Stacy made a disgusted noise, throwing her hands up, and turned to stalk back to the room she’d claimed as her prep space. “It’s fine, let her go,” said May when I started to turn and follow. “You know how she is.”
“I do,” I agreed, slumping as I turned back toward the group. “I mean, I thought she knew how I was, too, but I do know how she is.” Stacy had been like this since we were children, upset when thwarted, slow to recover from a seeming offense, then all smiles and sunshine once the moment passed, like a thing only mattered while it was actually happening, and could be dismissed as past and resolved the second it was done. Me being stabbed had apparently offended the princess wedding fantasy she’d constructed around the occasion.
To be fair, we’d spent the normal amount of time daydreaming about our weddings when we were children, and she had always wanted the big ceremony and the impossible ideal. And she was the one who’d gotten a local community center and a family friend ordained by the Universal Life Church. I was about to live her dream, and I wasn’t taking it nearly seriously enough to deserve it.
“Here, you look like you could use these,” said Kerry, pushing two cookies into my hand and offering an encouraging smile. “I’m just going to go talk her down.” She handed the tray to Tybalt, and followed Stacy’s path to the changing room, letting herself inside with a little wave for the rest of us.
Walther pushed himself off the floor and moved to join Cassandra, pausing along the way to collect the tray of cookies. “What?” he asked when Tybalt lifted an eyebrow. “They’re good cookies!”
“They are at that,” I agreed, looking at the two in my hand. Chocolate chunk and maple ginger, from the look and smell of them. “But we still have the whole Doppelganger and boobytraps issue to deal with.”
“Spoilsport,” said Raj.
“This was an attack on the Mists as much as it was an attack on the High Kingdom of the Westlands,” said Nolan, with unusual gravity. “Had the Doppelganger impersonating the Lady Nessa been successful in the attempt to harm the High King after Sir Daye’s arrival, the attack would no doubt have been attributed to her reputation as a king-breaker. Even if we could prove she had been in no way involved, the rumor would have spread and undermined any faith in the High King’s heir.”
“Princess Penthea is still too young to inherit without a regent, and very few would stand for High Queen Maida ruling alone,” said Nessa. “I cannot speak to the reasons why, but they are well known among the highest ranking of the nobles, the ones who circle like wolves, seeking to sink their teeth into the first available throne.”
“So you call forth the Crown Prince from wherever he’s hiding,” said Walther, not looking at Quentin himself, who was sitting stiff-backed in his spot on the couch. Walther nonchalantly bit a cookie. “He hasn’t reached his majority yet, but he should still be able to weigh down the throne long enough to convince the wolves to go after an easier target.”
“There was a rumor that he had been concealed in the Mists,” said Nessa carefully. “Sunk deep in the concealing gray, where no one would be able to find him. If so, the rumor ran, he would accompany Sir October’s party to the knowe for the wedding. The timing of this matter is no coincidence.”
“What do you think now?” asked Raj.
“I had more of the raising of that boy than his own mother when he was very small, and I would know him,” said Nessa. “He is not here.”
Quentin flinched. Chelsea squeezed his shoulder. Neither of them said anything, and we let the moment pass without comment. His disguise, which had seemed so ridiculously extreme when he bartered it from the Luidaeg, was seeming more and more like it was going to be his salvation. It’s funny how things work out sometimes. The things you think will save you don’t, or can’t, or won’t. The things you thought were little, or unnecessary, change everything.
“So the assassin replaced Nessa because it recognized Nessa as a way to get to Toby,” said Cassandra slowly. “That doesn’t explain why it didn’t know which one of us she was. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for whoever hired them to give them a picture to refer to?”
We all looked to Walther as the one who’d survived a coup against the crown in recent memory. Maybe not this crown, but the principle was the same. He frowned, taking a bite of his latest cookie, and swallowed without chewing. “During the siege of Silences, the older purebloods seemed to go into this—this fugue, almost. Like they thought it was somehow still the fifteenth century. I’m not sure anyone who was plotting sedition against the crown would be able to send a picture. It wouldn’t even occur to them.”
“Also, I’m pretty sure anyone who’s plotting sedition against the high throne isn’t going to be able to get April to jailbreak their phone,” said Chelsea.
“I did not understand a word you just said apart from ‘sedition’ and ‘April,’ ” I said. “But I’m going to assume you’re probably right: the people who would be plotting governmental insurrection on the East Coast are unlikely to have modern access to the Internet. Which may be useful.”
“How so?” asked Jazz warily.
I grinned. “They don’t know exactly what to expect when they look at October Daye. They probably know she has mostly brown hair, pale eyes, and a bone structure that could pass for Daoine Sidhe, even if it’s not quite right. Oh, and a little bit of mortal blood. That’s going to be key.”
“Meaning . . . ?” said May.
“Meaning if we can get Stacy to come out of the room, we have four potential brides,” I said. “You, Stacy, and Cassandra are still mostly brunettes who can almost but not quite pass as Daoine Sidhe. And you’re a pureblood, but because of when you were made, you still ping changeling to people who want to go looking for the indicators.”
May nodded, not moving as she looked to Tybalt. “Well, you heard her, big guy. Sounds like we’re getting hitched.”
“Indeed,” he said dryly. “I have long been awaiting this happy day.”
“Too bad I don’t like dudes,” said May.
“Too bad I don’t share,” said Jazz.
May laughed. I turned to Nessa. “Since you got stuffed in a storeroom while your quarters were turned into a murder maze, I’m pretty sure we can trust you not to be working with the people behind all this. Can we trust you not to say anything about setting decoys to keep the focus off of me?”
Nessa nodded slowly. “I heard rumors you were very hard to harm,” she said, voice careful.
“You mean ‘virtually indestructible, heals like it’s my job’?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s true. May doesn’t heal as fast as I do, but she’s even harder to cause serious harm to.”
“I, on the other hand, bleed like a normal person, and if you hit me, I will be hurt, and not recover from being hurt until I’m given the normal quantity of time to heal,” said Cassandra. “I’ve seen the kind of damage you can take, Aunt Birdie. I don’t want anyone to mistake me for you, or vice versa.”
“But if I stayed with you, I’m better with a sword than anyone expects a chemistry professor from Berkeley to be,” said Walther. “I was trained by the same master as trained my cousin, and he was Crown Prince. Our parents needed to be able to trust that either one of us could defend ourselves if we were caught without a guard. So just stick with me and you’ll be safe.”
“I feel certain the next words out of my lady’s mouth will be words I have no interest in hearing,” said Tybalt, tone dry.
I twisted to look at him, a strained smile on my face. “And on that count, I’m going to need you to stay with Stacy.”
“No,” said Tybalt. “Absolutely not. I have already been elf-shot and dropped you into eternal darkness since arriving in this frigid kingdom. I will not free you from my company, loose to find whatever troubles you desire.”
“This isn’t about finding trouble,” I objected. “This is about saving the High Kingdom.�
�
“Really? Because it sounds to me as if it’s about finding yet another excuse not to marry me!”
“I feel like I maybe shouldn’t be here,” said Nessa nervously.
Oberon, who had been silent through the whole conversation, nodded in commiseration. Great. We were even making the King of Faerie unhappy by fighting in front of him.
“I wish people would stop acting like me not swooning over the idea of a big diplomatic wedding means I don’t want to be married to you,” I said. “I agreed to your proposal because I wanted to be your wife. I still want to be your wife. I never thought I’d have the chance to marry the man I loved or live in a world where you were willing to love me. So excuse me if I’m currently focused on trying to keep the High Kingdom from falling before you can stick a ring on my finger, or whatever weird-ass tradition the Divided Courts use instead!”
“Yes,” said a voice from the doorway. We all turned, me first, to behold the High King standing there, unruffled and perfect as ever, flanked by a whole new contingent of guards. The ones who had survived the earlier encounter at Nessa’s quarters were there, but standing back, letting the fresh guards take the lead. “I, too, would prefer that we guarantee the safety of my crown and Kingdom before such time as we move on to your wedding.” He smiled, but his eyes were sharp.
“So can we focus?”
twelve
“Hey,” said the Luidaeg. “Be respectful. You’re talking to guests.”
“This is my knowe and my Kingdom and my continent,” said the High King. “Unless you can produce a title that proves your rank above my own, even being Firstborn of Maeve does not place you over me in my own halls.” He bowed then, exaggeratedly. “My lady.”
For the first time, I could really see where Quentin got it. I’d always assumed I was the reason he thought smarting off to the sea witch was a good idea, but he’d grown accustomed to the idea with faintly horrifying speed, all things considered. I fully turned to face the High King, taking a half-step backward so I could lean against Tybalt’s chest. He responded by sliding his arms around my waist. Even mad at me, he knew how to present a united front.
“Highness,” said Nessa, rising and stumbling across the room to stop a few feet from the King, dipping herself into a deep and formal curtsy. “I have failed you. I am so very, profoundly sorry, and as soon as I’m informed that I may safely enter the rooms I have occupied during my service here, I will pack any things you deem mine to take with my unworthy self.”
“Well, yes,” said the High King, sounding baffled. “You’ll need to move your things to new quarters while yours are cleaned and sterilized for you to move back into them.”
She glanced at him through her hair, clearly startled. “But—but I have failed you.”
“Yes, Nessa, I heard you the first time.” High King Aethlin shook his head, looking pleadingly at Nolan. “Does your sister have to deal with this every time one of her vassals is overpowered?”
“My sister’s vassals include Sir Daye,” said Nolan blandly. “She rarely contends with failure, so much as she contends with unrealistic changes to the status quo that will of necessity have ramifications for the entire kingdom.”
“Hey,” I said, without heat.
“Even so,” sighed Aethlin. He returned his focus to Nessa. “Did you ask the Doppelganger knowingly into our halls? Did you surrender yourself to danger with no fear for your life or attempt to defend mine? Did you create a situation where someone could be harmed intentionally and with malicious purpose?”
“I—n-no, sire, I would never! I fought as hard as I could without losing my own life in the process!” Nessa sounded genuinely horrified at the very thought that she could have played an intentional role in a plot against her regent.
“Then be at peace and cease this silly talk of leaving us,” said Aethlin. “You are my seneschal, for as long as you remain loyal and wish to be. I know, in my heart, that you will still be standing by my side when my children return home and offer you their warm regards.”
Nessa ducked her head, clearly overcome. The Luidaeg rose and moved to stand behind her, eyes on the High King.
“That was kindly done,” she said. “Too many in your position would have let it turn them hard and treated her as disposable.”
“Too many in my position have forgotten what it means to serve,” he replied, and turned to me. “Sir Daye, I beg your indulgence, but a matter has arisen that requires your attendance.”
“Look, I know we’re a feudal system and everything, but we’re living in a modern world,” I said, exasperated. “My underwear has elastic. I have a phone. We can talk like normal people. No one’s going to take points off the final score if we stop sounding like we gargle with bad BBC dramas.”
“Yes, but where’s the fun in talking like normal people?” asked Aethlin. “Half the time I’m a King of Faerie. The other half, I’m standing in line at Tim Hortons and some asshole in a hockey uniform has just taken the last sour cream glazed. We have to wallow in the aesthetic when we get the chance.”
“I will overthrow your kingdom myself,” I threatened genially. Not genially enough: several of his guard reached for their swords.
High King Aethlin sighed and raised a hand for them to stop. “Your reputation precedes you, Sir Daye. Could you please not make jokes about sedition?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said.
“Appreciated,” he said. “As I was trying to say, I need you to come with me. The Doppelganger we captured before is awake and willing to talk, but only to you.”
“Me? Why?” It probably shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Half the homicidal jerks I deal with are out to get me in specific, and the other half think if they just bat their eyes and word their pitches for world domination correctly, they’ll be able to sell me on their new form of governance, which will somehow be so much better than the one we have already.
That and a timeshare in Annwn and I’ll be set for life.
“That part is less than clear,” he said. “My Court Seer will be in attendance. I don’t know if you’ve ever encountered one of the Adhene before.”
“Can detect lies and have a nasty tendency to kill people who try to lie to them,” I said curtly. “Will he try to kill someone for lying in his presence if they’re not lying to him?”
“No, he’ll just become agitated. Will you come?” A flicker of amusement crept into his voice. It wasn’t mirrored in his eyes. “I could order you, but I prefer not to command my guests to do things without their willing consent.”
“This is one of those things where you ask me for my consent, and it’s cool and all, but if I say no, you order me, and I have to do it anyway, isn’t it?” I asked.
Aethlin nodded. “It’s good to see that you understand the way things work,” he said.
“Right. I guess I’m going with you. Tybalt, Cassie, you’re with me.”
Walther, May, and Quentin all immediately protested, their voices overlapping and rendering their words unintelligible. I put my hands up.
“Quiet,” I snapped. To my shock, they all obliged. “Fiancé with good reason to be anxious about my safety and niece who can occasionally see the future, coming with me to a controlled interview with a Doppelganger who has been securely restrained and isn’t going to be stabbing anyone else today, much less me. Right, sire?”
“Right,” said Aethlin, amused again. Glad to know I could serve as someone’s traveling comedy show. If this whole heroism thing didn’t work out, maybe I could get a new job as a court jester.
“Tell Stacy where we’ve gone, and catch her up on the decoy plan,” I said to the Luidaeg, as we moved toward the door.
“If you can call that a plan,” she said mildly though she didn’t argue otherwise.
Oberon didn’t say anything or move away from his place against the wall, where he lurked as unnoticed a
s ever. What was even the point of having the King of All Faerie back among us if he was just going to stand around like some sort of creeper, not helping, not contributing what had to be a considerable store of knowledge and experience to the cause of keeping the people I cared about from getting hurt?
But maybe that was the reason he’d left. I knew he’d gone voluntarily from the stories, if not from the man himself: with his queens gone, he’d been a danger to the balance of Faerie, something that made a lot of sense when I considered that he was supposed to have an amount of power that was, “as much greater than his children as His children were to their own.” With Maeve and Titania gone and most of the Firstborn either dead or missing, he could have been a god without raising his voice. Considering he’d been kind enough to leave us rather than hurt us once before, I didn’t think he wanted to be a god.
But that didn’t make it any easier to feel like we had a literal deus ex machina following us around, not doing anything, demonstrating his power only in how good he was at blending into the background. Someone as strong as he was should have been lighting up the air like a beacon, making it difficult to breathe. Instead, he was as much a part of the scenery as a courtier at a royal banquet, basically furniture that occasionally moved and refilled your water glass. I’d done that job a few times in my youth, before Sylvester had figured out that I was constitutionally unsuited for any position that required me to make nice with people who considered themselves more important than I was.
Which did nothing to explain why I was now following the High King of the Westlands through his own knowe, trailed by a King of Cats and a changeling of blended descent, whose appearance seemed to have been cobbled together from recessive traits stolen out of all three lines. It was the only thing I could think of that explained the tufts of fur that tipped her ears, like a lynx, or the blonde-to-brown gradient of her hair.
Magical genetics means never having to say, “Dd your Mommy have an inappropriate relationship with the milkman?” I guess. Titania only knows what my own kids were going to look like, blending Dóchas Sidhe and Cait Sidhe genetics. The thought was, as always, a pleasant one; the idea of a little girl with Tybalt’s eyes, or a little boy with pale blond hair and a serious expression, could get me through a lot. I couldn’t wait to meet them.
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