Ashes of Honor

Raj didn’t fight him. If anything, he looked relieved. Glass green eyes brimming with tears, he looked up at Tybalt and repeated hopelessly, “I’m here to kill you.”

“With a firearm? In a fiefdom belonging to the Divided Courts? My dearest boy, do you truly believe this is a fight you could win?” Tybalt’s voice was soft, his words reasoned and calm. I didn’t feel nearly that serene, and I wasn’t the one who’d just had a gun pointed at me.

Raj shook his head. His eyes flicked to me, desperation evident in their depths, before returning to Tybalt.

“I’m sorry,” said Tybalt, still calm. “I didn’t hear that.”

“N-no, Uncle,” said Raj. He swallowed hard, and added, “I figured it was a fight I’d lose. I hoped it was.”

“But you came.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who sent you?”

Raj said nothing.

Tybalt sighed. “This is senseless, and we do not have the time. October?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Can my beloved nephew, the assassin, stay with you for a short time? I fear the Court of Cats may not be safe for him at present.”

I glanced toward Quentin, who shook his head, looking as baffled as I felt. Right. We were winging it again. That’s my favorite way to deal with crazy. “Sure,” I said. “Raj knows he’s always welcome in my home.”

“Thank you,” said Tybalt solemnly. It was the third time he’d thanked me in an hour. It was starting to feel like something I could get used to. He turned his attention back to Raj and said, “If you would like, I can banish you. It would be a fitting punishment for a failed challenge to my throne. I’d prefer not to do so. I’ve spent a great deal of time and energy preparing you to take my place. We both know you’re not ready and that you have no desire to depose me like this, without honor or the validity of fair combat. Now. What did he tell you?”

Raj’s face fell. I’d only seen him look that miserable once before, the day his mother died. Then he threw himself into Tybalt’s arms, heedless of the blood covering the older Cait Sidhe. “He said I had to come here and kill you, you were dying anyway and if I didn’t, I’d be useless, because I wouldn’t get the throne, and then he’d kill everybody! Quentin and Jazz and everybody!” He sniffled before adding, “He said Toby was already dead.”

I raised my hand. “Not dead.”

“Who said he was going to kill me?” asked Quentin.

“I’m pretty sure that was Raj’s dad,” I replied.

“He said he gutted you like a fish,” said Raj. He pulled away from Tybalt, just far enough to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand. “There was no way you’d survive that.”

“Surprise,” I said grimly. “Tybalt? Is this normal?”

“Not in the slightest.” Tybalt pushed Raj the rest of the way away from him, holding his nephew and heir at arm’s-length. “Raj, I am sorry to do this, but I have no choice. Your father has seen to that. Do you stand with him? Or do you refute him as your parent and stand with me?”

Raj’s eyes went wide. “What?”

Tybalt sighed. “You were misled, and I am sorry. I allowed this to happen. I knew he wanted you to hold power because he never could, and I allowed it because I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to know your mother’s eyes. I wanted to give you what most Princes never have. I was a fool. Perhaps your father is right, and I am unfit to be King—but you are unprepared. If you are loyal to him, run. Go to him, tell him you failed and have to flee, because otherwise, I will be forced to kill you both. Do you understand?”

Raj nodded mutely.

“Good. If you are loyal to me…stay. Your father will be punished for what he has done, but you are still a Prince, and you are mine to punish or to pardon.” Tybalt looked at Raj, hope and anguish both clear in his face. “The choice is yours. The choice is always yours.”

It sometimes seems like Faerie reserves the hardest choices for the children. Raj bit his lip, glancing past Tybalt to me. His eyes widened again when he noticed my shredded shirt. Then they narrowed, his expression hardening. He turned back to Tybalt. “I won’t help you kill my father,” he said.

“I wasn’t planning to ask you to. Believe it or not, I have long since tired of killing.”

Raj nodded. “Okay.”

“Just ‘okay’?” asked Tybalt, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay,” repeated Raj. He stepped back and knelt, seeming not to notice the blood soaking through his pants. “My King, I beg forgiveness for my actions. I was misled.”

“I know, Raj,” said Tybalt tiredly. “Rise.”

“Being a King sort of sucks,” I said.

Quentin wrinkled his nose. “So does your outfit.”

“Blood is in this season.” I cleared my throat. “If we’re done with the political upheaval, can we move on to finding Chelsea, figuring out what Riordan thinks she’s doing, and stopping Samson from turning the Court of Cats against us? Because those all seem like high-priority items, and instead, we’re just standing around getting blood on everything in sight.”

“You need new pants,” said Quentin. “And a new shirt. And maybe new hair.”

“And we’re missing the point,” I muttered.