“It doesn’t matter that he’s not her seneschal, and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t think well of you. Taunting him is still foolish.” He let go of me. “I taught you better than to lower yourself to his level—and he’s hungry, October. Daoine Sidhe without position are always hungry. You’d know that, if you—” He stopped, looking stricken, as as he realized what he’d been about to say.
“If I were Daoine Sidhe,” I finished, since he clearly wasn’t going to. “If I were Daoine Sidhe, I’d know about being hungry for power and position, and wanting to have something I could control. I guess we’re all lucky I’m not Daoine Sidhe, huh?”
Etienne lowered his eyes, looking ashamed. “I apologize. I should never have said that.”
“You didn’t.” I paused. If I were Daoine Sidhe—what I always believed myself to be—I would have understood being hungry for power. But I’m Dóchas Sidhe, and that means I understand something different.
I understand blood.
“Change of plans. Can you transport us again?” I asked.
“What?” Etienne raised his head. “I—yes, of course, if it’s only the two of us. Have you found everything you need? Is it time to return to Shadowed Hills?”
“Not quite.” I pulled the borrowed phone from my pocket, holding it up for him to see. “I need to make a few phone calls. But first, we’re going to Goldengreen.”
Etienne frowned. “Are you intending to do something foolish?”
“I guess that depends on your definition.” I shrugged. “But yeah, by most definitions, probably. Come on, Etienne. Let’s go prevent a war.”
TWENTY-TWO
THE DISTANCE BETWEEN the Queen’s Court and Goldengreen is shorter than the distance between Shadowed Hills and the Queen’s Court. That, combined with my lack of anything that even resembled food, probably explained why I didn’t feel the need to throw up after we made the crossing. I did stagger backward until my butt hit the wall, and slump forward to rest my hands on my knees, panting a little.
Etienne watched impassively. “You know, for someone who spends so much time bleeding, you have very little resistance to vertigo.”
“Is that what this is? Because it feels more like I just rode a big roller coaster about eight times.”
“Yes, precisely.” Etienne shook his head. “Are you like this every time you travel with the King of Cats?”
“Nope.” The room was mostly done spinning. I straightened cautiously. My stomach chose to stay where it was. “The Shadow Roads go in more for freezing me to death. Puking is new and exciting.”
“Your way with words remains unmatched.” Etienne wrinkled his nose. “Much as I appreciate a regent’s desire to return to their home fiefdom, what, precisely, are we doing here?”
“Lots of things. Come on.” I started down the hall. Etienne followed. “Have you been here before?”
“Not in many years.”
“So you haven’t seen the place since we redecorated. Gotcha.” One of the resident bogeys skittered across the wall at head-height before vanishing into the rafters.
Etienne’s eyes widened. “Did you see that?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’ve got bogeys. They’re sort of in charge here. It’s a long story.” I stuck my head into the kitchen. Marcia was at the counter, directing a pair of Urisks and a young Barrow Wight through the process of making bread. “Hey, Marcia?” I called. “Can I borrow you for a second?”
She looked up, smiling brilliantly. A smudge of flour was on one cheek, just under the circles of faerie ointment that ringed her eyes. “Toby!” She patted one of the Urisks on the shoulder. “You guys are doing fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing—and try not to get any more bogeys in the dough, okay? I’ll be right back.” Apparently satisfied that she’d managed to keep her apprentices from giving us all food poisoning, she walked toward us, wiping her hands on her apron. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the Queen’s Court. And who’s your friend?”
“This is Sir Etienne of Shadowed Hills. Etienne, this is my seneschal, Marcia.”
If Etienne was surprised to hear that a quarter-blood changeling was my seneschal, he was well-bred enough not to show it. Instead, he offered her a shallow bow, and said, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Marcia, dipping a quick curtsy before turning her attention back on me. “So what’s going on? Did you stop the war?”
“Not quite. I’m still working on it.” I briefly considered telling her about Gillian, but dismissed the idea. Marcia had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to make things worse until I absolutely had to. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”
“A pen?” She blinked before rummaging in the pocket of her apron and producing a plain ballpoint pen. There were tooth marks in the white plastic. It looked so ordinary I could have cried. “Will this work?”
“That will work just fine.” I took the pen, pulling one of Dianda’s bottles from my pocket. “I need to write a note. While I’m doing that, can you make sure the solarium is cleared out? I’m going to make a few phone calls, and then I need to invite some visitors over to talk to me.”
“Visitors?” said Etienne, frowning.
“The solarium?” said Marcia. Her frown was less concerned, and more thoughtful. “Sure. We’ve been using it for storage, but we can shift everything in there out to the hallway.”
“Do that. I’m going to need some privacy.” What I was considering was probably insane. At that moment, I didn’t care. Rayseline Torquill had my daughter, and there was one person in the world who was likely to know where she was.
The Selkie who she’d killed.
I opened the first bottle, shaking out the scrap of paper and pressing it flat against the doorframe. “Etienne, when you get back to Shadowed Hills, let Sylvester know about the disguise Raysel used in the Queen’s Court. I mean, it’s not likely she’ll try to sneak into the knowe, but you never know, right? Better safe than sorry.”
“Of course,” he said, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘visitors’? Who are you asking to come here?”
“Pretty much everyone.” I tapped the paper, and then went back to scribbling. My handwriting is nothing to brag about, but it’s legible. Usually. “This is an update for the Duchess of Saltmist, since I’d rather she didn’t get pissed off because she thinks I’m withholding information. Then I’m going to call May, and have her bring the car—”
“You’re going to let her drive?” said Marcia, sounding both horrified and amazed.
“I need the car. Can you think of a better way to get it here?” I handed Marcia her pen before rerolling the scrap of paper and tucking it back into the bottle. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m going to call May. And then I’m going to call the Luidaeg, and ask her for a quick and dirty version of the ritual I used to summon the night-haunts.”
“What?” demanded Etienne.
“What?” echoed Marcia.
“I really don’t have time to argue about this.” I corked the bottle, checking twice to be sure the seal was tight. Dianda said it would find her. I wanted it to find her with the contents intact. “I’m going to call the night-haunts.”
“Why?” asked Marcia.
“Rayseline killed a Selkie in her effort to steal the Lorden boys from their home. October believes that the murder victim will be able to provide her with answers,” said Etienne, a slow mixture of revulsion and admiration in his tone. “Sir Daye, I cannot recommend this course of action.”
“Wow, I suggest something this crazy and I go back to being ‘Sir Daye’? What do I have to do to get you to call me ‘Countess’?”
“Let’s not find out,” said Etienne flatly.
“The night is young.” I whistled. One of the knowe’s seemingly countless pixies appeared from inside a cabinet—I probably didn’t want to know what it was doing in there, or how many others were in there with it—and came to hover in front of me at eye-level. I held up the bottle. �
�Can you throw this into the ocean, please? Don’t open it. Just throw it in the water.”
Pixies are smarter than most people give them credit for. This one planted her hands on her diminutive hips, wings buzzing like mad, and said something incomprehensible in the tinkling language of the pixies.
Fortunately, I’ve had enough experience with the local colony to know what she was probably asking for. “A loaf of bread and a pitcher of cream,” I said, like I was agreeing to something.
The pixie darted forward and grabbed the bottle from my hand before flying out of the kitchen and down the hall. Five more pixies appeared from inside the cabinet and flew after her. The bread-makers didn’t even look up. After you’ve been in Goldengreen for a little while, this sort of thing becomes commonplace.
Marcia looked at me quizzically. “Why did you bribe the pixies? I could have thrown your bottle in the water for free.”
“Mostly because I’m about to summon the night-haunts into their knowe, and I figure that if I’m not going to ask for permission, I should try to make sure they’re in a good mood.”
“I wish that didn’t make sense,” said Marcia, and sighed. “Are you really going to summon the night-haunts?”
“Got a better plan?” Neither of them said anything. “Didn’t think so.”
“I have no desire to witness this,” said Etienne. “I’ll be returning to Shadowed Hills now, if you have no further need of me.”
“No, I’m good,” I said. “Let Sylvester know what’s going on, and what I’m doing.”
Etienne nodded, and offered a small bow to Marcia. Then he turned, stepping out into the hall. The smell of limes and cedar smoke wafted in his wake, and I knew, even without checking, that he was gone.
Marcia glanced after him before asking, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Make bread for the pixies?” I smiled a little. “And tell anyone who comes asking for me that I’m busy until further notice.”
“Got it.” She smiled back, hesitantly. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Nope. But I need to know.”
There were other things I could have done. I could have called Bucer and tried to bully him into finding me more information. I could have called Danny and begged him to drive me all over the city, looking for traces of Raysel’s magic. I could have asked Tybalt for the loan of his Court, and sent them searching. There are always other options. But all of them would take time, and time was the one thing I wasn’t sure Gillian had. Maybe if I hadn’t passed out after Tybalt threw me into the shadows . . .
But I had. And I needed to find Rayseline, fast.
I dialed my home number as I walked down the hall, nodding genially to the people I passed. I still didn’t know all their names. That made me feel like a bit of a heel, when I thought about it.
May picked up, asking hopefully, “Toby?”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I’ve been answering the phone like that since Jin called to say that you’d left Shadowed Hills. Where are you? Is Tybalt with you? What happened? Where’s Gillian?”
“I’m at Goldengreen, and I’m pretty sure you’d just freak out more if I told you what happened over the phone, so how about I tell you when you get here?”
May paused. “When I get there? What?”
“I need you to bring the car over.”
“Um.” May managed to pack a truly impressive amount of dubiousness into a single syllable. “Toby? Jazz doesn’t drive, Quentin’s too young to get a license—and I don’t think he’s had driver’s education—and Raj is, well, Raj. How are we supposed to get the car to you?”
“You’re going to get the spare key from the bowl on my dresser, and you’re going to drive.”
“You’re not really Toby, are you? You’re a Doppelganger or something. Toby would never tell me to drive her car to Goldengreen.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, how bad can it be?”
“I hate you,” said May balefully.
“So you’ll come?”
“We’re on our way.” She hung up.
I had to smother a smile. My former Fetch is the worst driver I’ve ever met. She might, with a little effort, be the worst driver in the world. I just hoped Quentin and Raj were smart enough to wear their seat belts.
I dialed again as I walked across the courtyard, heading for the hall that connected it to the knowe’s unused throne room. It was the only room in the knowe that Evening really seemed to be fond of. We’ve left it empty, partially in honor of her, and partially because it creeps the rest of us out. Even the bogeys stay away. I don’t know exactly why . . . but Evening’s fondness for using pixies as lighting fixtures may have had something to do with it.
Getting through the mortal phone system and into the limited fae exchange requires a unique approach to dialing. I hit all the keys in a clockwise spiral, then repeated the pattern in the opposite direction. I hit the “five” three more times for good measure.
“Please hold while your party is reached,” I said, singsong. “You may press the pound sign to return to this menu at any time. To be assassinated by a tribe of warrior grasshoppers, press three.”
The phone beeped twice before beginning to hiss shrilly. That was a good sign. That meant the connection was working. I punched another succession of buttons, this time running through the multiples of nine, until the hissing was replaced with the sound of cement grinders grinding away on the other end. I stopped walking, leaning up against the wall next to the dais that used to hold Evening’s throne.
The cement grinders ground for a few seconds more, then stopped abruptly, replaced by the Luidaeg demanding, “October? Is that you?”
The sound of her voice filled me with a profound sense of relief. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to sag against the wall. “Luidaeg,” I said. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“What’s going on? Did the transformation charm work? Why haven’t you checked in?”
“Yes, it worked, I haven’t checked in because I passed out after Tybalt threw me onto the Shadow Roads to keep me from getting elf-shot, and what’s going on is that Rayseline’s insane. She took my daughter, Luidaeg. She took Gillian.” My voice was verging on a panicked whine. I forced myself to pull it back. “Why would she do that?” I asked, more softly. “Why would she take Gilly?”
“To throw you off-balance,” said the Luidaeg, not missing a beat. “To hurt you.” There was something in her voice I didn’t like. Normally, the Luidaeg is so honest it hurts. She may not give complete answers, but the ones she does give are entirely true. Now . . . I didn’t get the impression that she was lying to me, but I definitely felt like there was something she wasn’t letting herself say.
I took a deep breath. “Luidaeg? What aren’t you saying?”
“Toby . . .” The Luidaeg sighed. “She’s just a quarter-blood. Maybe less, given what your mother did to you when you were a little girl. That’s protected her until now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There are . . . rituals . . . that need certain types of blood if they’re going to work.”
The last of the light seemed to go out of the world. “What?”
“Rayseline doesn’t have a hope chest. She doesn’t need one, if she has Gillian.”
“Is she . . . Luidaeg, is she . . .”
“I don’t know whether she’s alive or not. I’m sorry.” She sounded genuinely regretful. That didn’t lessen the urge to scream.
Eyes still closed, I counted silently to five before saying, “I have one potential witness to wherever it is Raysel is taking these people. We need to talk . . . immediately.”
“And . . . ?” said the Luidaeg, suspicion creeping into her tone.
“And the person in question is dead. I need to talk to the night-haunts, and I don’t have time to screw around with waiting for midnight, or with complicated ritual circles. Tell me how to get them here fast.”
The Luidaeg sighed
. “This isn’t the best idea.”
“I never expected it to be.”
“And there’s no other way?”
“You just told me the crazy girl who stole my daughter may have done it to fuel some big ritual that you can’t tell me anything else about. The Lorden boys are still missing, and the Queen is still planning to go to war. No, there’s no other way. Not now. Now tell me how to call the night-haunts.”
“Bleed for them.”
I opened my eyes. “What?”
“Go someplace private, someplace they can reach you, and draw a circle in your own blood. All you have to do is bleed for them, and call.”
Summoning the night-haunts was a lot more complicated the first time. Suspiciously, I asked, “There’s nothing else?”
“Not anymore. You’re stronger than you were, and they know you.” Her chuckle was entirely without mirth. “Better than you think they do. Just call, and they’ll come. But be careful with them. Don’t agree to anything you’re not willing to live with.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll check in with you later.”
“I hope so,” she said, and hung up.
I looked at the phone in my hand for a moment, resisting the urge to smash it against the wall. Then I tucked it into my pocket, turned, and walked through the archway behind the throne.
Connor and I were running for our lives from Devin’s hired assassins the first time I used that door. We didn’t know the hall would end by opening onto empty air, or that running down it without a backup plan was a good way to find ourselves trying to figure out how to fly. I can’t fly. I figured that one out fast. And that’s why I no longer run down blind halls when I have any choice in the matter.
I was moving more slowly this time. Marcia’s assistant bakers brushed past me as I walked, both pausing long enough to bow shallowly in my direction. If they were puzzled by their orders, they weren’t going to show it. Never question the nobility. It just annoys them, and irritated nobles are a dangerous thing.
One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel Page 24
