Chapter Text
Sylvester is not Etienne’s friend.
He is not, because they cannot simply be friends, not now and not ever, and for one simple, crystal clear reason. The eldest son of the House of Torquill, and Hero of two Realms, war veteran and respected advisor to the Queen in the Mists, his Grace the Duke of Shadowed Hills Sylvester Torquill, son of Septimius, son of Fómhar, daughter of her serene grace The Winter Rose best loved of Titania, stands as far above Etienne as the moon does above the hollow hills. He is greater than Etienne or his progeny will ever be and his will is law. The Lord is the Land. It is their oldest rule.
Etienne knows all of this and he also knows that did his august personnage Sylvester Torquill stand before him now, Etienne would be hard-pressed not to shake him and demand to know what right he thinks he has to throw Shadowed Hills into chaos once more with his absence. The Duke has left again and the Duchess’ indifference to the matter burns. The Knowe shifts and changes even as Etienne speaks, and it shifts to the Duchess’ whims now. There are roses - roses everywhere, choking the pathways, closing off halls. The air has grown cold once again and the servants are frightened. Now more than ever, Etienne needs the man who was not just his liege lord but his battlefield companion and friend back but if he cannot find Sylvester, then that man’s heirs will have to do.
He emerges into Tamed Lightning without announcement, without courtesy. He must find Countess O’ Leary. He must find the named heir, and if he can do that then perhaps -
“Oh thank Maeve,” Etienne says, gaze flitting over the room. He takes in the presence of Toby, Tybalt, and January, and searches the room again before he speaks further because for all his panic, Etienne is not fool enough to speak of this matter before strangers. “Oh thank Maeve, ” he repeats upon seeing the room empty of outsiders.
“Dean, I’ll call you back,” Toby says, and Etienne suddenly registers that she was on the phone. No matter - she’s hanging up now. She looks to Etienne, and Etienne cannot help the way his eyes close in relief, or the small, ragged breath he takes at the sight of two out of the three people he most hoped to find here in one room.
“October,” he says, and opens his eyes again. “Please - tell me that Lady Rayseline is with you. Tell me that her movements are accounted for.”
October’s eyes widen. She straightens, frowns, and for a moment she is the image of Amandine but then her gaze softens in concern and she is nothing like her mother at all.
“She’s upstairs,” she says. “And she hasn’t left the house except with me since she came to live with us. What’s happened?”
It is wrong, Etienne thinks, to feel the way he does. It is wrong to feel both consumed with relief that Sylvester’s daughter is safe and yet disappointed at the lack of anyone to blame for his current predicament. It is wrong, and therefore he will endeavor to do better. He straightens.
“Thank Oberon," he says, and if he were less concerned, less in need of urgent assistance, he might ask someone about the reason both October and her husband shift at that. He is no Adhene but he has always had a nose for guilt. Still- it can wait.
"Something is wrong," Countess O'Leary observes. "What's happened?"
This, Etienne thinks, is the hard part. He must admit to his failure. Worse, he must admit what the world must not know. Unless-
He looks at Simon Torquill's daughter, and another question springs to mind. It is a rational question and a normal suspicion, and it hurts Etienne's soul because he knows that October will not wish to hear it. He knows, too, that it is not fair and not kind but he must ask. He must, even knowing what he now knows about the Duke's brother.
"October," he starts. "Have you seen your father? Is he-"
"That had better," October interrupts, "be a question about his health. I'm going to pretend that it was, and inform you that my father is well. Better, in fact, than he's been in the last century and a half while he was enslaved by that bitch and abused by Amandine. I appreciate your concern and I’d like to know what the hell is going on."
Etienne flinches. There is part of him that wishes to flee- the part of him that insists that changeling or not, October Daye is the daughter of the ducal consort of Saltmist, niece to the Duke of Shadowed Hills, and second daughter to one of the First. He takes an instant to remind that part of him that this is October, the girl he’d mentored, and sighs.
“His Grace is missing,” he admits finally, and sees the moment that October’s eyes widen, anger replaced by quick understanding.
“Missing, or abdicating his duties again?” The King of Cats asks, and Etienne -
He wants to swear that the duke has been abducted. He wants to swear that Sylvester would never leave them to wonder and worry, but the truth is that he cannot, and so he swallows down his anger at the insult to his liege’s character and ignores the question.
“Will you help me find him?” he asks October. He has no right - not after what Sylvester has done to her, and yet he asks, because he must, and he hates himself for it. “I ask, I do not demand,” he says, trying to soften the blow. “You are a knight but -”
“But my liege has all but banished me from his knowe, and that means that I get to decide as his niece instead of his servant,” October says. There is steel in her voice even as she reaches backward for her husband’s hand. She does not cower. She does not meekly beg to serve.
Simon, Etienne thinks, should be proud of his daughter. He cannot bring himself to forgive the man, not yet, perhaps not ever, but -
But his youngest girl has grown into a fine woman, despite what Sylvester and her mother have done to her, and Etienne feels a swell of something dangerously like pride at the sight, even as he despairs silently. She will not agree, and she should not, and Etienne will deserve every moment of misery that follows for not intervening in the treatment that has estranged her from Shadowed Hills. He nods wordlessly.
“That is true,” he acknowledges. “I claim no obligation or duty.”
“That is why you are still standing,” Tybalt says, and October takes a deep breath. She does not contradict her husband, though.
“I want to say yes,” she says. “For your sake, and Sylvester’s sake, and Raysel’s sake. I want to, Etienne, truly. But -”
She cuts herself off, and Etienne bows his head in understanding. She cannot, because somehow, her husband or perhaps her father or someone has finally made her understand the meaning of a breach of trust and duty. She will not, because Sylvester has banished her, and Luna has banished her, and once more will be a binding that can never be removed, and she cannot risk it. She will not, although it grieves her heart sore as Etienne’s friend, because her allies now stand on the other side of the divide Sylvester has dug with his own two hands, and she cannot turn on them sufficient to work once again for the Mad Duke. She is right to refuse, and yet it still hurts.
Etienne cannot say what he wishes to. He cannot say that he cannot bear to hold the knowe alone this time - that it will break him and place his small family in danger. He cannot say the words, and in some small part of him, he still hopes he may not need to do so. He looks to October and Tybalt, and that is when January steps forward.
“Sir Etienne,” she says, and Etienne knows fear once more. He has breached her wards, intruded in her home, ignored a Countess of the Blood and-
And she is looking at him with compassion and no small degree of understanding.
“You need help,” she states baldly. “Shadowed Hills’ fate affects Tamed Lightning, and it also impacts Dreamer’s Glass. Am I still Uncle Sylvester’s heir?”
Oak and ash and thorn and yew and blessed Oberon, Etienne thinks. He is saved.
“You are,” he confirms.
“Then it’s my responsibility to step in here, and my responsibility to call for aid. October, if I ask, can you accept? It’s not the favor I’d intended to ask, but I’d say it’s more important right now.”
October blows out a relieved breath.
“Yeah,” she answers. “I can do it for you. I’m sorry, Etienne, I’d have done it for you, too, but -”
“I know,” he says. “I do not blame you. I still owe you my daughter’s life.”
She shakes her head.
“No,” she says, “you really don’t. Where do you want me to start looking?”