“Ardy, what’s wrong?” he demanded.
Hearing my nickname from one of the two people in the world allowed to use it brought tears to my eyes, where they hung, stinging and hot, refusing to fall. “Something’s wrong with Nolan,” I said, burrowing into Madden’s arms, allowing myself a split-second where I wasn’t a queen; I was just Arden Windermere, the girl without a kingdom, without a crown, without a brother to comfort her. “I woke him up, but he’s not awake. He barely knows me. He barely knows where he is.”
“Where is he now?”
“In his room.” Madden knew where that was: he’d helped me prepare it once we knew it was both possible and permissible for me to wake my brother. We’d wiped away dust and cleared away cobwebs, and—for a little while—I’d allowed myself to dream of a future where things started going right for me. My lips twisted into a bitter line as I continued, “Asleep. Again. He was awake less than five minutes before he passed out. What did I do wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Madden didn’t do anything to soften his words. He didn’t need to. He was my best friend and my seneschal and the only person who’d known who I was before October came along and ruined everything. He’d never cared that I was a princess, and now he didn’t care that I was a queen. He just cared that I was his Ardy, and I was in pain.
There are people in my Court who think he’s disrespectful, and maybe I’d agree with them if I’d grown up as the girl they want me to be. But I didn’t, and I find his willingness to be my friend before he’s my subject more refreshing than anything else in the world.
I pulled away from him, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I need to talk to the alchemist,” I said. “Where is he?”
“Uh.” Madden looked at his wrist. His watch—a cheerful, brightly-colored thing with Mickey Mouse printed on the strap—was charmed eight ways from Sunday to keep mortal time even when we were in the Summerlands. It’s a necessary affectation. He still works at the Borderlands Café, slinging mochas and looking sad when Jude asks whether he’s heard from me. He doesn’t like lying to her any more than I liked disappearing from the face of the world, but his position leaves him with time to interact with the human world, and mine doesn’t. Even when I’m not doing anything, I’m being a queen, and being a queen means staying where my people can find me.
“It’s almost midnight,” said Madden. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t any classes at midnight, but I don’t know. I did all my college stuff online.”
“He’s not in the knowe?”
“No.” Madden looked deeply regretful. “He went back to work this morning while you were asleep. You had the potion, you had your brother, and you’d said you didn’t want any of us there while you woke him up.”
“Do you know where his office is?”
“Yes, but—”
“Where is it?”
Madden frowned. “Ardy, I don’t think this is the best idea. You should send someone. Send me. Send Lowri. She has a car.”
“She has a rusty piece of junk that needs about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of work before it’ll be shitty enough to sell for scrap,” I said. “I’m going. Where’s his office?”
“He’s in the UC Berkeley Chemistry Building. I really don’t like this.”
“Something is wrong with my brother.” I grabbed a fistful of air. It writhed against my fingers, protesting my intentions. Tough. I twisted it into a human disguise, throwing the features of the woman I’d spent so many decades pretending to be over my own. The weight of her was comforting. I’d been Ardith Heydt for years; longer, really, than I’d been Arden Windermere. I was better at being a bookstore clerk than I was at being a queen.
The one thing we’d always had in common was our brother. Nolan, who’d been the focus of my life since his birth, regardless of which version of me—lost princess, retail worker, or newfound queen—I was allowing myself to be. I straightened, forcing myself to breathe.
“Madden, you have the knowe until I return. If anyone needs me, try to fix whatever their problem is, and if you can’t, tell them to come back tomorrow. I’m busy for tonight.”
He sighed. “All right. Just be careful, Ardy. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Too late for that,” I said. “Years and years too late for that.”
A sweep of my hand opened a window between the balcony and a copse of trees on the UC Berkeley campus. I touched the tip of my ear, verifying that my illusion was solid, and stepped through.
FOUR
The air in the mortal world was thicker, flavored with gas fumes and pesticides and pollution. I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs. This was what home was supposed to smell like. This was where I belonged.
Stupid duty. Stupid bloodline. Stupid inheritance.
It was late enough that the campus was virtually deserted. Somewhere in the trees an owl hooted, protesting my sudden appearance; something rustled in the bushes, too small and quick to be human. That was a relief. Somehow I didn’t think High King Aethlin would be too thrilled if his newest and least-prepared queen was the one who betrayed the existence of Faerie to the human world. We’d managed to stay under the radar for centuries. I wasn’t going to be the one who gave us away.
When nothing else moved, I started walking. My skirt wasn’t the smartest choice for the tree-peppered UC Berkeley grounds, but my illusion was cosmetic only; it hadn’t changed the structure or length of my clothes. Transforming them would have taken too much out of me, especially when I was transporting myself—and hopefully, soon, Master Davies—between Berkeley and Muir Woods. My range is average for one of the Tuatha de Dannan. I can manage a hundred miles on a good day, if I’m aiming for a target that isn’t super precise, like “somewhere in the trees on campus” or “in Muir Woods,” as opposed to “this exact square foot of clover.” I can do three or four jumps a night if they’re that distance, and a lot more if they’re not. But my power is as limited as anyone else’s, and there was no sense frittering it away on unnecessary tactile transformations.
The campus was like a midnight dream, quiet and verdant and intermittently lit by flickering energy-efficient streetlights. Pixies darted overhead, not many, but enough to make it clear that I wasn’t alone. As always, I wondered if they recognized me, or if they cared. Pixies aren’t smart enough to know who’s in charge—or maybe they’re smart enough to realize it doesn’t matter. As long as they have wings, they can get away, and they don’t have to get sucked into the bullshit we mire ourselves in. Maybe the pixies are secretly the smartest things in Faerie, and the rest of us will never know.
I hadn’t been to UC Berkeley in years. My last visit had been during the early nineties, when Madden had lured me away from the used bookstore where I was working long enough to come to a place named the Bear’s Lair and hear a scrappy young mortal band called the Counting Crows play a set. They’d been out of tune; the lead singer had been so drunk that he’d barely been able to stay on his feet for the last three songs; it had been one of the best nights of my life. We’d laughed and cheered and sung along, even though we didn’t know half the lyrics, and it had been perfect. I’d been avoiding campus ever since.
When you live a life like mine, you learn that it’s best to leave the good things alone. If you give the world a chance to ruin them, it’ll take it. Every single fucking time. Case in point: I was alone, and there was no music, and no beer, and no beautiful mortal men to watch admiringly with my best friend. There was just me, and the silence, and the knowledge that this night was going to overwrite the one I’d treasured for so long. That was just the way it was going to be. Again. Always.
The chemistry building was locked. That wasn’t a problem. I peered through the glass, confirming that no one was inside before I waved my hand in the air and opened a portal. I stepped through and the door was behind me, glass unbroken, lock unpicked. It was an elegant, impossible solution
to a very mortal problem. Even if I’d been here to rob the place—which I wasn’t—and even if they’d decided to spring for cameras, no security guard would have believed the footage. The illusion I was wearing would keep them from tracking me down to ask how I’d done it, and Faerie was not going to be revealed by what looked like a glitch on the tape.
I didn’t know which office belonged to Master Davies. I didn’t need to. Most of them were dark, their doors locked against the night; of all the doors along the hall, only one was cracked enough to let a sliver of light escape. It showed the scuffs and muddy footprints on the linoleum. The janitorial staff probably didn’t come until closer to morning.
As I drew closer, I heard voices from inside.
“—tried to explain that actually, I do need to show up for classes once in a while if I want a shot at tenure, but you know Toby.” The alchemist: Master Davies. Tylwyth Teg, originally from the Kingdom of Silences, currently living in the Mists and hence subject to my laws.
Wry laughter followed his words. “Oh, man, do I know Toby.” The voice was unfamiliar: the subject material was not. I sometimes thought half of my reign was going to be spent trying to explain October to people who didn’t have any context on her, and hence assumed we were all screwing with them.
“Did you know she elf-shot herself on purpose?”
“See, and here I was thinking there was something stupid left that she hadn’t done. Stop disillusioning me.”
“Sorry.”
I felt like I was intruding. But my brother was unwell, and I was Queen in the Mists, and it was time for me to make my presence known. I stepped into the sliver of light, reaching for the partially-open door at the same time.
It opened to reveal Master Davies sitting at his desk, and a woman sitting on his desk. They were both wearing human disguises—only sensible, if they were going to hang around with the door unlocked—and I didn’t recognize her at all. Sadly, that didn’t necessarily make her a newcomer to the Mists. My kingdom was large, and I’d spent more time avoiding it than I had going door to door and meeting the people whose fealty was technically mine to command.
The woman blinked at me. So did Master Davies. Then, in a tone that was pleasantly polite without being friendly, he said, “I’m sorry, but office hours happen before the campus is closed for the night. Is there something else I can help you with?”
It was the first time he’d spoken to me like I was a person, instead of just a crown. My illusions aren’t strong enough to change my voice, and so I hesitated, enjoying the feeling of being part of the scene, instead of holding myself above it.
The girl slid off the desk, landing lightly on her feet. Her hair was brown-blonde, darkening to black at the tips, and somehow didn’t look dyed. She was softly rounded, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a tank top that left her belly bare. Not the sort of clothes one wears to visit a professor at midnight—not unless the visit is a lot more social than professional. And she’d admitted to knowing October. I took a breath, and took a guess.
“I need you to return to Muir Woods with me,” I said. Master Davies’s expression went blank. I felt bad about that, I genuinely did, but I couldn’t stop. Not when Nolan needed me. “Something’s wrong with the elf-shot cure. My brother woke, but he didn’t stay that way.”
“Your Highness.” Master Davies stood and bowed, looking at the floor as he continued, “You do me too much honor by coming to me here on campus. I would have gladly come had you called.”
“It would have taken longer,” I said.
The woman looked between us, her eyes getting wider and wider. They were an unprepossessing shade of blue, the sort of thing no one would choose for an illusion unless they were natural. She was dressing up, but only in the most textile of senses. She wanted him to see her for herself, or as close as was possible under the circumstances.
“Wait,” she said. “Is this—I mean, are you—I mean—oh, shit.” Her cheeks flared red. “I just swore in front of the new Queen, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I said, unable to smother my amusement completely. It was sort of a relief. Humor makes the bad times easier to bear, even if it never lasts long enough to make a real difference. “Don’t worry. We don’t have any rules against that. I think because my father probably didn’t realize that humans had profanity. He was sheltered like that. Also, that’s exactly what October said when she met the High Queen. Clearly, you know her.”
“Ah,” said Master Davies. “Queen Windermere in the Mists, I’d like you to meet my friend Cassandra Brown. Cassandra is a student here.”
“Not one of his,” she hastened to clarify. “Nothing inappropriate is going on. We were just catching up.”
“Brown,” I said. “Are you related to Karen?”
Cassandra looked startled. “She’s my sister. How did you . . . ?”
“She came to my conclave. She seemed nice. A little shy, but I’d be shy, too, if I had one of the First accompanying my every move. Are you an oneiromancer?” Karen Brown’s powers were the kind that appeared only rarely, and even more rarely in changelings.
“No, ma’am. I mean, Highness. I mean . . .” She stopped, a frustrated look crossing her face. “I have no idea how to do this. I’m just a changeling. I’m not supposed to know how to do this. If I leave right now, will you pretend this never happened?”
I paused. Something about her tone told me she was holding something back. It might be nothing. So many things were really nothing, when looked at in the light of day. But if there was a chance she was withholding information that the alchemist had shared with her . . .
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “I need you both to come with me.”
“Cassandra’s not part of this,” protested Master Davies.
“My brother is unwell,” I said. “That means my heir is unwell. The security of the kingdom requires you both to come with me now.”
“Toby’s not even here,” muttered Cassandra. “How the hell am I in trouble when Toby’s not even here?”
I ignored her and swept my hand in an arc through the air, opening a portal to the upstairs hallway of my knowe. I didn’t want to drop us in the receiving room, where my servants might see. Most of the household staff was on loan from the local nobles, and that meant if I wanted to keep Nolan’s condition a secret, I needed to keep them from suspecting anything. The alchemist reappearing after I’d dismissed him would certainly be suspicious enough to make people start talking.
Master Davies looked at the portal with dismay. Like Cassandra, he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Unlike Cassandra, he’d been raised in a royal household, and knew better than to express his displeasure aloud.
Belatedly, I realized I didn’t remember his first name. I was already falling into the habits of queenship. And if it got me my brother back, I didn’t care.
“After you,” I said.
Master Davies paused to pick up the valise containing his alchemical supplies before stepping through the portal. Cassandra exhaled when she saw him appear on the other side, casting one last, anxious glance at my face before following him through. I went after her, and the portal closed behind me.
The servants had been here recently. The hallway smelled of wood polish and fresh blackberry flowers. Master Davies shoved his hands into his pockets and released his human disguise, adding the scents of ice and yarrow to the mixture. Mostly yarrow. He didn’t remove his glasses. I knew they were cosmetic, but they seemed to be making him feel better, and I didn’t want to push it. I was already pushing him hard enough.
Cassandra, in contrast, was looking around with open-mouthed amazement. She reached up to push her hair behind her ears, releasing her illusions in the same gesture; they dissolved in a wash of grapefruit and turpentine, revealing the tufts of black-and-brown fur crowning her dully pointed ears. I frowned. I’d never seen ears like that anywhere in Faeri
e, and while I might have forgotten many of the points of queenly etiquette, I’ll never forget the nights I spent with Marianne, her calm, steady voice drilling me on the things I’d need to know to recognize all the denizens of our vast and varied land. Whatever her heritage was, I didn’t know it.
Master Davies cleared his throat. “Your Highness? Where is your brother?”
“This way,” I said, and pulled my regard away from Cassandra’s ears as I turned.
The room where Nolan slept was a short distance down the hall. The lock was open; the knob turned easily under my hand. I pushed the door open and stepped aside, letting Master Davies get a look at his patient.
Nolan was exactly where I’d left him. His chest rose and fell with more vigor than was normal for a victim of elf-shot, but that was the only indication that the cure had been administered; from the way he was lying there, he might as well have still been under the original spell.
“Your Highness.” Master Davies’ voice snapped me out of my contemplation of my brother. I turned to him. He looked at me gravely. “I need a sample of your brother’s blood to determine what’s happening. Is this going to distress you? Do I need to ask you to leave the room? I will.”
He had that authority. Alchemists and healers could command monarchs in the course of treating their patients. It was a small twist in the archaic rules that bound us all, intended to protect our healers from the wrath of people like me. I stared at him, not sure whether I should be grateful that he was worried about my delicate sensibilities, or whether I should start screaming and never stop.
I settled for neither. “I worked in retail during the holiday season, and I’ve met October more than once,” I said, barely managing to keep myself from snarling. “I can handle a little blood.”
“Even when it’s your brother’s? I don’t want to fight with you, Highness, or find myself banished because you don’t like what I have to do in order to do my job.”