a beat later when he said, “Toby. You didn’t kill him.”

“Killing him would be absolutely justified in the Undersea,” grumbled Dean. “Manipulating someone else’s mind is considered a declaration of war on a personal level, and murder is always acceptable during wartime.”

“Sometimes it really amazes me how much effort the Undersea put into finding ways to be allowed to kill each other,” said Marcia, with a small shake of her head. “Maybe we don’t need to go around finding more excuses for stopping someone’s dancing?”

“I don’t like it when people control my boyfriend’s mind,” said Dean. “I didn’t like it when Simon did it, I don’t like it when this asshole does it.”

“At least your mom isn’t likely to marry this guy,” said Quentin.

Dean grimaced. “Oh, don’t even joke,” he said. “Two dads are more than enough.”

“You seem like yourself again,” I said, focusing on Quentin.