One Salt Sea od-5

by Seanan McGuire

  “We’re going to see my sons’ rooms. That means we need to get out of the water.” Dianda frowned thoughtfully. “Most of our children figure this out on their own. I’m going to try something that works with the ones who don’t. Close your eyes.”

  “Okay.” I closed them.

  Dianda’s hands closed on my shoulders. “Breathe in,” she said, the smell of water lilies and amber rising around us. “Think about walking. Think about the mechanics and the structure of walking. The feet, ankles, and calves. The knees, thighs, and hips. Think about how nice it would be to stand. How strange, to see the world from such a different angle . . .”

  I furrowed my brow, trying to do as I was told. I remembered walking. I also remembered running for my life—something that seems to happen more frequently than is necessarily good for me. I remembered May tickling my feet to get me to move when she wanted the couch, and the feeling of getting dressed in the morning, jeans and socks and shoes. I remembered being the right shape, rather than the wrong one. My own magic rose, sharp, sweet, and familiar.

  “You can open your eyes now.” Dianda pulled her hands away. “Also, you may want to get out of the water.”

  “Huh?” The spell broke as I twisted to look at myself. It was easier than I expected; I’ve had years to practice rolling over in my natural form, and that’s what I was looking at. Complete with absolutely soaked jeans and running shoes. I blinked, once, and pulled myself out of the pool as fast as I could, just in case the Luidaeg’s charm decided to reassert itself in the presence of water.

  I had to fight the urge to shake myself like a wet dog as I stood. The webbing was still stretched between my fingers—the Luidaeg’s charm was apparently designed to let me do all the normal Merrow things for the duration, including acquiring feet. That was convenient.

  Dianda finished her own transformation and stood, the smell of amber and water lilies fading. She had also acquired clothes when she transformed, adding a short blue skirt to the blouse she was already wearing. Her feet were bare, and her clothes were dry. I guess that’s one of the perks of being a real Merrow, rather than a Merrow-wannabe on a day pass: you’re dry whenever you want to be.

  “We can get you some dry clothes,” said Dianda, frowning at the puddle rapidly forming under me. Even her hair was dry. That was just not fair. Splashes in the pool behind us signaled the arrival of our Selkie honor guard. “Welcome to Saltmist.”

  “Love what you’ve done with the place,” I said, looking unabashedly around the room as I peeled off my waterlogged leather jacket. “I admit, this isn’t exactly what I pictured when I thought ‘underwater Duchy.’ ”

  “We’ve always had some air-filled areas, for the sake of the Selkies and other air-breathers among us. It’s a necessary part of our culture.” Dianda began walking, gesturing for me to follow. I glanced behind me, scanning the emerging Selkies for Connor. He smiled when he saw me looking. I smiled back before turning and walking quickly after Dianda.

  The sound of my wet shoes slapping against the coral floor made us both grimace. I looked at Dianda apologetically. “Sorry.”

  “Oddly, water damage isn’t a big issue down here.”

  “No, I guess it wouldn’t be.” I looked around again. “It makes sense that you’d need some areas with air. I mean, we have freshwater fae on the land who need to spend a certain amount of their time in the water, or else they’d just dry up.”

  “Exactly. No part of Faerie is ever completely independent from any other.” Dianda slanted a smile my way as Connor half-walked, half-trotted up to pull even with us. He was trying to look nonchalant about it. He was failing, rather spectacularly. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing, do you?”

  “No. Not really.” The water dripping from my hair was running into my eyes. I wiped it away with one hand. “Can I get a towel to go with those clean clothes?”

  “Absolutely. Connor?” Dianda looked past me to him. “Would you go tell Helmi that we have a guest in need of towels and clothing? Tell her the guest is female, and approximately my size, but should not be dressed in Ducal colors.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Connor, expression telegraphing exactly how much he did not want to run off and leave me alone with a bunch of unfamiliar sea fae. He made no move to go.

  Disobeying your liege is a bad idea, even when you only do it by moving too slowly. I flashed him a smile, and said, “It’ll be so nice to be dry again. I’m seriously over this whole ‘wet’ thing.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, with utter sincerity, before turning and trotting toward a door to the left of the pool.

  “This way,” said Dianda. She started walking faster, setting a pace that was hard for me to match in my dripping jeans and squelching shoes. “I assume you’d like to change before I show you their rooms?”

  “You assume correctly. I mean, I probably can’t compromise anything by dripping on it, but . . .”

  “But it’s better not to risk it,” said Patrick, emerging from an adjoining hall. “Hello, October. I’m pleased to see that you were able to arrange a visit.”

  “Yeah, well. We can blame the Luidaeg for that one. Hello, Your Grace. I’d bow, but I think I’d fall on my ass if I tried it before I get some dry shoes on.”

  “Entirely fair.” Patrick fell into step on Dianda’s other side. Neither of them broke stride as he laced his fingers with hers. “What do you think of our humble home so far?”

  “It’s very . . . pink,” I said carefully.

  Dianda laughed. “Why is that the first reaction of every lander that comes here?”

  “Because it’s very pink,” said Patrick. He kissed her cheek before releasing her hand and moving to open the door ahead of us. “Ladies first.”

  “So kind.” Dianda smiled at him fondly and stepped into the darkened chamber beyond. Lights flared to life in the chandelier overhead as soon as her foot crossed the threshold, and continued to spread around the edges of the room. By the time Patrick stepped through, closing the door behind him, the entire room was lit, and I was staring.

  The walls were glass, broken only by coral doorframes, making the circular room feel like the world’s largest aquarium. Even the ceiling was transparent, a fact that was reinforced when a manta ray the size of a minivan floated serenely by above us. The ray was one of the more normal sea creatures in evidence. Impossible fish swam everywhere I looked. Sea dragons three times the size of the one in the Luidaeg’s room chased each other through a patch of kelp, while a herd of hippocampi grazed on a nearby reef under the watchful eye of a black-and-white mermaid who appeared to be the result of crossing a Tuatha de Dannan with a killer whale.

  Dianda followed my gaze and said mildly, “That’s Anceline, one of our herders.”

  “What is she?” I asked, before realizing how rude the question really was. I blanched. “I mean—”

  “I asked the same thing when I first came here,” said Patrick. “She’s a Cetace. They rarely come to the surface. They prefer to stay deep, where there’s less chance they’ll encounter human whaling ships.”

  That led to horrifying mental images I didn’t want to explore further. I nodded. “I understand. She’s beautiful.”

  “I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear you say so,” said Dianda.

  I was trying to figure out whether she was serious or not when one of the coral-rimmed doors opened and one of the octopus-people slipped through. This one’s lower body was the shocking red of a maraschino cherry, and her upper body was pure Irish, with pale, freckled skin, and corkscrew curls the color of her octopus half. She moved with remarkable efficiency, her tentacles seeming to find and discard purchase independently. She stopped and bowed when she was roughly six feet away. That was also a fascinating process, since it involved twining her tentacles into an elaborate knot while she bent forward.

  “Your Graces,” she said. The curtain of her hair almost concealed the bundle of fabric she was clutching against her chest.r />
  “Cephali,” murmured Patrick. I flashed him a relieved smile.

  “Rise, Helmi,” said Dianda. “Helmi, this is Countess October Daye, our guest from the land. She’s here to help us find Dean and Peter.”

  Helmi’s eyes widened, and she stared at me as she straightened. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” said Patrick. “Can you take her to change, and then bring her to us?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Absolutely.” One of Helmi’s tentacles whipped out and wrapped itself around my wrist. I barely managed to keep from yanking away. She didn’t hold tightly; it was more like the tugging of a toddler. “Come with me, Your Excellency?”

  It took me a moment to remember that “Your Excellency” meant me. “Sure. And you can call me Toby.”

  “As you wish, Your Excellency.” Helmi began moving back the way she’d come, pulling me along in her wake.

  “We’ll see you shortly,” called Dianda.

  “Right!” I answered. Then Helmi opened the door and pulled me into a small, cluttered room that looked reassuringly familiar, despite the pink coral walls. I guess a changing room is a changing room, no matter where you go.

  Helmi’s bearing changed dramatically in the absence of her lieges. She released my wrist and straightened, tapping her tentacles against the floor as she studied me. “It will do,” she said finally, and extended her bundle in my direction. “If they’d given me the name of your fiefdom, I might have found you visitor’s motley in the appropriate colors, but it will do.”

  “Honestly, right now, anything will do, as long as it’s dry,” I said. I hung my leather jacket on what I presumed was a drying rack before taking the bundle of fabric and rolling it out atop a nearby chest. The outer two layers were towels. Inside was a short green dress that looked suitable for spending a day at the beach, dry underclothes, and a matching green headband for my hair. No shoes. I suppose shoes never became a high priority in the Undersea, since half the population didn’t need them.

  “Is it suitable, Your—Toby?”

  “It’s perfect.” I peeled off a towel and began vigorously rubbing my hair. “Just give me a minute to dry off before I go changing. Do you need to be somewhere?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Good. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  Helmi’s tentacles beat a complex pattern against the floor before she asked, “Is this in service of returning the young masters to us?”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “Then you may ask me to cut the very limbs from my body, and I will do it. Only promise me it serves toward their return, and it is yours.”

  That was . . . dramatic. I stopped rubbing and blinked at her. Judging by her expression, she was serious. “Okay.” I resumed drying my hair. “What do you know about the wards here? How are they configured?”

  “They’re mastered and maintained by the Asrai. Clever things, the wards are.”

  In my experience, “clever” is never a good thing where wards are concerned. Clear, concise instructions are the key to not waking up with something nasty under your bed. “Clever how, exactly?”

  “Well, Your—Toby, I don’t know how it is on land, but in the sea, most of us are migratory. The Cetacea follow the herds, and the Sirens follow their kraken. The Asrai don’t move much, but then, they wouldn’t, would they?” She rattled off the names of unfamiliar fae races with easy familiarity; to her, they were as normal as Cait Sidhe and the Tuatha de Dannan were to me.

  I, on the other hand, was starting to feel like I needed some sort of field guide. “So you move around a lot. Have these, uh, Asrai come up with a way to shortcut adding people to the permanent wards?” Casual wards like the ones on my apartment are constructed and taken down daily. They’re generally not set when either May or I are home, since we don’t see the point in wasting the magic. Places like Shadowed Hills tend to have more permanent wards, at least on certain areas, ones set to allow people who have permission to pass, and stop the people who don’t. Modifying them is a long, laborious process, which is why I don’t bother trying to construct that kind of protection.

  “Oh, yes. The wards are set to allow those of us who live here to come and go as we please, and to admit anyone who carries an appropriate token.”

  “Okay. So could someone have stolen one of these tokens?”

  “Oh, no. They’re enchanted to break at once if taken from their rightful owners.”

  There went one theory. I put down my towel. “And everyone migratory has one of these tokens?”

  “All but the messengers.”

  I picked up the green dress, stepping behind a screen of what looked like woven kelp. “Messengers?”

  “The seal-kin.”

  “Do you mean the Selkies?” I pulled my shirt off over my head, a slow certainty blossoming in my chest.

  “Aye,” she confirmed. “They’re easier and more difficult at the same time, because they’re skins, not souls.”

  “Right.” I unbuckled my knife belt. Peeling off my jeans took a bit more effort. “So the wards are keyed to Selkie skins, not individual Selkies?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency!” said Helmi, sounding surprised and delighted by this strange display of logic from one of the land fae. “The skins pass hands with such frequency, it seemed best to allow their bearers to come and go easily. No one would want to present the Selkies an unfair barrier, given their limitations—and besides, they’re needed all along the coast. It would be quite a bundle to ask them to carry, if they needed a token for each of the knowes.”

  “Uh-huh.” Selkie skins “pass hands” every few decades at the most—Connor is older than I am. That must make them almost as transitory as humans to a true immortal. “How many Selkies pass through in a given week?”

  “Five, eight, maybe, if there’s news to be passed along.”

  “And how many of them do the guards stop for questioning?” The green dress was made of a soft, cottony material. I shrugged it on, pushing my salt-matted hair back with the headband, and belted my knife around the outside of my hips. It might spoil the line of my borrowed attire, but at least I wasn’t hiding the fact that I was armed.

  “None. Why would they? The Selkies travel on legitimate business. Or do you not have messengers where you dwell?”

  I stepped out from behind the screen. Helmi’s expression was one of honest curiosity, like this was exactly the sort of barbarism she expected from land-dwellers.

  “We do, but they’re not quite as . . . standardized.” I smoothed my skirt with the heels of my hands. It was definitely a step up from my usual Old Navy couture. And I just had to go to the bottom of the sea to get it. “I think I’m ready to go back.”

  “Surely.” Helmi rotated her entire body, tentacles slapping the floor as she turned, and then made her way back to the door we’d entered through. She knocked three times before opening it, revealing a room that was absolutely not the one we’d been in before. For one thing, this one had walls—wooden ones, no less, making them seem strange and exotic after all the coral.

  Dianda and Patrick were standing near one wall, arguing quietly with Connor. All three looked up when Helmi and I approached. My bare feet were silent against the floor. Her tentacles weren’t. Connor’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and he took a half-step forward before he remembered that he was in the presence of his liege and stopped, standing at sudden attention.

  “You clean up well,” said Dianda, giving me a once-over.

  “Helmi was a great help.” Another careful two-step in the dance of avoided thanks, complete. “Your Graces, Connor, I wanted to verify something Helmi told me. Is that possible?”

  Dianda nodded. “Certainly. What did you want to know?”

  “Is it true that the wards on this place are set to admit Selkies with no verification of identity or allegiance?”

  “Yes.” Dianda frowned quizzically. “All the Undersea Duchies set their wards this way. Selkies act as messengers, and messengers are honor-bou
nd to do no mischief in fiefdoms other than their own. Even in times of war, Selkies are safe guests.”

  “Right.” I turned to Connor. “Am I a Merrow?”

  “What? No!”

  “But if I asked the wards right now, would they say I was a Merrow?”

  “I . . .” He paused, looking confused.

  Patrick, on the other hand, looked horrified; Patrick, who was born in the land Courts, and knew how they operated. He’d been in the Undersea for a few hundred years, but there are some things you never forget.

  “Please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” he said.

  “I can’t. Because I think someone used a stolen Selkie skin to get past your wards.” I met Dianda’s eyes. It was harder than I expected it to be. “I’m afraid your sons weren’t the first ones taken in this war.”

  SIXTEEN

  TO HER CREDIT, DIANDA didn’t flinch. Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Who could have done this?”

  “Moving past the part where I say ‘someone who was willing to steal your children to provoke a war,’ it would have to be someone who understood the way the Undersea operates. Someone who understood the way Selkies operate.” I let my eyes drift to Connor. He was staring at me, an expression of terrified understanding on his face. “Somebody who understood that a Selkie is the skin, and not the one who wears it.”

  “Oh, Oberon,” he whispered.

  Patrick frowned, following my gaze. “Connor?”

  “Well?” I asked.

  “It . . .” Connor took an unsteady breath. “She knows how the skins work. I told her. Showed her, even. I was trying to make her understand me a little better. I thought if we were going to be stuck with each other for a few hundred years, we should at least find a way to be friends.”

  “Showed who?” asked Patrick.

  Connor didn’t say anything. So I said it for him.

  “Rayseline Torquill,” I said. “His ex-wife.”