One Salt Sea

by Seanan McGuire

  “Show-off,” I said. “I suppose you were too comfortable to turn back in the car?”

  “Cats aren’t built to sit like humans,” he replied. “Any reasonable position would have given me a concussion.”

  The image of Tybalt smacking his head against the roof of the car made me smile. “Fair enough. Come on.”

  “Will we be diving off any cliffs this evening?”

  I smirked. Goldengreen’s least popular entrance requires walking off the side of the cliff and hoping you’re in the right spot. Only the Selkies think this is fun. When they misjudge their entrance, they can turn into seals and enjoy the plummet to the ocean below. The rest of us . . . let’s just say that I have better taste in extreme sports.

  “We’ll be using the main entrance.” I held up my keys. “Apartment, car, secret entrance into my private kingdom beneath the proverbial hollow hill.”

  “Yes, but do you have a can opener?”

  “I’ll get right on that.” I led Tybalt out of the parking lot and toward a rusty-looking old shed. Its doors looked like they were barely holding on. Appearances can be deceiving. Inserting my key into a crack in the metal eight inches away from the visible keyhole, I turned it to the left, and chanted, “Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run. You’d run too, if a hungry Cait Sidhe was on your ass.” My magic rose around us in a veil of cut grass and copper, and the door to Goldengreen—the real door, the one that had nothing to do with keys or sheds—swung open.

  Tybalt gave me an amused look. “I assume that was for my benefit?”

  “Assume away.” I swept a hand toward the entrance. “After you.”

  Chuckling, he stepped through the open door. I pulled it shut behind me as I followed.

  There’s a moment of transition when you move between the mortal world and the interior of a knowe, a brief second where you aren’t sure where you are or how you got there. The disorientation faded as quickly as it came, and I turned to Tybalt, who was looking around the hall with undisguised curiosity.

  “Come on,” I said. “We need to find Marcia.”

  “I do adore a scavenger hunt,” he said dryly.

  Nobles are supposed to be innately connected to their knowes, able to sense the moods and states of their hollow hills. My connection is tenuous at best, thanks to the part where the knowe really regards the pixies and bogeys as its owners. I have to rely on more mundane means, like following the sound of voices down the hall and into the courtyard.

  If there was a goal in mind when Goldengreen’s courtyard was constructed, I don’t know what it was. The circular room looks like it should be outside, part of a large ornamental garden or something. The door opens onto the front level, which is small for a courtyard, since it’s only about sixty feet across. That’s because the walls are arranged in six shallow concentric tiers, each planted with a variety of flowers, herbs, and grasses. The top tier holds willows transplanted from Lily’s knowe before it sealed itself completely. Her former handmaids spend a lot of time with those trees, curling up among their roots and not saying anything to anyone. I think it helps them cope with the pain of losing her. I’m not going to be the one who stops them.

  Marcia was sitting on the edge of the polished brass fountain at the center of the room, chatting amiably with a pair of Satyrs. She looked up at the sound of our footsteps, and stood as soon as she realized who we were. “Toby! Is it true?”

  There was only one thing she could be asking me about. I nodded. “It’s true. The Undersea has declared war.”

  “Oh, oak and ash.” Marcia went pale. “What are we going to do?”

  “First? We’re going to let the Cait Sidhe in.” I gestured toward Tybalt. “The King of Cats has graciously extended his protection to us in these trying times.”

  Marcia turned to him, blinking. “Really?”

  If I’d asked that, he would have been offended that I was questioning his word. Because it was Marcia, he simply nodded, trying his best to look encouraging as he said, “Yes, really. It will be our honor.”

  “Tha—” She caught herself, and curtsied instead, suffusing the motion with every ounce of her gratitude. Most of the nobles in this Kingdom could take lessons from her on what a curtsy’s supposed to be.

  “It really is my pleasure,” Tybalt said.

  One of the Satyrs raised his hand, like a schoolchild requesting permission to speak, and said, “Your Excellency? Do you—I mean, do we—can we leave?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “If you want to leave the city, get away from the coast, if you can. Goldengreen will be open to you when you return.” Assuming it was still standing, which was a possibility I didn’t feel like voicing out loud.

  The Satyr nodded his appreciation and grabbed his companion’s hand, hauling him from the room. The sound of their hooves on the floor faded down the hall. I sighed. “Look, Marcia. I can’t stay—I need to get to Shadowed Hills—but I want you to tell anyone who asks what I just said. If they’re too scared to stay, they can go. They’ll be welcome when all this is over.”

  Marcia nodded solemnly. “I will. I’ll even tell the pixies.”

  “Good.” I paused. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

  “What is it?” Her expression turned wary in an instant, the face of someone who’s had their hand slapped one time too many for daring to reach beyond their station. I know that face all too well. Every changeling I’ve ever known has worn it way too often. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. You did something exactly right. Look, I’m going to be running around a lot until all this is taken care of. Someone needs to be able to make decisions when I’m not here. You’ve got the job, if you want it.”

  “What?” She blinked at me, anxiety fading into confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m making you my seneschal, Marcia. I should have done it months ago. I’m sorry.”

  “But—wait—really?”

  “Yeah, really. It’ll be my next official decree.”

  A smile broke through her amazement. “You should probably start making those, then.”

  “Yeah, probably.” I turned to Tybalt. “Did you get all that?”

  “Heard, and witnessed,” he said formally. Offering a deep bow to Marcia, he asked, “May I be the first to congratulate the new Seneschal of Goldengreen?”

  Marcia, looking stunned, just giggled.

  “Okay, good.” I looked between the two of them. “Now that we’ve got that taken care of, Tybalt and I need to get to Shadowed Hills. Can you manage things here?”

  Marcia nodded mutely.

  “Good. If you need anything, if you have any trouble at all, call the apartment. May is there, and she can get me a message. Otherwise—”

  “My subjects can always find me,” said Tybalt.

  “That, too,” I said. Stepping forward, I gave Marcia a quick hug. “You’re going to be fine. Call if you need anything.”

  “I will,” she whispered, and hugged me back. “I’ll make you proud of me.”

  “You already have. Open roads, Marcia.”

  “Open roads,” she echoed.

  I turned and walked back the way we’d come. Tybalt followed close behind me, leaving Marcia standing shell-shocked next to the fountain.

  Pitching his voice low, he said, “That was a kindness.”

  “No.” I smiled. “That was the right thing to do.”

  He gave me a thoughtful look, and nodded, not saying anything else as we left the knowe and walked to the car. He didn’t wait to be asked this time, but shifted straight to cat form, leaping through my open door to settle, purring, on the passenger seat.

  “Hope you like nineties rock,” I said, and turned the radio on, blasting Meatloaf. He was willing to do anything for love. Tybalt, meanwhile, was willing to take a nap while I drove. Cats never change.

  The lack of traffic extended past San Francisco. The Bay Bridge was practically deserte
d, and we made good time all the way to Paso Nogal Park, in Pleasant Hill. That’s where the mortal side of Sylvester’s demesne is anchored.

  The parking lot was empty when we arrived. No surprise there—humans find the park unsettling at night. It’s filled with strange shadows and noises they can’t explain. Standing on an active knowe can do that to people, and the rose goblins that throng around the place are fond of playing tricks on mortals. There’s not much I can do about that. If Luna won’t control the rose goblins, I certainly can’t.

  I left Tybalt’s door open as I stepped away from the car, studying the park, and waited there until I heard the door close behind me. “Now what?” asked Tybalt.

  “Now?” I turned to face him. “Now we go in.”

  He eyed me. “I don’t suppose they’ve installed a more convenient door since the last time I was here?”

  “You are feeling optimistic tonight.” On a whim, I reached over and took his arm. “Come on.”

  I know the route into Shadowed Hills better than almost anyone—practice makes perfect—but that didn’t stop Tybalt from practically running rings around me all the way up the hill. I was in the best shape of my life. Tybalt was still better, a point that was driven home when he reached the top of the hill a full ten steps ahead of me.

  He smirked. “Should we take the long way next time?”

  “Very funny.” A door appeared in the hollow oak. I knocked three times, and had barely pulled my hand away when the door opened, revealing a short, sleek-haired woman with gauzy mayfly’s wings. She looked harried, but she smiled when she saw me.

  “Toby! Hey, honey, I was just thinking about you. Largely in the capacity of ‘I wonder what she’s managed to break recently,’ sure, but . . .” She trailed off when she spotted Tybalt. She tilted her head, wings twitching. “The King of Dreaming Cats, I presume?”

  “You presume correctly,” said Tybalt.

  “Hi, Jin,” I said. “Is the Duke in? I need to see him.”

  Jin’s been Sylvester’s personal physician for as long as I can remember, but she’s only been short and dark for a few months. Ellyllon change appearance periodically, shedding their old skins like butterflies breaking out of cocoons. She swears it isn’t any more painful than losing a few strands of hair when you brush. I find that difficult to believe. Still, to each their own.

  “Given that people are taking potshots at his Undersea equivalent during formal events? Yes, he’s in.” She offered Tybalt her hand. “I’m Jin.”

  “Tybalt.” He took her hand and kissed it before letting go. “A pleasure.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?” Jin smiled wearily before turning to head into the knowe. “Come on. His Grace will want to see you.”

  “Right,” I said, and stepped inside.

  The entrance hall was bustling with pages and courtiers, all shuttling fabric-wrapped bundles into the ballroom. I looked toward Jin, raising an eyebrow in silent question. She shook her head.

  “Not my place, Toby, so don’t even ask.”

  “Right,” I repeated, frowning as I followed her down the hall. Tybalt paced silently behind me. I took an odd degree of comfort from his presence.

  Jin stopped at the throne room doors, giving us an apologetic look. “This is where I leave you,” she said. “I have some things I need to take care of. I only got the door because everybody else was busy.”

  “I’m pretty sure we can handle it from here,” I said.

  “Good.” Jin squinted at me. “You’re tired. Please get some sleep once you’ve made sure we don’t have to host a war.”

  “Is that an order?” I asked, amused.

  “Mmmm.” She turned to Tybalt. “You’re a big boy. If she doesn’t go to bed on her own, get some rope and tie her down.”

  I couldn’t even shake off my shock enough to sputter as she vanished in a hail of green glitter. Tybalt gave me an amused smile that I could swear was almost gentle as he reached past me and rapped on the throne room doors. They swung open.

  “After you,” he said.

  Gathering my dignity as best I could, I stepped inside.

  All of Shadowed Hills is built on the “way too big, way too gaudy” blueprint, and the throne room is no different. The walls are draped with watered silk in the Duchy’s colors, and the floor is checkerboard-patterned marble that always makes me feel like a misplaced chess piece. Tybalt’s footsteps are naturally silent, but even my shoes made no sound against the stone.

  The doors swung closed behind us, clicking shut with a snap like ice breaking.

  Luna was sitting on her throne on the dais at the head of the room, watching Sylvester pace. He’d set his Ducal circlet aside in favor of running his hands through his hair until it stuck up along the sides of his head in russet spikes. They both looked toward the sound of the door closing. Luna half-stood, and Sylvester stopped where he was. Neither said a word as we crossed to them and stopped in front of the dais, bowing.

  I was amused to see that Tybalt bowed deeper than I did. The Cait Sidhe aren’t part of the noble structure—they have their own hierarchy, sanctioned by Oberon himself—but they show respect when it suits them, and Tybalt respects the Torquills. There aren’t many nobles in Faerie who can say they’ve earned the respect of a King of Cats.

  “Are you all right?” asked Luna, shattering the silence. “We didn’t think we’d hear from you so soon.”

  “I’ve been digging around for information. Some of the things I’ve found have been . . .” I stopped, finally finishing lamely, “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  “Well, you just missed the Queen’s herald,” said Sylvester, in a tone that implied he would have been quite happy to have done the same. “Every landholder in the kingdom has been ordered to come to the aid of the crown—even if we’re too far inland to be directly affected, and would rather have played haven to those who aren’t equipped to fight, we still have to provide arms, and the warriors to wield them. I’m called to active duty. ‘Retirement’ is apparently a luxury I am no longer allowed.”

  “Every available hand is emptying the armory into the grand ballroom, in preparation for the Queen’s men coming to collect,” added Luna.

  That explained why Jin answered the door. I glanced automatically toward the western wall, asking, “Is Amandine . . . ?”

  “She’s summoned with the rest of us,” said Sylvester. “That is, she will be, if they can find her. I’m not sure they’ve even managed to find her tower.”

  I allowed a fleeting smile. “Mother always liked her privacy.” Privacy, insanity, they’re basically the same where Amandine’s concerned. It’s easier to understand how she gets away with it now that I know she’s Firstborn.

  Sylvester stopped pacing and moved to settle in his throne. Luna leaned over, taking his hand in hers. “Have you seen her recently?”

  “No.” I bit my lip, watching them. The fae don’t age, but we wear out when we push ourselves too hard. Thin lines were etched around Sylvester’s eyes, and Luna—always pale now that she’s lost her borrowed Kitsune skin—looked almost waxen. War is one of the few things that truly frightens the fae, because it represents an ending. Win or lose, there’s someone who doesn’t walk away. “Sylvester, I . . .”

  Tybalt’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. I looked toward him, blinking.

  “I believe this is better discussed without my presence,” he said. He offered a shallow bow to Sylvester and Luna as he stepped away. “I will wait for October in the hall, if you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” said Sylvester. He looked relieved. He’s known me long enough to know that my discomfort meant I was almost certainly about to say something he didn’t want to hear, and he’d feel better hearing it without someone who wasn’t family in the room. “If you need anything, Jin or Melly will be happy to provide it for you.”

  Things were worse than I thought if Jin was being drafted into helping the household staff with more than just opening the doors. I shot
Tybalt a grateful look, which he answered with a smile before turning and walking toward the doors. They swung open at his approach, swinging closed again behind him.

  I turned back to the Torquills. “Sylvester . . .”

  “I’m glad he’ll stand with you,” said Luna, pulling our attention to her. “I doubt Connor would. He didn’t stand with Rayseline.”

  “I’m not sure that’s fair,” I said carefully. Luna hadn’t commented on my relationship with Connor before that moment��something I’d been deeply grateful for, since I wasn’t planning to break up with him, no matter what she said. “She made her choices. He’s made his.”

  “Her choices were made for her.” Luna lifted one bone-white hand, looking at it thoughtfully. “Blood decides so much for us. All of us.”

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot, not sure what to say, although I was pretty sure pointing out that Connor didn’t choose Raysel in the first place wouldn’t go over well. Luna was right; in Faerie, blood will tell. I was starting to wonder how much of her calm had actually belonged to Hoshibara, the Kitsune girl whose skin Luna used to escape her father’s lands.

  “Rayseline was wed for diplomatic reasons,” said Sylvester sharply. “The choice to end the marriage was hers, and was made when she left her duties. Toby, please. What was so important that you had to come here to tell us?”

  I took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before I breathed out, and said, “I called a Glastig I know from Home and asked him about the kidnappings. He didn’t really reach beyond his roots after leaving Devin. He generally knows what’s going on in the underworld.”

  “And?” asked Sylvester.

  Here it was: the moment of truth. “He said the only person who was asking the right kind of questions was a red-haired girl with yellow eyes and a laugh like . . .” I couldn’t finish that sentence. “He described Rayseline.”

  Silence crashed down around us. Luna’s hand tightened on Sylvester’s. For his part, he simply closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out. Finally:

  “I see. I suppose, again, that blood will tell.” Sylvester opened his eyes. “What will you do?”