"If you keep going," I told her, "you are going to destroy yourself, Lily, and everyone you brought with you, and a lot of innocent people are going to die."
"Finish it, Lily," Maeve called. "I told you they would lie. Mortals always lie, and that is why we must stand together. We cannot allow ourselves to be divided. Put him down and we will complete what we have begun."
"Lily, please," I said. "Don't take my word for it. Don't believe me. But be certain. Find out for yourself. Then you'll know. You don't have to do this."
The Summer fire vanished abruptly.
Lily stood over me, her hair mussed, her naked body so beautiful, it hurt. She spoke in a quiet, dreadfully numb voice. "You can't tell me that," she said. "Not you. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted pain and death and fear and war? Do you think I wanted this mantle, this responsibility?" Her eyes welled, though her expression didn't change. "I didn't want the world. I didn't want vast riches, or fame, or power. I wanted a husband. Children. Love. A home that we made together. And that can never happen now." The tears fell, and as the heat, the fury, came back into her voice, the fire gathered around her again. "Because of you. Because you killed Aurora. Because you made me into this. You raise your hand against my champion, my friend, and when you are defeated you dare tell me what I must and must not do?"
"Lily, please," I said. "You have a choice."
Maeve was laughing again in the background, an Arkham Asylum kind of laugh that echoed across the bare, burned ground.
"Now," Lily said, her burning voice bitter. "Now you give me a choice." The ministar flared to life in her palm again. "Thus do I choose, you son of a bitch. Knight of Winter, burn and die."
I got it, I think. Or at least, I got most of it. Lily had spent her life a victim because of her luminous beauty. Lloyd Slate had been the last man to abuse her, but I doubted he was the first. All her life, she had been shut away from making choices, but she clearly had not wanted to be part of the world of Faerie; as a changeling, she could have Chosen to become a full faerie being at any time-and she hadn't. Then when I killed Aurora, I had even taken the choice to remain human away from her.
I hadn't meant to do that when I killed Aurora, but that fact made no difference in the outcome. I hadn't just killed Aurora that night. In many ways, I'd effectively killed Lily, too. I'd thrown her into a world where she was lost and afraid. A grieving and furious Titania had doubtless not been the supportive mentor figure Lily had needed. And even if she'd been a newly minted immortal, she must have been horribly angry, and sad, and afraid-and lonely.
Easy prey for Maeve. Easy prey for Nemesis. I wasn't sure whether there was anything about that entire situation that I could have changed, even if I'd known that it needed changing, but I still felt like I was the one at fault. Maybe I was. It had been my choice that changed everything.
Maybe it was fitting that Lily kill me, in turn.
Her fiery eyes seared into mine as she launched the little star at my heart.
Chapter Forty-nine
There was a flash of silver, and the little star bounced off of the mirror-bright flat of Fix's long sword.
It soared into the earth a dozen yards away and hit the ground with a flash and a howl of heated air, creating a brief column of white flame that, presumably, had been intended to replace my head and neck.
Fix was holding himself up on one elbow, and held the sword in his left hand. He looked like hell, but he made a single deft rolling motion and came onto his feet as if he didn't weigh anything.
And he came to his feet between Lily and me.
"Lily!" Fix said. "What is wrong with you?"
Eyes of flame regarded him. "You . . . you're all right?"
"I said that," I said. My voice might have squeaked a little. My heart rate was up.
"Harry, shut up," Fix said. "Lily, look at him. He isn't a threat to anyone."
I guess I must have looked kind of bad, but still . . . "Hey," I said.
Fix twitched his hips and kicked me in the chest. It wasn't hard, but in my condition it didn't need to be. It knocked me over.
"Sir Knight . . ." Lily said. "I . . . Fix, it burns."
"Stop this," he urged quietly. "Let's get out of here, find someplace quiet for you to meditate until you've got it under control again."
"I need to . . . He tried to hurt you."
Fix's voice hardened. "The ground is burned black, Lily," he said. "And there's frost all over my mail. There are burns all over his arms and shoulders, but I wake up fine, lying in the only grass left on the hilltop." He held up his sword. The last six inches or so of the blade were simply gone, ending in a melted mess. The point must have been lying outside the area my shield had covered. "But it was hot enough to do this. Forget what anyone said. Who was protecting me, Lily?"
She stared at Fix, the furious fire still curling around her, lifting her hair, burning from her eyes. Then she closed them with a groan, and the fires went out. Lily turned her head sharply away from me. "This is too much," I heard her whisper. "I'm going to fly apart."
"My lady?" Fix asked.
Lily made a snarling sound, turning eyes that still flickered with embers toward me. "Stay where you are, Sir Knight," she said, spitting the last word. "If you move or lift weapon or power against our purpose, I will not show mercy a second time." Then she turned and swept back toward the pyramid formation of Sidhe assaulting Demonreach. Her feet left clear imprints in the soot and ash on the ground, and little fires flickered up in the wake of her steps, dying away again when she had passed. She did not say a word, just lifted her hand and again something like an invisible sandblaster started pouring into Demonreach.
I watched, too drained to move more. I did, I noted, have burns on my arms. I didn't feel them. They didn't look like anything epic, but they were there.
"Fix," I said. "Thank you."
He looked at me, his expression guarded, but nodded his head slightly. "It seemed I was in your debt, Winter." His eyes sparkled, just for a second. "Couldn't have that."
I found myself laughing weakly. "No. No, it might break something."
"It broke my damned wrist." He snorted. "My jaw isn't happy either. Good punch."
"I cheated," I said.
"Our business, there's no such thing," he said. "I should have known you were goosing me, talking like that. Most of the fighting I've done, there hasn't been much in the way of taunt and insult."