She looked at him blankly. “What?”
Walther sighed and let her go. “See, this is why I never have anyone to talk to. My students have ruined me.”
“This is fun and all, but we should probably be heading for the knowe,” I said. “Lowri, is there anyone who can help me with my suitcase? It’s pretty heavy.”
“I’ll get it,” she said, and started toward the open trunk of my car. I shrugged and followed her. Glastig are a hell of a lot stronger than they look, and what was almost too much for me to carry would be nothing to her.
As I had expected, she hefted my suitcase like it was nothing. I retrieved the backpack that held my toiletries and the sword I tried my best to avoid wearing. Belting it around my waist made all this feel real. This was happening. Whether I liked it or not, it was happening.
May, meanwhile, was eyeing Walther suspiciously. “Toby’s right, though,” she said. “You never told us you were related to the ruling family of Silences.”
He shrugged. “You never asked.”
Lowri walked back over to them, carrying my suitcase in one hand. “If you’ll leave your keys with me, we can move your car to a more secure parking space,” she said. “Duchess Lorden has agreed to grant us the use of a lot she owns near here.”
“Of course the Undersea owns a parking lot near Muir Woods,” I said, pulling my keys out of my pocket and dropping them into Lowri’s waiting palm. “Why wouldn’t they? Mermaids need a place to keep their cars, right?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” asked Lowri. She started walking. Lacking anything better to do, and any way to get out of the situation, the rest of us moved with her. Lowri, Tybalt, and I took the lead, while May, Quentin, and Walther lagged behind—May and Quentin because of exhaustion and luggage, Walther because he wasn’t in a hurry. I couldn’t blame him. He was as trapped as the rest of us.
Lowri glanced back a few times as we walked. Finally, when we were starting up the side of the hill, she said, “I’m not sure he is who he says he is.”
“You mean Walther,” I said.
“Yes. He looks so much like Prince Torsten . . .”
“If he says he’s not your missing prince, he’s not. The person who introduced me to him vouched for him. She said he was a good guy, and she never said anything about him being a prince in hiding. I think she would have told me.” Walther had started his time in the Bay Area in the Japanese Tea Gardens, which had been held by a woman named Lily. She was an Undine, and had known my mother for years before I was born. She’d always been good to me. If he’d been keeping secrets that could harm me, she would have said so. I had faith in that.
“I thought I knew all the members of the royal family,” said Lowri. “I was training to serve in the guard. Torsten had many cousins, but none by the name of ‘Walther.’”
“So he changed his name to keep himself out of trouble,” I said. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Leave it be, all right? He’s coming with me, and I’ve trusted him with my life before.”
“As you say,” said Lowri—but she glanced back at Walther one more time, frowning like she knew the answer she wanted was somehow just out of reach.
I shook my head and kept on climbing.
Arden was waiting in the clearing at the top of the hill, standing a good ten feet outside the doors of her own knowe. Her guards were behind her, holding the open door. It struck me that this was the first time since Lowri had left the false queen for the true one when I had seen her on duty but outside of her armor. She really was standing as Arden’s seneschal, at least for now.
Madden’s sister Tia was also there, holding herself slightly apart, watching the scene with cold eyes. She looked angry. I understood the sentiment.
“Are these to be your companions?” asked Arden, eyes going from me to the small group straggling up the hill behind me. “I’d offer you my guard, but I can’t do that. I need you to understand that whatever happens once you leave my lands will be avenged, but it won’t be prevented.”
“I do understand that,” I said. If the King of Silences had me arrested, elf-shot, or even killed, Arden could respond. She couldn’t send someone with me to make sure that it never happened in the first place. Pureblood politics are strange at the best of times, and unbearably complicated all the rest of the time. “I need something from you, though.”
Arden blinked. “What’s that?”
“Blood. I have an alchemist,” I indicated Walther, “and being able to access your magic might make the difference between a strategic retreat and a massacre. Nolan’s would be better, but yours would be good.”
She relaxed marginally. “We anticipated this request. Tia?” The Cu Sidhe stepped forward, handing Arden a carved redwood box. Arden handed it, in turn, to me, indicating that I should open it.
Lifting the lid revealed four crystal vials, each full of a dark red substance that I had no trouble accepting as the Queen’s blood. It would hold her power. If Quentin or I consumed it, we could use it to open teleport gates, just like she did. After Walther had treated it, anyone would be able to use it that way, although the power wouldn’t last as long for anyone who didn’t have natural skill at blood magic. That blood could be our escape route, if things got as bad as I was afraid they were going to.
“Is that enough?” Arden asked. “My brother can’t consent, so I’m afraid I’d prefer not to involve him.”
“It should be,” I said, and passed the box to Walther, who somehow made it vanish inside his coat. “If it’s not, I guess we’ll find out.”
But Arden wasn’t done. “Are you sure you should be taking the King of Dreaming Cats?” she asked, her gaze going to Tybalt. “His presence states—”
“You can neither prevent me nor forbid me; I am not yours to command,” said Tybalt. His words were dangerously calm. “I will find and inform the local King of Cats of my presence, but so long as I do not enter his Court uninvited, I am issuing no challenge by entering his territory. We are more civilized than you believe us to be. My presence states only that no harm will come to my betrothed, unless it comes first through me. I am very much looking forward to seeing anything try to get through me.”
Arden paled slightly. That was the appropriate response. She turned back to me. “I’ve arranged dressing rooms for all your people, off the main hall. As soon as you’re changed, I’ll open the portal to see you into Silences. You do your Kingdom a great service on this day.”
“Just make sure the Mists are still standing when we come home,” I said.
That earned me a small, quick smile. “I’ll do my best,” said Arden.
“Good,” I said, and walked past her into the open doorway, and the inevitable.
SEVEN
THE SKY WAS A bruised purple as we stepped through Arden’s portal and onto the red brick esplanade outside the castle and ruling seat of the Kingdom of Silences. The blackberry flower and redwood smell of her magic clung to our clothing, announcing us as hers more clearly than a herald ever could.
I glanced up. There were at least six moons visible: we were in the Summerlands, standing on the fae side of the knowe. Evergreens pressed in on us from all directions, creating a verdant barrier between our small party and whatever lay beyond the castle. We moved closer together without saying anything about it. Our position had us totally exposed—any archer who wanted to appear on the castle wall and put an elf-shot arrow through our hearts would have been able to do so without making any real effort.
“Points for ‘I can design an imposing front door,’ no points for ‘people will want to use it,’” I said. “Where the hell is everyone?”
“Did the Queen tell them we were coming?” asked May. “Maybe we should have called ahead.”
Tybalt snorted.
We had all taken advantage of Arden’s changing rooms, although some of us had taken it farther than others. Tybalt, Walth
er, and Quentin were dressed like something from a production of The Tempest, in tight trousers, linen shirts, and vests. Their styles didn’t quite synch up—Tybalt was more swashbuckler, Quentin more courtier, and Walther a strange sort of combination between scholar and undertaker—but they made a pretty picture, taken as a group. May was wearing jeans and a Golden Gate Park sweatshirt. And I . . . well, I had brushed my hair. That was all the concession they were getting out of me, at least for now.
Arden had provided a small cart for our bags, and had thrown in several trunks of what May assured me were very nice outfits, accompanied by even nicer cosmetics, accessories, and shoes. The look of relief on Arden’s face when May had explained that she was acting as my lady’s maid had been almost insulting. Spike was riding atop our piled suitcases, paws tucked underneath its body, seeming perfectly content.
The evergreens rustled, but no one appeared. I gave Walther a sidelong look. “Any of this look familiar to you?”
“Yes,” he said, shaking his head. “There was no need for a road before. I suppose there isn’t need for one now, either. We’re being watched, you know.”
“Swell,” I muttered. Of the three races that hold most of the thrones in Faerie, only the Daoine Sidhe ever bother to walk anywhere. Tuatha de Dannan can teleport. Tylwyth Teg can fly, given a bundle of yarrow twigs and the space to push off. I gave the brick esplanade a more critical look. It was broad enough that even young Tylwyth Teg would have been able to use it as a landing strip, and the underbrush surrounding the edges of the area contained an unusually large amount of yarrow for the region and the climate.
Walther followed my gaze and shook his head. “They didn’t even bother to replant our gardens,” he said, open bitterness in his voice. “Why should they? We were never coming back.”
“Yeah, well. Surprise.” I planted my hands on my hips, turned my attention to the door, and said—loudly and clearly, but without yelling—“I am Sir October Christine Daye, Knight of Lost Words, sworn to the service of Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, here in the name of Arden Windermere, Queen in the Mists. I claim the hospitality of your home for myself and my company, who have traveled with me to negotiate a cessation of hostilities between our lands.”
Silence fell. Somewhere in the distant pines, an owl hooted once before getting with the program and shutting up. I tapped my foot against the brick.
“You declared war on us, remember?” I called. “That means we get to take our three-day window to try to fix it. Now let us in. I’m allergic to fresh air and moonlight.”
Tybalt snorted again, this time sounding almost painfully amused. I glanced at him, raising one eyebrow in challenge. He shook his head, fighting to swallow his smirk. That was a good thing, in its way. If he was busy laughing at me, he wasn’t worrying about my imminent demise.
I resumed glaring at the castle. Seconds ticked by, and my frustration grew. Finally, I threw up my hands, and demanded, “Well?”
The great wooden doors began to swing inward.
It was a slow process, so slow that at first I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. But the crack of light that appeared between them grew wider and wider, until glimpses of the wide, open air courtyard on the other side became apparent. The red brick of the esplanade continued beyond the gates. We would have a level surface on which to pull our little wagon. Bully for us.
It took almost five minutes for the doors to fully open. We didn’t move during the process; instead, by silent agreement, we waited to see what would happen next. I was expecting the King’s guard, maybe accompanied by his seneschal, to appear and tell us that we weren’t welcome—that, or show us to our rooms. It all depended on whether or not they accepted that I had the right to claim their hospitality.
But the doors opened, revealing the deserted courtyard. There was a fountain at the center, made of gold, with stylized Sidhe bodies and stags caught in eternal, faceless dance. The statues were featureless enough that they could have belonged to any of the ruling races, but the yarrow branches etched into the stone around the fountain’s edge made it clear that the installation had been originally commissioned by one of the Tylwyth Teg. The walls of the courtyard had been scrubbed as clean as it was possible for granite to be, and there were no tapestries or pennants hanging there, leaving the fountain as the only decoration. It made the little water feature seem sad, almost, like it was trying too hard to brighten a space that was far too large for it to illuminate alone.
Spike leaped from the wagon and trotted over to stand next to my feet, rattling its thorns in a timbre that I recognized as frustration.
“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty jerked around, too,” I said. “Come on, guys. Let’s walk into the big creepy castle and see if we get attacked by something. Doesn’t that sound like fun? I think it sounds like fun.” I began to walk.
“She’s your fiancée,” said May. There was a small rumbling sound as she and Quentin began pulling the cart over the bricks. Maybe having them do the pulling was a little unfair, given that Tybalt and Walther had their hands free, but there was a method to my madness. Quentin was my squire: I didn’t want him being looked at as anything else. And when a knight has a squire, that squire can expect to be put to work doing whatever irritating or unpleasant jobs the knight isn’t in the mood for. May was my Fetch, but she was here as my lady’s maid, and it made sense that if two people were needed to do the pulling, she would be the second one. I’d probably hear about this from both of them later. In the moment, they understood as well as I did how important it was for things to appear normal.
Well. As normal as it was possible for anything about our little group to appear.
We walked through the open, unwelcoming castle doors and into the courtyard. There were no visible doors on this level, apart from the one we’d entered through. I shot Walther a hard look, and he shrugged helplessly. It’s not uncommon for the people in charge to design their strongholds in a way that makes it clear that they make the rules, that anything you do is dependent on their kindnesses. The Mists has always had a lot of Daoine Sidhe in positions of power, in part due to meddling from their Firstborn. As I looked around what was essentially a room with no windows and only one door, I found myself faintly grateful that Evening had been so inclined to stick her nose in. At least Daoine Sidhe had to walk everywhere, and hence built strongholds that were useful to the rest of us.
Except for the part where Evening had been indirectly responsible for me being turned into a fish, and had actually caused the death—however temporary—of one of my greatest allies, I could almost forget that she wasn’t actually my friend.
The doors slammed shut behind us. May and Walther both jumped. I didn’t. Neither did Quentin or Tybalt. That said something sort of sad about the situations we tended to find ourselves in.
“Nice fountain,” I said, still speaking louder than was my norm. “I know that if I had a fountain this great, I’d totally set up a whole courtyard just to show it off. Look, the way I see it, one of two things is happening right now. Either you’re getting ready to ambush us, in which case you’d better do it fast, or you’re not going to like the results. Or you’ve got a really messed-up way of showing hospitality. One more time: I am Sir October Daye, I am here on behalf of Queen Windermere in the Mists, and you are beginning to piss me off.”
The scent of meadowsweet and wine vinegar tinted the air, and a portal opened in the wall on the other side of the fountain. The room on the other side was all polished hardwood and velvet, and I only saw it for an instant before bodies began pouring through the opening.
First came the guards. Eight of them, all wearing the deep pine green and silver livery of Silences. They split, four taking each side as they placed themselves between us and the portal. Then came the courtiers, three this time, two women and a man, a Tylwyth Teg and two Daoine Sidhe, and again, all wearing the colors of Silences, although their tunics were
finer and their outfits were accessorized by incredibly silly looking floppy hats.
One of the courtiers produced a scroll from inside her doublet, unrolled it, and read, “By the grace of Oberon, His Majesty, King Rhys of Silences.”
Years of courtly etiquette drilled into me by Etienne, and even more years of silently following my mother through the Courts of the Mists, kept me from rolling my eyes or otherwise doing something to offend the king we had come to visit. Instead, I dropped into a deep and proper bow, bent double at the waist, knees bent, one leg extended so that my thigh muscles began almost immediately to ache. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Walther and Tybalt matching the gesture, their own bows only slightly modified by the variances in custom and region. Tybalt’s bow was shallower than mine, since it would have been inappropriate for him to show too much obeisance to a ruler of the Divided Courts. Walther’s bow included an elaborate hand gesture that I had never seen before.
I couldn’t see Quentin and May from my position, but I had faith that they would be demonstrating the appropriate amount of humility. I had to trust them. If I didn’t, we were already lost.
“You may rise,” said an unfamiliar male voice, tenor and calm, like its owner had never encountered anything that needed to disturb him.
I straightened up, and got my first look at the King of Silences.
He was taller than I expected, with the glossy black hair and olive skin common among the Tuatha de Dannan. He wore that hair cropped short in a style that was almost disconcertingly modern, given his current surroundings, and which did nothing to conceal the sharp points of his ears. His eyes were the color of slightly tarnished pennies, with bolts of molten-looking copper surrounded by streaky verdigris. He was handsome, I had to give him that, but he looked more like a businessman playing dress up than he did a king, even wearing a fur-lined cloak that reached all the way to the floor. Even with a crown resting on his head.
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