“Until the old King fell,” I said, filling in the missing pieces.
Tybalt nodded. “They were of his Court. They came here in the aftermath, and have remained ever since.”
“So hearing that Silences had hurt her brother probably didn’t help Tia’s state of mind.” It might well have destroyed it. I shook my head. “I need to think about this. You can get some sleep, if you need to.”
To my surprise and relief, Tybalt did exactly that, bracing his arm against the window and resting his head on the platform this created. He didn’t enjoy riding in the car under the best of circumstances; something about remembering a time when the streets belonged to horses and carriages kept him from fully relaxing in something that moved faster than either men or beasts were ever intended to. But he was getting used to it, for my sake, just like I was getting used to traveling via the Shadow Roads, for his.
It was nice, that we both had something to get used to. It made things feel more equitable.
I turned the radio on but kept it turned down low as I made the drive from San Francisco to Berkeley, trying to allow the familiar sounds of 1980s rock and roll to ease my nerves. It didn’t work. I was wound as tightly as it was possible for me to be, and there was no one for me to blame but myself. I could have been smarter about confronting Arden, for a start—I could have avoided this whole situation if I’d just kept my hands off the Queen in the Mists.
Or maybe not. Arden had been so quick to jump at sending me into Silences as a punishment that I had to wonder whether it would have been her solution even if I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was developing something of a reputation as a political wrecking ball. She hadn’t built her Court yet, not really, and with Madden out of commission, she couldn’t afford to send Lowri away. Who else did she really have? I was a hero of the realm. Sending me to Silences might have been her best approach.
“I hate politics,” I muttered, and turned onto University.
The central spire of UC Berkeley was visible long before the campus itself came into view. I ignored the posted parking signs and drove up one of the back paths intended for delivery trucks and moving vans, getting as close to the building where Walther worked as possible. Tybalt’s don’t-look-here was holding exceedingly well. As long as no one tried to bring a U-Haul down the path, the natural aversion to interfering with anything under that sort of illusion would keep the human population of campus from noticing us.
May, Quentin, and Tybalt all remained asleep as I turned off the engine and eased my way out of the car. Only Spike clambered to its feet, stretched, and leaped after me. “Stay close, okay?” I said, gently closing the door. “I don’t have time to chase you around the school. We have a war to prevent.”
Spike gave me a reproachful look and rattled its thorns, like it was ashamed of me for even asking. I shrugged.
“I just like making sure we’re all on the same page,” I said, and started walking.
UC Berkeley is a beautiful school. If I had ever decided to go to a human university, I think I would have liked to go there. Redwood trees studded the grounds, growing thickest around the stream that ran through the center of the school. Squirrels chittered at me as I walked past, and a few of them even pelted Spike with acorns, apparently offended by its presence. The passive illusion that kept humans from noticing my thorny companion didn’t extend to the campus wildlife. Spike rattled its thorns and kept walking, apparently unconcerned.
It was early afternoon when I reached the chemistry building. Most morning classes were probably over, while the afternoon classes would get started after their instructors came back from lunch. Still, my association with Walther had taught me that grad students could be found in the halls at all hours of the day and night, taking advantage of whatever free scraps of lab time they could find. I kept that in mind and didn’t talk to Spike as I walked down the short hall to Walther’s office door.
It was open. I peeked inside, fearing the worst, and found Walther at his desk with his eyes closed and one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. The glasses he wore when he had to interact with his human students were off to one side, next to his laptop’s keyboard. I cleared my throat and rapped my knuckles against the doorframe.
“Hey, Walther,” I said. “Your ride’s here.”
“I can’t believe she told you. I was never going to go back, you know,” he said, as calmly as if he were making an observation about the weather. “I was going to stay here in the Bay Area until I got bored, and then I was going to go somewhere else, but I was never going to go back. You’re making me go back.”
“And you’re delusional,” I said. “If you were really never going to go back, you wouldn’t have stopped here. You would have gone to Angels, or Lights, or hell, all the way out to Lakes. The Mists are too close to Silences. You were always going to go back. I’m just the excuse that’s finally forcing the issue.”
Walther lowered his hand and opened his eyes. They were shockingly blue, a shade that shouldn’t have existed in nature, not even in Faerie. Not even his reasonably well-woven human disguise could fully blunt those eyes. Hence the glasses, which made him look a little bit less like he was staring into your soul. “Sometimes I don’t like you very much,” he said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t like me much either. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” He stood, picking up the briefcase that sat next to his chair. I raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, looking too tired to argue. “Trust me. This contains everything I’m going to need to make it there and back again.”
“If you say so. Come on.” I turned and walked out of the office, heading for the exit. I didn’t hear any footsteps behind me. At the end of the hall I paused and looked back. Walther’s door was still open. I waited. A few seconds later he finally appeared, slowly closing and locking the door behind himself. Only then did he turn and walk in my direction.
He was a man of average height, blond, slender, and somehow gawky when he was in his human disguise, even though none of his dimensions really changed. I had to assume it was intentional, something to put his students at ease. Without the illusions concealing his true nature, his eyes would be brighter, his ears would be sharply pointed, and his features would seem subtly inhuman, although there was no single thing that could be pointed to and declared the deciding factor. He was a very classic Tylwyth Teg in all of those regards.
He was also my friend, and as callous as I might have seemed in insisting that he come with me, I was still worried about him. Going back to Silences was going to be dangerous . . . and sadly, I really didn’t see a choice. Out of my entire little entourage, he was the one I was most concerned for, and the one I could least afford to leave behind.
When he reached me, I pushed the door open, and together we walked out onto the campus.
“Who’s coming with us?” he asked, when we were almost to the car.
“Tybalt, May, and Quentin,” I said. Spike rattled angrily. I smiled wryly. “And Spike.”
“Portland is good for roses, and for rose goblins,” said Walther. “It probably wants to check out the locals. That sounds like a good team. You sure you need me?”
“I need an alchemist, and I need someone who knows the Kingdom,” I said. “Maybe I could leave you behind if you were only one of those two things, but since you’re both . . .”
Walther sighed. “The curse of my existence. You know, just once, I want a beautiful woman to exploit me for something other than my magic and dangerous political connections. Where’s the car?”
“Here.” I gestured toward a patch of air that my eyes didn’t want to focus on. Spike hopped right into the middle of it, becoming difficult to look at directly as it sat on the car’s hazy-seeming hood.
Walther squinted, cocking his head to the side. After a few seconds, he ventured, “Tybalt’s work?”
“Yeah.” I moved around to where I
remembered leaving the driver’s-side door and groped in the air until I found the handle. Once the door was open, I could see into the car, where my sleeping passengers had continued to snore their way through my absence. I considered them, and finally said, “Okay, May’s practically sitting in the middle of the backseat anyway. You should be able to wedge yourself in next to her. Want me to put your briefcase in the trunk?”
“I’ll keep it with me,” he said. Putting his hand on the hood, he walked around the car, using the feel of it under his palm as a guide until he reached the back passenger door. Opening it, he dropped onto the thin sliver of seat next to my sleeping Fetch and proceeded to nudge her over with his hip until he had enough space to let him close the door. May grumbled sleepily but didn’t wake up. Walther shot me a wry smile.
“I don’t know whether to worry about the fact that your brave protectors are so asleep that I could be murdering you right now, or to be relieved that they’re getting some rest,” he said.
“I would have your heart in my hand before it had stopped beating if I thought you presented even the slightest degree of threat,” said Tybalt calmly, without opening his eyes.
I blinked at him as I slid into the car. “I thought you were asleep,” I said.
“Ah, but see, I am asleep,” said Tybalt. “Note that my breathing has not changed, and that I am not moving. Even asleep, I will protect you. Remember that, and have faith in me.”
“I do,” I said, and started the car.
“Your boyfriend is scary,” said Walther mildly. “I hope you realize that.”
“He’s my fiancé now, and the fact that he’s scary is part of the reason.”
“I never did congratulate you for that,” said Walther. “I’m really happy, October, for both of you. I’ve never heard of a Cait Sidhe marrying a member of the Divided Courts. I actually thought it was just one of those weird rumors until I ran into Bridget and she confirmed it.”
Walther wasn’t a member of Sylvester’s Court, but he and Bridget Ames were both on the UC Berkeley faculty. It’s funny how rumors travel. Although if Bridget knew, Sylvester probably did, too—so much for keeping a low profile. “We still don’t have a date for the wedding. I’m not exactly speaking to Sylvester right now, so I don’t want to get married at Shadowed Hills. We can’t get married in the Court of Cats, since then I wouldn’t be able to have any guests—which is tempting in its own way, but would get me into a lot of trouble. Arden offered to let us use her knowe right before everything started going to shit.”
“Are you going to?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “Tybalt gets a vote, when he’s awake and we’re not heading off to prevent a war. It’d definitely make a statement about the validity of our marriage. Sort of hard to say that a changeling and a Cait Sidhe can’t be together when the Queen in the Mists stood witness. At the same time, it feels like she’d be using us to . . . I don’t know, make a statement about her own validity as Queen. She is Queen. The High King already confirmed her. I don’t need to be a political puzzle piece. Especially not on my wedding day.”
“You’re a hero of the realm now, Toby,” said Walther. He sounded almost amused, in a sideways, regretful sort of way. “You’re always going to be a political puzzle piece.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
Walther took my silence as an excuse for him to close his eyes and settle back against the seat, not going to sleep, exactly, but definitely checking out of the world around him. I turned the radio back on, and focused on the road.
It’s a good thing I like to drive. Returning to Muir Woods meant retracing our path across the Bay Bridge, and then heading deeper, driving across the Golden Gate and into the misty headlands of Marin. My passengers were quiet the whole time, whether sleeping or sunk in thought, and I was grateful. I needed some time to prepare myself.
Being a hero isn’t something that’s come naturally to me. I became a detective because I was stubborn, and because Faerie doesn’t encourage the sort of relentless curiosity that I’ve always exhibited. That never made me good at it—just determined enough that I could usually shake the world until an answer fell out. I’m best at finding things that have been lost. Knowes. Children. Princesses. That last was what earned me the title of “hero,” once and for all, and secured my reputation as something more than the street rat I’d once been. I just wasn’t sure it was a good idea to approach heroing the way I’d always approached detecting. Can you really shake the world until justice falls out? At this point, did I have a choice one way or the other?
Lowri was standing at the open gate of the Muir Woods parking lot. I stopped about eight feet away from her, looking around for signs of hikers or people who might have come to enjoy the redwoods. Thank Maeve, we were alone. I leaned over and touched Tybalt’s shoulder.
“You can drop the don’t-look-here now,” I said. “We’re at Muir Woods.”
“And no one’s died yet? Truly, it is a day for miracles,” murmured Tybalt. He raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The spell burst around us, smelling of musk and pennyroyal.
It had barely begun to dissipate when Lowri raised her hands, sketching a quick series of gestures in the air, and the scent of Tybalt’s magic was replaced with hers, all warm barley grass and mustard flowers. Whatever spell she was casting, it was finished in short order, and she stepped to the side, motioning us forward.
Tybalt was sitting bolt upright now, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. I put a hand on his arm after I had pulled into the first available parking space.
“We’ll find out what she cast in a moment,” I said. He liked having others use magic on him without his consent about as much as I did—which was to say, not at all. “She’s acting on Arden’s orders, whatever she did. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at the Queen.”
“Believe me, I fully intend to,” he muttered.
“Good plan. Hey!” I twisted in my seat, raising my voice as I addressed the rest of my passengers. “Get up. We’re here.”
Quentin cracked open one eye, looking at me petulantly. He had been drooling in his sleep, and his bronze hair was plastered against his cheek in a matted snarl. He still managed to look like he should have been on the cover of whatever the modern equivalent of Tiger Beat was. Daoine Sidhe are always prettier than they have any right to be. “I hate you,” he said.
“True,” I agreed. “Now get up.”
I was the first out of the car, with Tybalt close behind me. Lowri started toward us as soon as I emerged, which made her previous stillness even more obvious. It finally registered that she wasn’t wearing a disguise: her tunic was in Arden’s colors, belted at the waist, leaving her goatish legs bare. Her goat-like ears hung almost to her shoulders, covered in a thin layer of silver-brown fur, and her eyes had horizontal pupils. No one could ever have mistaken her for human.
“This whole area’s been warded off, hasn’t it?” I asked.
Lowri nodded. “No mortals, not until you’re up the hill and safely in Queen Windermere’s Court. She asked me to wait here for you, and add your car to the spell as soon as you arrived. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. I was following orders.”
“Next time, I recommend you search those orders for flexibility,” snarled Tybalt, showing the tip of one pointed incisor. His teeth hadn’t been that sharp before. He was genuinely angry.
“I will try,” said Lowri deferentially. She looked past us to the others, eyes widening as she saw who was staggering out of the car. Then, before either Tybalt or I could say anything, she dropped to one knee, head bowed. “Your Highness.”
She wasn’t supposed to know that. I turned to look behind me. Quentin met my eyes, expression broadcasting alarm and dismay so clearly that it was a wonder he’d ever been able to conceal his title at all. May was yawning, Spike slung over one shoulder and her suitcase clutched in her
other hand. She had left the trunk open after she retrieved it. Walther . . .
Walther had dropped his human disguise and taken off his glasses before getting out of the car. He shook his head, looking resigned. “Not me, I’m afraid. You’ve mistaken me for my cousin Torsten.” He caught my stare and smirked. “Not everyone you know can be royalty in hiding, Toby. Arden was about your limit.”
He still didn’t know about Quentin. I schooled my face back into something more neutral, and said, “You didn’t tell me you were related to the royal family of Silences.”
“I’m Tylwyth Teg. So were they. By definition, I’m at least distantly related to them.” Walther walked over to join us, bending to offer Lowri his hand. “Seriously, get up. I know where Torsten is, and he’s not here.”
“Dead?” Lowri asked, lifting her head and looking up at him.
“Sleeping,” said Walther, still holding out his hand. “I saw him fall. The arrow caught him in his shoulder, and he toppled from his horse, and he didn’t get back up. But he wasn’t dead. Still isn’t, unless the usurper chose to kill them all when they woke.”
“Wait—what do you mean, when they woke?” I asked.
“The war was fought shortly after the death of King Gilad,” said Walther. “That was more than a hundred years ago. Elf-shot, even when it’s mixed by a master, can only put someone to sleep for a hundred years. Any members of the royal family who were elf-shot during the war, rather than being killed outright, would have woken up sometime in the last few years.”
“But killing them now would be a violation of Oberon’s Law, which is bad, so there’s a good chance the current King of Silences just had them elf-shot again instead,” I said slowly. Oberon’s Law allowed for killing purebloods during times of war. Any other time . . . it was the one thing that was truly forbidden. “Sweet Titania, that’s messed up.”
“Tell me about it,” said Walther. Lowri finally took his hand. He helped her off the ground, smiling wryly, and said, “I’m Walther Davies. Your prince is in another castle.”