Night and Silence

by Seanan McGuire

  “I’m pretty sure I can,” he replied. “Let’s find out.”

  Quentin cleared his throat. He was sitting in the backseat with a cat carrier full of baby flying hedgehog-things in his lap. The trash can containing the adult arkan sonney took up the rest of the seat, occasionally rattling ominously as they slammed against the metal. Quentin was sitting as far away from them as he could—which was surprisingly far, thanks to Danny’s extensive investment in expansion charms. Those don’t come cheap, but without them, he would never have been able to fit behind the wheel.

  Done properly, magic is difficult for humans to notice or focus on, and Danny’s mechanic knew her stuff. His human passengers probably came away from trips with him thinking they’d never been in a cab that spacious but wouldn’t necessarily realize that the car was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Danny’s fae passengers included Centaurs, Merrow, and even his fellow Trolls, and all of them could get their seatbelts on.

  “I’m still here,” said Quentin. “In case you forgot.”

  “I never forget you,” I said.

  “You forget to answer my questions all the time.”

  I groaned, letting my head slam back against the seat. It was padded, making the gesture less effective than it could have been. “Seriously, is this ‘gang up on Toby’ night? Can you let me know when you schedule these, so I can arrange to be somewhere else? Like, I don’t know, another Kingdom?”

  “Most other Kingdoms won’t let you in,” said Danny, almost reasonably. “You keep deposin’ their monarchs.”

  “I’ve never deposed anyone who didn’t deserve it,” I said. “And I’ve only done it twice.”

  “Uh-huh. Y’know, ordinary people don’t commit treason once, much less twice.”

  “Oh, root and branch.” I groaned again, with more feeling this time. “Can we not?”

  He wasn’t wrong—I knew that. It was still frustrating. Sure, I’d been instrumental in bringing about two regime changes, but neither of them had been intentional, and neither of them had been undeserved.

  When King Windermere died in the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, he left behind no legitimate heirs. Arden and her brother, Nolan, had been born and raised in secrecy, never publicly claimed by the king. It made sense: his own parents had died under mysterious circumstances, and he’d been trying to give his children a better life by giving them half a chance at survival. Good for them, not so good for the rest of us. In the absence of a clear line of succession, Evening Winterrose had been able to endorse a stranger, putting her own puppet on the throne. The nameless Queen of the Mists, mixed-blood and mad, had strangled the Kingdom like kelp for decades, becoming less yielding and more cruel with every passing year.

  She might still be on her stolen throne if she had listened when I came to her and told her goblin fruit was becoming a serious problem. The stuff gives purebloods sweet dreams, lets them forget the troubles of the mortal world for a little while—no big deal. But for anyone with a drop of human blood in their veins, it’s instantly addictive and invariably fatal. Changelings were dying. My people were dying. So I had gone to the Queen and asked her to save them. All I’d wanted was for her to do her duty and, silly me, I’d thought she might. She’d always hated me for reasons I’ve never quite been able to understand, but I hadn’t believed she would allow her hatred to blind her to the necessity of taking care of her people.

  I hadn’t believed a lot of things. Or maybe I’d believed the wrong ones. I’d believed she had a right to her throne; I’d believed the High King would never have confirmed her if she wasn’t really Gilad’s daughter. But she didn’t, and she wasn’t, and when she’d ordered me banished for daring to speak up about the goblin fruit, the only solution I’d been able to find had involved putting Arden—the rightful Queen in the Mists—on the throne. Elevating her had resulted in new restrictions on goblin fruit, a fairer, more considerate regime, and me being named a hero of the realm, which proves that no good deed goes unpunished.

  My second act of monarchal treason involved King Rhys of Silences, who had been granted his throne by—surprise, surprise—the false Queen of the Mists, after her army had overthrown the rightful ruling family in a short, brutal war. But again, it hadn’t been his Kingdom to begin with, and by returning the crown to Queen Siwan, I’d helped to right a great injustice and stabilize the region.

  This did not change the fact that Danny was right, and most of our local monarchs really don’t want me coming for a visit. Ever. Developing a reputation as a king-breaker has definitely been keeping me out of the best parties. Given how much I dislike parties, it’s difficult to see this as a bad thing.

  “The High King invited Toby to get married in Toronto,” said Quentin.

  Danny snorted. “The High King is smart enough to want to keep her where he can see her. Arden doesn’t kick her out of the Kingdom because the only kings she doesn’t overthrow are the ones she likes. If I had a Kingdom, I’d be signin’ her up for every cookie of the month club I could find.”

  “There are some ice cream of the month clubs, too,” I said mildly. “Mix it up on the dessert front. Really bribe me if you’re going to bribe me.”

  Quentin laughed. The sound woke one of the piglets, which whined, kicking off another chorus of squeals and thumps from the trash can. His laugh faded, becoming a scowl. “How long are we going to be cleaning this up?” he asked. “Every time I think we’ve found all the monsters, something else pops out of the bushes and starts threatening to bite the humans.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We could ask the Luidaeg, but . . . ”

  “But she’d have to charge us for the answer,” sighed Quentin. “Right.”

  “I need to finish paying down my debts before I go incurring anything further.”

  The Luidaeg is the eldest daughter of Oberon and Maeve, which makes her my aunt, a fact that I find bizarre, sort of disturbing, and kind of comforting, in a weird way. She’s also the sea witch and bound to truthfully answer any question she’s asked. The geas forcing her to do so wasn’t very well constructed. She’s allowed to charge whatever she wants for her services, so she sets the prices as high as she can, hoping to dissuade the unwise and unwary from winding up in over their heads.

  Me, I’ve been in over my head since the first time we met. She’s been in my debt a time or two, but at the end of the day I owe her enough that I may never finish repaying it all—and that’s a good thing, because the Luidaeg never lies. She can’t. And she’s said, more than once, that she’ll kill me someday. Hopefully, as long as I’m the one in debt to her, she won’t feel motivated to get it done.

  “I sort of like the monster huntin’,” said Danny, easing his cab around the last curve between us and the parking lot. A chain hung across the entrance, supposedly barring us from going any further. He kept driving. The car passed through the chain like it was made of mist. One more convenient charm, courtesy of our increasingly stable local government.

  As a state park, Muir Woods is supposed to be closed after sundown. As the royal seat of the Kingdom in the Mists, that’s never going to happen. But we’re pretty careful not to be seen, since no one wants to start trouble. Danny parked in front of the bathrooms, next to the large sign informing us the park would open for business at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.

  “We got about two hours before the rangers start showing up,” he said, shoving the door open with his foot. “Get it done.”

  “Can you get the trash can?” I asked, getting out with a little more decorum. It would have been hard to get out with less. “Quentin has the piglets.”

  “Why do I have the piglets?” Quentin shifted the carrier gingerly in his arms as he slid out of the car. “They’re squirming around all over the place.”

  “Because you’re the squire and I’m the knight, which means it’s my duty to make you do unpleasant things in th
e name of your ongoing education.” I waved a hand airily. “Tonight, you’re learning that you don’t like flying pigs.”

  Quentin glared without any heat. He knew the real reason I was making him carry the piglets: I’m still part human. Fae are nocturnal, with the eyesight to match. I can see in the dark almost as well as I can see in the daylight, but “almost” doesn’t always cut it when walking through a place as tangled and treacherous as Muir Woods. My reflexes aren’t up to the pureblood standard, either. Since I didn’t want to slip on wet wood and wind up tumbling into one of the multiple streams, creeks, or rivers crisscrossing the valley, it was better to let him deal with the livestock while I focused on staying upright.

  Danny slung the trash can over his shoulder, protesting pigs and all, and cast a quick don’t-look-here spell over his car to hide it from any rangers or police who happened to come by on patrol. Then we turned, the three of us moving together, and made our way into the wood.

  Even if it weren’t the royal seat of the Kingdom in the Mists, Muir Woods would still be the kind of place that makes even the most stubborn humans think magic could be real, if only for a moment. The redwoods reach for the sky like beanstalks out of a fairy tale, their branches straining upward until they pierce the clouds. Thick underbrush covers the ground, ferns and bushes and native flowers providing a home for so many creatures, both fae and mortal. At night, everything is shrouded in fog, thick and soft and silencing.

  The wood is even more incredible through fae eyes. Sparks fill the fog, dancing lights that tempt and tease. Bogeys and bat-winged frogs peer out of the underbrush, attracted by the steadily increasing ambient magic and sheltered by Arden’s protecting charms. She’s something the Mists haven’t had in a hundred years: a true Queen. Looking at the changes wrought during her short reign, it’s impossible not to wonder what the Mists will be like in another decade.

  I think they’re going to be amazing.

  Not that they’re not already amazing enough. Brilliantly colored lights darted through the trees as the local pixie flock came to investigate us. The chiming of their wings took on a delighted, welcoming note when they recognized me. They swirled around me in a multicolored cloud, ringing louder than ever. I smiled.

  “Hello to you, too,” I said.

  Several pixies settled in my hair like overdramatic ornaments, casting a soft glow that made it easier for me to see the winding trail that led to the door to Arden’s knowe. The rest flew off, presumably to tell the other members of their flock that we were in the wood. I waved after them and walked on with more certainty.

  Faerie has remained hidden despite its proximity to the human world through a variety of tricks, some more sophisticated than others. Things like the pixies and the arkan sonney, for example, hide themselves automatically, using a form of instinctual illusion magic that keeps humans from noticing them unless they force the issue. In the case of the pixies, they’re intelligent enough not to cause trouble with people who know how to hold a flyswatter. In the case of the arkan sonney and other so-called “monsters,” there’s more risk of someone getting gored. Humans tend to notice being stabbed, even when the knives are invisible. That’s why people like me wind up involved. Sometimes we have to police ourselves to prevent a crisis.

  A human looking into the wood might see three silhouettes moving slowly toward the hillside trail. But they wouldn’t see the lights, and they wouldn’t notice the way the fog moved against the wind, keeping us out of sight, keeping us safe.

  We wear human disguises and we cast keep-away spells and we hide, and we hide, and we hide. I’d say we can’t hide forever, but we’ve been hiding for centuries, and it’s worked out pretty well so far. Who am I to say that things need to change?

  The scent of running water and redwood bark filled the air. From behind me, I smelled the frayed edges of Quentin and Danny’s illusions as they released them, briefly overwhelming the natural scent of the wood with their unique magical signatures. Magic is a function of the blood, and everyone’s magic is different, saying something about the caster and their specific heritage. Dóchas Sidhe are walking encyclopedias of magical scents. I can identify a magical trace even if I’ve only encountered it once before, and I can narrow it down from “roses” to “this specific kind of rose, over here, grown in this specific sort of soil.” It’s a mostly useless talent that has occasionally proven to be incredibly useful.

  I released my own illusions, surrounding myself with the smell of freshly cut grass and coppery blood. It used to be more copper than blood. I used to be more human than I am now. Finding equilibrium has never been exactly easy for me.

  Several more pixies returned, a rainbow escort lighting our way. The pixies in my hair chimed softly as we topped the last rise, and the ancient redwood housing the door to Arden’s knowe appeared. Knowes—better known as hollow hills—are points of connection between the human world and the Summerlands, the shallowest and last accessible realm of Faerie. They have doors in both worlds, although they’re usually constructed entirely in the Summerlands, where real estate is at less of a premium. Seen from the fae side, Arden’s knowe was a dizzying concoction of towers and spires, connected by stairways and paths that wound through the air with distressingly little consideration for gravity. Seen from where we were standing, it was just an inexplicable double door set into a tree that had no business being abused that way. Guards stood to either side, dressed in the livery of the Mists, with Arden’s arms stitched above their hearts.

  One of the guards grinned at the sight of us, a female Glastig whose armor had been cut to account for the fact that she had goat’s legs from the thigh down, like someone had gotten bored in the process of sketching a Satyr. She had no tail, but she made up for it with a pair of goat’s ears that stuck almost straight out from the sides of her head, covered in silky, strawberry-blonde fur that matched the fur on her legs.

  “Toby! And Danny and Quentin as well,” she said. “May I assume from the fact that you’re toting someone’s trash bin that your mission was a success?”

  “Hi, Lowri, and yes, you can assume,” I said. “Since we’re assuming things, may I please assume there’s some sort of cage ready for us to put these things in? We have some pretty pissed-off piggies.”

  “They’re not pigs,” said Lowri.

  I could almost hear Quentin’s eyeroll. “They have tusks and hooves and they know how to use them,” he said. “That’s piggy enough for me.”

  “Oberon would be ashamed of you, having so little concern for the proper names of things,” Lowri chided. Then she winked to make it clear that she was kidding. “Her Highness directed some of the household staff to prepare the stables in hopes of a successful return. When last I spoke with her, she said the task was finished and the stables were secure. I’ll take you there.”

  “We have stables?” I asked.

  “Wonders never cease, do they?” Lowri nodded to the other guard. He nodded back but stayed in position as Lowri led us into the knowe. Our pixie escort accompanied us, ringing gleefully.

  The world spun lazily around me as we transitioned from the mortal world to the Summerlands. The ease of the transition was another sign of how much less human I am now than I used to be. There’s a certain pushback against mortals crossing that kind of border. When I was more human, entering a knowe could knock me to my knees and leave me vomiting on the floor. These days, it’s something I can overlook if I’m distracted enough, or in enough of a hurry.

  “So how did it go?” asked Lowri. Her hooves clattered on the floor of the entry hall, echoing softly up into the chambered ceiling.

  “Not too bad,” I replied, trying to steal glances at the redwood carvings lining the walls. They change sometimes, adding major events and personages from the Kingdom. It can be embarrassing to see myself represented there, but it isn’t embarrassing enough to keep me from scanning for recent developments.


  Nothing seemed to have changed since our last visit. That was a good thing. It meant the Kingdom was relatively peaceful for a change. I could use a little peace. Especially while I was trying to help Tybalt with his current problems, I could use a lot of peace.

  Assuming he was ever going to start letting me help him. Assuming he ever spoke to me again. I finally understood how my friends felt when I refused to reach out, and I didn’t like it.

  “You seem to have stolen someone’s trash can.”

  “We can put it back,” protested Danny. One of the arkan sonney hit the side of the can hard enough to make another dent. He amended, “Or not.”

  “Or not,” agreed Lowri. She led us through an unmarked door, bypassing the throne room in favor of a long, mostly empty hallway. Smaller carvings lined these walls, showing scenes that were less heroic but equally necessary to the functionality of the Kingdom in general and the knowe in specific. Many of the people they portrayed were friends of mine, from Arden’s seneschal, Madden, to her recently-hired chatelaine, Cassandra Brown.

  Cassandra is the eldest daughter of my childhood friend, Stacy, and my adopted niece. I’ll admit, I never expected her to wind up employed by a royal knowe, but she seemed to be doing well for herself, and Arden adored her. There are worse places to stand in our world than at the left hand of the Queen. I should know, having stood in many of them.

  The hall wound around the edge of the knowe in a gentle spiral before ending at a narrow stairway. Lowri started down. We followed. Geography doesn’t translate exactly between the Summerlands and the mortal world, but the longer the two areas are tied together, the more closely the bones are likely to conform: we were clearly following the slope of the hill into the valley. For all that Arden’s palace doesn’t exist in the human version of Muir Woods, and for all that the Faerie side of things has a lot more of the truly giant trees still standing, the basics are there on both sides.

  Speaking of which . . .