One Salt Sea

  “Toby? May said to see if you were—” Connor stepped into the room, freezing in mid-step when he saw me. I guess I presented a startling picture, especially considering my customary cotton-and-denim chic.

  “Yeah?” I asked, forcing a twist of a smile.

  “You look . . .”

  I had to forcibly restrain the urge to rake my hands through my hair. “I know. Sucks, don’t it?”

  “You look amazing.” He gave me a besotted smile. “I mean it.” He’d changed while he was out, replacing his white cotton shirt and denim jeans with a tailored blue vest, white silk shirt, and dark blue trousers a few shades lighter than his Victorian-style walking jacket. His hair was damp again, the artless tangle of his gray-and-brown curls somehow making the picture perfect. His smile widened when he saw me studying him. “You approve?”

  “I do.” I smoothed my skirt with the heels of my hands, ducking my head to hide the blush, and shouted, “May? How am I supposed to go armed in this getup?”

  “You’re not,” she said, stepping into the room with Stacy behind her.

  I crossed my arms. “That’s not an option.”

  Stacy grinned. “You look great.”

  “I still need weapons,” I said firmly.

  Stacy blinked, looking briefly concerned. “You’re going to the Queen’s Court armed? She already doesn’t like you. Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “No, but I’m going to do it anyway. I’m way too good at getting myself into trouble. I refuse to go without protection.”

  “I told Luna you’d be difficult,” said May, handing me a thigh sheath. “This, of course, is courtesy of Sylvester.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, and strapped it on. My belt sheath was on the floor with my jeans. I picked it up and transferred my knife to the thigh sheath, checking twice to be sure the handle was in a convenient position in case it needed to be drawn. I used to carry two knives, one silver, one iron. That’s another thing that changed when Amandine changed my blood. Iron burns my skin now, and I can’t stand to touch it unless I’m wearing special gloves. I’ll replace it soon. But not just yet.

  Digging the Luidaeg’s shell out of my jeans, I tucked it between the thigh sheath and my leg. The leather pressed the edges of the shell against me, spreading an oddly soothing chill across my skin.

  Stacy smiled at me as I straightened up. “You look amazing,” she said earnestly. “May? Walk me to the car?”

  “Sure,” said May. She lingered long enough to say, “You look awesome. Break a leg tonight.” Then she was gone, following Stacy out of the room. Connor and I exchanged a look.

  “You really do look great,” he said.

  “So do you. You ready?”

  “No.”

  “Good—me neither.” I sighed. “Come on. Let’s go see the Queen.”

  Connor laughed as he we walked out into the hall. That was good. I was pretty sure we wouldn’t be doing much laughing after we got to the Queen’s knowe.

  FIVE

  CARS I VAGUELY RECOGNIZED filled about half the spots in the parking lot closest to the Queen’s knowe. Other spots were apparently empty, but radiated an aura of “You don’t want to park here” that betrayed the presence of vehicles hidden by don’t-look-here charms that I still wasn’t strong enough to see through.

  Connor glanced my way, doubtless reading the tension in the set of my mouth and the way I was practically strangling the steering wheel. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

  “I pretty much have to be.” I parked the car between two that I couldn’t see, taking a weird sort of pleasure in leaving it visible. “Maeve’s tits, I hate this place.”

  “You, too? I always feel like I’m being measured for the killing jar.” Connor undid his seat belt and got out of the car.

  “At least the Queen doesn’t hate you,” I offered, following him. My shoes provided a surprising amount of traction on both the sandy pavement of the parking lot and the loose sand of the beach beyond. Let’s hear it for high-quality heels.

  “Hey, think big—she probably hates me by now. I’m dating you, and she’s already condemned you to death once.”

  “Sad for her that I’m hard to kill.” I eyed the rocks between us and the cave leading to the Queen’s knowe. “I’m going to fall in.”

  “That’s not going to be a problem.” Connor smiled as he took my hand. The scent of kelp rose around us, briefly overwhelming the smell of the sea. He tugged me forward. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

  I eyed him dubiously, but let him lead me around the rocks I would normally have walked across, down the last strip of sand, and into the shallow water. At least, it looked like he was leading me into the water. I could see it lapping around my calves, but I couldn’t feel a thing.

  “Nice trick,” I said.

  His smile became a grin. “There are side benefits to dating a Selkie.”

  “You mean I’m getting something out of this besides the sex? Awesome.”

  Connor laughed.

  Intangible waves eddied around us as we waded through them to the shallow, stagnant water that pooled on the floor of the cave. For possibly the first time ever, I was going to be visiting the Queen’s knowe completely dry.

  It was a lot lighter in the cave than I was used to, but that was due to the changes in me, not due to any change in the Queen’s décor. My night vision has improved with the rest of me. I gave Connor one last sidelong glance, wishing we could skip out and go to a movie or something instead, and pulled him through the cave’s rear wall.

  The stone faded into cool mist, turning the world gray and sending electric tingles through my skin. We kept walking. The mist thinned and finally disappeared completely, leaving us standing in the Queen’s knowe . . . but not the part of it I was expecting. Connor dropped my hand.

  “Whoa,” he said.

  I silently shared the sentiment.

  Normally, the beachside entrance to the Queen’s knowe leads to a vast, cavernous ballroom that seems to extend for the better part of forever. Not this time. Instead, we were standing in a large antechamber, clearly intended to control the flow of arrivals. It might have seemed imposing if I hadn’t been expecting the ballroom. Since I was, it just seemed ostentatious, like it was trying way too hard.

  The walls were blue-white marble and pink coral, and the floor was pink-veined white marble. It was like we were standing inside a giant wedding cake. The room ended in set of ornately carved oak doors at least fifteen feet tall, flanked by a pair of Daoine Sidhe wearing the Queen’s colors. One had dark blue hair; the other’s hair was almost exactly the color of cotton candy.

  “Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown? Jolly old town,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Ignore me.” I released my human disguise, leaving the smell of copper and fresh-cut grass hanging in the air. “So are you ready now?”

  Connor’s disguise dissolved into the scent of kelp and seawater. “Still no.”

  “Good answer. Come on.”

  The blue-haired flunky stared straight ahead as we approached, his nose wrinkled slightly, like he smelled something bad. I grimaced as we got close enough for me to recognize him. Dugan Harrow, everybody’s favorite landless asshole.

  “Who comes?” he demanded, once we were too close to be ignored without violating the rules of propriety.

  Even I knew better than to be flippant with a member of the Queen’s retinue at a time like this. I straightened and said, “Countess October Christine Daye of Goldengreen, Knight of Lost Words, sworn to Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills.”

  “Connor O’Dell of Saltmist, current Undersea diplomatic emissary from Saltmist to Shadowed Hills,” said Connor.

  Dugan scowled. “You may pass,” he said, not bothering to conceal his resentment. We—a changeling and a skinshifter—were invited guests, while he, a pureblood Daoine Sidhe, was stuck on door duty. He kept scowling as he turned in practiced tandem with the other footman to op
en the vast oak doors, revealing a long, dimly-lit hall that matched the entrance chamber’s design. I walked past them with my head held high, not making eye contact.

  Connor walked beside me, waiting until the doors were closed behind us to grin and say, “You always say you hate your name. Why don’t you go by Christine?”

  “Be quiet.”

  “We could call you Chrissie.”

  “Shut up.”

  Connor snorted and stopped talking. He didn’t stop looking amused.

  A series of diaphanous curtains the color of new-fallen snow billowed from the ceiling at the end of the hall, turning the ballroom beyond into a watercolor abstraction. Connor’s hand sought mine, gripping tightly. I shot him what I hoped was a reassuring look, and we stepped together through the layers of hanging fabric.

  The curtains parted around us like a slightly more solid version of the wall we’d walked through to enter the knowe—and just like the wall, when the last of them fell away, it was to reveal a world transformed.

  The main hall had been decorated for the occasion, elevating it from “grand” to “practically unreal.” Gray silk ribbons were wrapped around the filigreed ivory pillars studding the room, and layers of white covered the walls, making it impossible to pinpoint the entrances. The royal crest of the Kingdom of the Mists hung from each of the four balconies; no matter where you looked, you’d know whose territory you were in.

  More ribbons hung from the heavy chandeliers overhead, eddying with the movement of the crowd below until they drifted dangerously close to the candles around them. The candlelight itself was bright and diffuse at the same time, turning everything faintly unreal. I shuddered, squeezing Connor’s hand. I hate candlelight.

  And then there were the people.

  There are dozens of fiefdoms in the Kingdom of the Mists. Most of them have at least one noble family, and for an event this size—an event meant to prevent a war— everyone had come out of the woodwork to prove their willingness to make an effort. Everyone. I didn’t recognize half the people. They were all dressed to the nines, mingling and chatting while they ignored the servants weaving among them with trays of drinks and canapés. Only the faint air of unease disturbed the illusion of glamorous society; this might be the last peaceful night in the Kingdom for quite some time.

  My feet were suddenly numb, refusing to let me move. “I don’t think I can do this,” I said.

  “Just smile.”

  “I don’t think I can do that either.”

  “Try.”

  I took a deep breath and scanned the room, looking for something safe to concentrate on. I found it in a woman standing at the nearest banquet table, picking disinterestedly at a roast Wyvern. She had marigold-colored hair, and was the only person in the room wearing jeans. I pointed at her. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Connor followed my finger. Then he nodded. “Yup.”

  “Oh, thank Oberon. I was afraid we’d be the only sane ones here.” I began to wade determinedly through the crowd, hauling Connor with me.

  The woman looked up as though she could sense our approach, the light glinting off the lenses of her glasses, as she turned our way, smiled, and disappeared. The people she’d been standing next to stopped and stared. Very few people are as casual about teleportation as April O’Leary, even in Faerie. April makes her own rules. Being the only cyber-Dryad Countess in existence means she gets to do that.

  Connor and I stepped to the side, moving into the shelter of one of the room’s massive pillars. “At least now we know they’re not letting anybody off the hook,” I said. Moving April out of her County must have taken some pretty complicated hardware. It also left Tamed Lightning practically undefended, since she was both their Countess and their early warning system.

  “We already knew that,” said Connor. “They invited you.”

  The air in front of us shimmered before I could come up with a retort. When the shimmer cleared, April was simply standing there, green sparks dancing off the rims of her glasses. I was almost disappointed to see that she’d traded her jeans for a proper ball gown, all crushed green velvet and black satin ribbons. Being made entirely of light has its advantages.

  “October. Connor.” She accompanied her greetings with small bobs of her head. “It is pleasant to see you again.”

  “Same,” said Connor.

  “Hey, April.” I waved. “I see they got to you, too.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I did not wish to attend, but Elliot said I must preserve the illusion that we pay attention to events on the Kingdom level.”

  That sounded like something Elliot would say. “Is he here with you?”

  “No. He won the coin toss and elected to remain at the office. I am accompanied by one of the junior programmers. I believe he is trysting in the food preparation area with one of the resident Brownies. As long as my server is not compromised, it is none of my concern.” April shrugged, indicating how little she minded being abandoned. “It is interesting to see so many new faces. I still do not get out much. This was a valuable opportunity to test my new mobile server array.”

  “We should fix that—the not getting out much, I mean.” I snagged two glasses of sparkling wine from a nearby servant, passing one of them to Connor. I’ve been poisoned that way in the past, but if someone wanted to go to that much trouble to assassinate me in the Queen’s own Court, they wouldn’t stop with a couple of poisoned drinks.

  The wine was light and tartly sweet, with a faint aftertaste of apple blossoms.

  “I am not sure I want to get out more.” April glanced around before adding, with some frustration, “These people are difficult to communicate with. They mostly just stare.”

  I had to laugh. “They’re not used to you yet. You have to give them some time.” As far as I know, April is the only Dryad ever to hold a noble title. She’s definitely the only Dryad ever to have been transplanted into a piece of computer hardware. Say what you like about her adoptive mother, the late January O’Leary, but the woman had a style all her own.

  “I encounter this reaction frequently.” April brushed slightly pixelated hair out of her eyes. “I really am not sure what is expected of me if this comes to conflict. I doubt the Undersea has DSL lines for me to disconnect, and my range of movement is limited by my hardware.”

  “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, either.” The Luidaeg’s shell chilled briefly, reminding me that one way or another, I was going to be doing something.

  April tilted her head, looking between us, and asked, “When did you get married?”

  Connor choked on his wine. I coughed into my hand, getting my breath back before asking, “Uh, what?”

  “Is that incorrect? I am sorry.” April looked annoyed. “I assumed your mutual attendance signified something, given the disappearance of my cousin Rayseline. I really am terrible with this ‘interpersonal relationships’ thing. Elliot says I must find a man and attempt to have children if I wish to validate my rule.”

  “Does he, now?” I asked, barely following her apparent change of subjects. Connor was still struggling to breathe. It was almost amusing, in a sadistic sort of way.

  “It seems both silly and biologically improbable to me, but . . .” April shrugged, encompassing in a gesture how silly she found most social traditions. “If you will excuse me, I believe I see my Uncle Sylvester. I must say hello.” Her dress shimmered back into blue jeans and a sweater before she vanished, leaving the air to rush into the place where she’d been standing.

  I gave Connor a sidelong look. “Normally this is where we’d go bother Sylvester, but for the moment, I think she can have him.”

  A voice from my other side asked, “Is she like that all the time?”

  “Mostly,” I answered automatically. “Other days she’s a little weird.” Then I paused, realizing the voice didn’t belong to anyone I knew. Wincing, I turned. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been properly introduced.”

  The man beside
me laughed with what sounded like sincere amusement. I didn’t know him. I would have remembered. He was Daoine Sidhe, but sturdier than the average, built more like a sailor than a nobleman. A light patina of verdigris covered his bronze hair, and his eyes were dark blue. His features were pleasant without being spectacular. That alone was unusual: the Daoine Sidhe seem to make a habit out of unnaturally refined beauty.

  He also looked exhausted. Thin worry lines were etched into the skin around his mouth, and he had the haggard complexion of a man who hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly for days, if not weeks.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s nice to hear a little honesty around here. I don’t think we’ve met, although you do look familiar.”

  “This is my first major diplomatic event.” Connor had recovered from his coughing fit and was tugging on my elbow, trying to get my attention. I couldn’t think of a way to stop the introduction without being rude, so I barreled on, saying, “That was Countess April O’Leary of Tamed Lightning. I’m Countess October Daye, from Goldengreen. You can call me Toby. This is my escort—”

  “Connor O’Dell,” said the stranger. Connor let go of my elbow. “We’ve met. But you . . . you’re Amandine’s daughter, aren’t you? The one who killed Blind Michael.”

  Sometimes I think I’ll never live either of those things down. “That’s me.”

  The stranger nodded. “They say you’re a hero.”

  “They say a lot of things.” I looked at him blandly. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Patrick.” He smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I shot Connor an apologetic glance. Well, that explained why he’d been trying to get my attention. “Patrick Lorden?”

  “The very same.”

  “You’re married to the Duchess of Saltmist, aren’t you?” Leave it to me to strike up an informal conversation with one of the people we were gathered to pacify.

  “That would be me.” Patrick didn’t sound offended. That was something. “Dianda’s yelling at the Queen, and I’m staying as far away as I can. My wife can be . . . forceful . . . when she gets going. Hello, Connor. Cute date.”