“That explains why you think he’s cute all the time,” muttered Quentin.
Mathias barked a laugh that sounded halfway to becoming hysterical. “The Crown Prince of the Westlands is in my living room. He’s in my living room, having opinions about a changeling knight’s love life. Maybe none of this is happening. Maybe we’re still on our way here from Halifax, and when I wake up, we’ll be able to try all this nonsense again, in a slightly less horrifying fashion.”
“Sorry, but this is real,” I said. “And we’d prefer it if you didn’t spread that whole ‘secretly the Crown Prince’ thing around. Quentin’s with me on a blind fosterage. No one’s supposed to know who he is.”
“But you don’t deny it,” said Mathias.
“No, because I said I wasn’t here to lie to you, and this isn’t the time to start.” René was still clinging to him, shaking. I watched the back of his head for a moment. The Selkie clans were all interrelated; they had to be. How else could their human kinfolk marry and raise families of their own? No one who’d grown up purely in the mortal world would be able to understand them, and even with a geas to stop their tongues and keep them from spilling Faerie’s secrets, there would be gaps. Places where the lies were too apparent.
More and more, what we’d come here to do felt wrong. The Luidaeg’s punishment might have been right and just when it began, but that was generations ago, before any of these people were alive, before the Selkies were a thriving, functional part of Faerie. I couldn’t tell her “no.” I couldn’t stop her. But was I going to be able to live with myself once I’d done what she demanded?
I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry to be the one who tells you this. I’m more sorry that it’s happened. But . . .” I stopped, caught myself, and began again. “When the Root and Branch were young, when the Rose still grew unplucked upon the tree; when all our lands were new and green and we danced without care, then, we were immortal. Then, we lived forever.”
René finally made a sound, sorrow and disbelief and shocked horror bound together in a small, tight gasp. He turned, still clinging to Mathias, to face me.
I continued. It was the only thing left for me to do. “We left those lands for the world where time dwells, dancing, that we might see the passage of the sun and the growing of the world. Here we may die, and here we can fall, and here Isla Chase of Belle Fleuve, leader of the Chase clan of Selkies, has stopped her dancing.”
René nodded, closing his eyes and sagging into the couch. Mathias stroked his arm, even as he glared daggers at me. I’d rarely seen a man that openly embracing his hatred while not actively trying to murder me. It was a nice change, even if I didn’t like the circumstances.
“Why are you telling us this?” he demanded. “The sea witch granted us permission to steal from one another, and to be rendered human against your will is the next best thing to being murdered. My clan’s children are hiding in their rooms, crying, because what happens to them if someone comes to hurt their mommies or daddies? One death shouldn’t be enough to summon a hero. Not unless you’re intending to slay our Firstborn.”
“She’s a friend of mine, so no,” I said. I had spent a lot of time cultivating a good relationship with the Luidaeg. Even if some of that time had been accidental, I didn’t want to waste it. There was also the little matter of my having brought her back from the dead once, after her sister Eira had broken into her apartment and attacked her. That sort of thing makes it difficult to commit to slaughter. “I’m here because whoever stole Isla’s skin murdered her. She didn’t fall. She didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered.”
René made a small snuffling sound and pressed his face into Mathias’ shoulder. Mathias, thank Oberon, sat up a little straighter, some of the malice leaving his face, to be replaced by amazement.
“Meaning you’re throwing this upon the judgment of the clans,” he said.
“Yes. The Luidaeg gave you permission to steal from each other. She didn’t supersede or dismiss clan law, and clan law, according to Elizabeth, forbids the unnecessary killing of your human kin. Isla died human.”
“You mean the Lady intended her to live and suffer all the days of her life, knowing what she’d lost,” said Mathias witheringly. “Whoever killed her may have been trying to do her mercy.”
“We’re fae. We don’t do mercy.” I kept my gaze steady, not allowing myself to waver. “I’m a hero of the realm, Mathias Lefebvre. Will you allow me to fulfill my duty, and find the one who killed your . . .” I faltered. “I don’t know the term for ‘you’re both leaders of Selkie clans,’ but that’s what I want to do. Liz has already said I can. There are only four of you left. If two of you give me permission, then I can do whatever needs to be done and not worry about someone saying I’m not allowed to be here.”
“She was my fellow chief, and my kin through René.” Mathias put a comforting arm around his husband’s shoulder. “We rarely saw eye to eye, but we were friendly, for his sake. Yes. You have my permission to find the one who killed her.”
“I want her skin,” said René, with sudden, brutal fierceness.
I turned to him, blinking. “What?”
“My sister’s skin. I want it. You say someone stole it from her, rendered her human, and killed her? I don’t care what the sea witch gave us permission to do. She was murdered, and I can claim recompense, and I want her skin. It’s been in our family since the beginning. It was our mother’s. I want it back.”
I bit my lip, glancing to Tybalt, who looked hopelessly back at me. Under most circumstances, it would have been nice to see him as baffled as I was. This wasn’t most circumstances.
“René . . .” I shifted my focus back to the Selkie man, who was staring at me, impatient and defiant. “You know this Convocation ends with the Luidaeg using me to bind the skins to their wearers and bring back the Roane.”
“I know,” he said. “Mathias and I don’t have any children. We’ve been trying to decide how we want to do that. Neither does . . . neither did Isla. There wasn’t time. She thought she had so much longer than this. But our clan has children, and my sister wouldn’t begrudge me giving her skin to one of them, any more than I would have begrudged her giving mine to a child of Belle Fleuve. We knew when we went to different clans that this day might come. You always hope it won’t. You always understand that it will.”
One more complication was exactly what we didn’t need, especially with Torin prowling around, Dianda in custody, and the Luidaeg sailing off to find her absent sister. Looking at René’s eyes, I realized I couldn’t tell him I wouldn’t at least try.
“I’ll do what I can,” I said. “If the skin has already been passed to a new owner . . .”
“I need to meet them,” he said. “I need to know whether they’re someone my sister would have approved of. If they’re not, I’ll take it back, and screw the sea witch if she doesn’t like it.”
Mathias looked horrified. Liz looked like she wanted a drink. Quentin grinned.
“I like this one,” he said.
“Lovely: the Crown Prince approves of my husband.” Mathias scowled at his cider. “I suddenly find myself wishing I shared my colleague’s lack of caution where alcohol is concerned.”
“A drink a day keeps the crushing weight of the universe away,” said Liz, with something that actually resembled good cheer.
“Right,” I said. “Mathias, Liz, you should stay here, and stay together. We can’t afford to lose any more clan leaders, not when things are getting ugly. René, will you come with us?”
“What?” said Mathias and Liz, in remarkably close unison.
“Of course,” said René, and started to rise.
Mathias caught his arm, dragging him right back down again. “You will not,” he snapped. He sounded furious. His face told a different story.
He was afraid.
I could understand h
is reaction. I went through something similar every time I needed to send one of my boys away. Tybalt could take care of himself, and even Quentin wasn’t the helpless courtier that part of me would always insist on seeing him as, but that didn’t stop me from worrying whenever shit was going down and they weren’t close enough for me to watch over. Mathias was a man on the verge of losing everything—his way of life, his people, even the specific nature of his ties to Faerie. Adding René to that list was just one step too far.
“He will,” I said gently. “I need someone who can walk me through the community you have here, however temporary it is, and I can’t take you or Liz.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because maybe Isla was killed because she was convenient, and maybe she was killed because someone held a grudge, but maybe she was killed because someone is targeting Selkie clan leaders, and I’d rather not walk you right into their targeting range.” I shrugged. “Call me weird, but I think the Selkies—Roane, whatever the right term is when this is all over—will do better if they don’t have to deal with their world changing and their leaders dying at the same time. It’s just a thought.”
“It’s not a bad one,” said Mathias. “Don’t . . . please, please. We’re not friends. You have no reason to do anything I ask of you, and every reason to want to see me suffer, but please. Don’t let them hurt him.”
“My lady is not so cruel as you’d imply, and I would be most pleased if you would choose your words more carefully in the future.” Tybalt’s voice was mild. His eyes told a different story. His pupils had narrowed to thin threads against the banded green of his irises, and he looked at Mathias the way a predator looks at a small, scurrying thing; like he was considering how good the other man might taste. “Please do not provoke me.”
“Did you feel like you weren’t getting in your daily quota of being unnecessarily threatening, or are you just showing off for the new people?” I asked.
“Can I vote ‘both’?” asked Quentin.
Tybalt snorted. “I’m allowed to defend your honor. You granted me that right when you accepted my suit. Please don’t take away what small pleasures I can preserve in the face of far more danger than I care to contemplate.”
“Fine, you can threaten people.”
“I appreciate it,” he said, cracking the narrowest line of a smile.
I turned back to Mathias. “Sorry about that: my fiancé is pretty protective. But that means your husband will be walking with a very impatient, very highly-strung King of Cats, and a hero of the realm, and her personal squire. He’ll be as safe as we can make him.”
“Your personal squire, the Crown—”
“Okay, I really need you to stop saying that,” I said. “Please. Quentin is with me on a blind fosterage, and if news of his parentage gets out in the Mists, or news of his location gets out back in Beacon’s Home, it could endanger him and force his parents to call him home. I’m not done training him, and even though it would mean a serious reduction in my grocery bills, I’ve gotten fond of the little jerk. So do me a favor and stop endangering my squire.”
“Or the King of Cats will eat me?” asked Mathias.
“No, but you’ll piss me off, and I’m pretty sure that’s worse.”
“She’s right,” said Quentin. “It’s way worse. I would prefer the flesh wounds.”
“I can’t tell whether I’m being insulted or you’re being flattered,” said Tybalt.
“Again, go with ‘both’ and move on,” I said, keeping my attention on Mathias. “You need to let René go with us. I will do my utmost to guarantee that he stays safe.”
“Let her,” said Liz. “She has a remarkably good track record, all things considered. She almost never comes back with unexpected corpses.”
“That’s not encouraging,” said Mathias . . . but he let go of René’s arm. The other man rose, turned back, and bent to press a kiss to Mathias’ forehead, lingering there for a long moment.
“I’ll come back to you,” he said softly, voice so low and intimate that I felt almost like I was intruding. Only almost. Their farewell was important; so was the dead woman.
“See to it,” said Mathias.
René nodded and walked over to join the rest of us. There was nothing left to say, and so we simply left. We had work to do.
SIXTEEN
THE BEACH WAS STILL deserted. I paused, frowning.
“René, your sister—you lived with her at some point, right? After you’d both received your skins?” Most fae have extremely low birthrates, a consequence of being functionally immortal. If we bred the way humans do, we would have overrun the world centuries ago, leaving no room for anything else. Sometimes I think that might have been better. Most of the time, I think we would have just come up with different ways of ruining absolutely everything.
René nodded. “Her skin was worn by our mother; my skin was worn by our grandfather. There’s a tradition in our family of marrying kin who were never offered a skin of their own. That way, we never lose sight of the fact that mortality comes for us all. That’s why I had to leave for Beacon’s Home when I fell in love with Mathias. He wasn’t clan leader yet—he wasn’t even sure he was in the running—but he couldn’t come to live with me, because by my clan’s rules, we couldn’t have been married. We were both Selkies, and that simply wasn’t done, especially not by the old chief’s son.”
“Okay, the family history is nice, but irrelevant to my actual question. Can you describe the scent of your sister’s magic? In as much detail as possible, please.” I’d never had the chance to smell Isla in the act of spellcasting. The scent might linger on her sealskin, but I wouldn’t know that for sure until I found the person who’d stolen it.
“Chicory and phlox,” said René. “It’s a lot like mine. Here.” He held out his hand, brow furrowing as he whistled a few notes of a song that sounded distinctly similar to the sort of weird maritime folk that Quentin sometimes decided to blast in the middle of the day. That’s the real connection between folk music and the fae: it’s easier to whistle than heavy metal.
The smell of chicory and cypress filled the air as the space above his palm transitioned from perfect clarity to cloudy gray, finally becoming a black-and-white image of a younger Isla, laughing as she spun on the bare toes of one foot, her other foot held out at a stabilizing angle. She wasn’t particularly graceful. Selkies never are. But there was a joy to her that had been absent the one time I’d seen her alive, a lightness that spoke to the way she saw her place in the world.
“Everyone thought I was going to take over when Mom passed her skin along,” said René, eyes on the spinning specter of his sister. “I’d been a Selkie for almost five years before Isla was chosen. I’d carried myself with dignity and pride. But then Mathias happened, and there was no way for us to be together and me to lead the clan, so I stepped aside, and Isla had to change her plans.”
“That sucks,” said Quentin softly. His eyes were on the spinning Selkie woman, and I didn’t know how to read the expression on his face. We’d been together long enough that I could usually tell what he was thinking, but now . . .
He had a sister in Toronto. Penthea, second in line for the throne. If he chose to step aside for some reason, he’d be doing to her what René had accidentally done to Isla. For the first time, I saw why his parents might be concerned about his attachment to the Mists. After all, we were the ones with the power to turn a prince’s head.
“Yeah.” René closed his hand. The dancing figure of Isla disappeared as he looked at me. “Did that give you what you needed?”
“I guess we’re going to find out,” I said, and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.
What felt like hundreds of magical traces struck me at the same time, and I staggered. Tybalt was there to catch me and hold me up, one hand under my right arm and the other clamped around the curve of my waist, supporti
ng and stabilizing me. I clutched at his arms, eyes still closed, and breathed in again, even deeper this time.
The magical assault on my nose and lungs was actually, physically painful. I swallowed, forcing myself to keep going. This shouldn’t be so hard, I thought, reeling under the assault. This is what I was made to do.
The Dóchas Sidhe. Faerie’s bloodhounds—literally. We’re more attuned to blood than any other kind of fae I’ve ever encountered, and that includes both the Daoine Sidhe and the Baobhan Sith. We can bend it to our desires, shifting a person’s body along the scale between immortality and the grave, and since magic is a function of the blood, we can track individuals by the scents they leave behind as they walk through the world. But there was so much, and it was so thick—
Not letting myself think too hard about what I was about to do, I closed my teeth on my tongue, wincing against the bright bolt of pain that followed. The wound was already healing by the time I unclenched my jaw, flesh knitting back together with a distracting, tingling itch. Hot blood filled my mouth. I swallowed as much as I could, hoping it would be enough to prevent me from needing to do that again. I’ve gotten over a lot of my issues with blood—it helps that I’ve been covered in the stuff so many times at this point that I’d never get out of bed if I hated it like I used to—but it’s always better when I can avoid bleeding more than absolutely necessary.
The world seemed to slow as the blood reached my stomach, amplifying my magic in an almost indescribable way. How it can work when the blood is my own doesn’t make sense; I shouldn’t be able to use my magic to fuel my magic. But it does work, and that’s what matters, especially when I need to find the place where an innocent woman died.
I breathed in, and the magic flowed around me, neatly separating into its component parts, saltwater and freshwater and kelp and roses, always, always roses. I kept breathing in, looking for anything that sang to my memory of René’s magic. Chicory and phlox, that’s what he’d said; chicory and phlox.
The Unkindest Tide (October Daye) Page 27
