Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

I heard, rather than saw, what came next.

“Take the reins!” shouted Etienne. The smell of cedar smoke and limes drifted back to where I was lying, and the wagon started moving again, rattling across the uneven ground with bone-shaking jerks and bounces. I was in enough pain that I didn’t care as much as I might have. I just lay there, watching the sky pass overhead, and wondered what was going to happen.

More gunshots in the distance; more screaming from the Folletti. And then a hand grabbed hold of the foot of the wagon, and Duchess Treasa Riordan yanked herself up into view. Her face was distorted by rage, and there were bits of broom in her red-black hair. She grabbed for me, snarling, “All you had to do was stay out of the way, you stupid little half-blood bitch! I was giving you people what you always wanted! I was getting out of your precious territory!”

I managed to shove myself out of her grasp—barely—before saying, “You shouldn’t have started by kidnapping kids if you didn’t want me to get involved.” I kicked at her hand. She shifted her grip out of my reach, and kept pulling herself up, while Quentin continued to drive us, full-speed, toward the portal.

Riordan reached into her shirt, producing a slender knife. It was a ritual blade, the kind some Daoine Sidhe purebloods use when a spell calls for bloodletting—like the tool you use to hurt yourself can somehow make the act less painful. And it didn’t matter, because I was already so hurt that one more injury might well push me over the point of no return. I tried to scramble farther toward the front of the wagon, pushing against the wood with my ankles and elbows.

Light glinted off the ruby around her neck. The ruby…in Samson’s earliest memories, she’d been wearing a diamond, but after she got hold of Chelsea, the stone changed color. And Riordan made blood charms. Suddenly, I understood how she’d been calling Chelsea back to her over and over again. All it took was a little bit of blood. Any extra would have been used to craft the teleportation charms she’d been giving to Samson.

He was the one who opened the door to the Fire Kingdoms. He killed Tybalt. The realization made me furious and tired at the same time—it was just one thing too many.

And not everything had been dealt with. “Changeling children exist to be disposable,” said Riordan, getting to her feet. She straightened, holding the knife in front of her as she effortlessly kept her balance in the jouncing wagon. “Why else would anyone lower themselves to copulating with a mortal?”

I kicked at her again. She stepped aside. “Children are never disposable!”

“Spoken like someone who should have been drowned before she could grow up to bother her betters.” Riordan shook her head. “You’re still a changeling. Even if you spoil things for me, no one’s going to be able to touch me.”

“Quentin’s not a changeling,” I gasped, levering myself into a half-seated position, with my shoulders braced against the back of the driver’s platform. Raising my voice, I shouted, “Quentin! Drive faster!”

“The horses don’t go any faster than this!” Quentin shouted back. He sounded strained, but not worried. That could only mean one thing.

He didn’t know Riordan was in the wagon.

Riordan herself grinned, clearly coming to the same conclusion, and took a step toward me. I fumbled my own knife from my belt, holding it in front of me. I wasn’t going to scream. No matter what, I wasn’t going to scream. If there was any chance of Quentin getting out of here—if he could keep his panicked horses under control long enough to get to the portal that Chelsea was still holding open—then I had to make sure he would take it, and that meant not distracting him with my own impending stabbing.

“I really hate you,” I muttered, trying to get into a defensible position. It wasn’t working. I’d lost too much blood, and my body was giving up on me.