Once Broken Faith

  I sighed. Speaking of things that were older . . . “Do you have everything under control down here? I think I need to give the Luidaeg a call, let her know what’s happening, and tell her the High King is in town.” She might already know. She was often surprisingly well-informed—or not so surprisingly, given that she was the sea-witch, Firstborn daughter of Maeve, and fully capable of grilling the local pixie population for news. Still, she’d appreciate hearing it from me, and it was always good to avoid getting on her bad side.

  “Go, go,” said May, making a shooing gesture with her free hand. “I can control the ravening hordes for a while longer. I think they’re enjoying the lack of adult supervision.”

  “You’re the best,” I said, and grabbed one more chunk of Rice Krispie treat before leaving the kitchen and heading up the stairs to my room.

  San Francisco is one of the most expensive cities in the world, and getting worse as the tech boom moves more and more multimillion-dollar human companies into the business district. Jazz owns a secondhand shop in Berkeley. May works there occasionally, when Jazz needs the help, and spends the rest of her time doing whatever strikes her fancy. My PI work brings in a reasonable amount, although very few nobles ever think to pay me for knight errantry. Quentin mostly eats whatever appears in the fridge and spends his time learning how to be a better ruler. So how is it that we’re able to afford a two-story Victorian near Dolores Park, in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood?

  Simple: my liege, Duke Sylvester Torquill, has been in the Bay Area for centuries, and owns enough land in San Francisco to make the snootiest of human tech millionaires sit up and salivate. We live rent-free, and the foundation he’d established to handle mortal upkeep of his properties paid the taxes. It’s a sweet setup. It would be even sweeter if I didn’t feel so guilty about it. Sylvester and I were . . . not estranged, exactly, but not exactly speaking to each other, either.

  He’s my liege. He’s supposed to be straight with me. He’s supposed to be the person I could trust no matter what. And he’d destroyed that in the name of keeping a promise he’d made to my mother before I’d even been born. He hadn’t lied to me according to pureblood standards, which were often more fixated on the letter of the law than on anything else, but as far I was concerned, a lie of omission was still a lie. He’d withheld a lot of information from me—information that could have helped me understand my past and protect my future—and he’d done it because he cared more about his word to Amandine than about his word to me. Maybe I have trust issues. I think I’ve earned them. That doesn’t change the fact that Sylvester, who I had trusted with everything, had still been willing to betray me.

  No matter how I currently felt about Sylvester, I loved our house. It was home. I’d been trying to find my way home for a long, long time.

  My cats, Cagney and Lacey, and my resident rose goblin, Spike, were curled on the bed when I stepped into my room. Of the three of them, only Lacey bothered to open an eye, although she didn’t move. They had clearly fled before the onslaught of teenage invaders, and had no interest in doing anything that could bring them back into the line of fire. I smiled at them as I closed the bedroom door.

  “It’s okay, guys,” I said. “Nobody’s going to follow you up here.”

  Lacey closed her eye.

  Pulling out my phone, I sat on the edge of the bed and dialed a long string of numbers, tracing a spiral pattern from one to five and then back out again. The smell of cut-grass and copper rose around me as my magic responded to the intent in my gesture. I lifted the phone to my ear, listening to the silence.

  “To market, to market, to buy a fat hen,” I chanted. “We’ll cook it and then we’ll be hungry again, which is why I really appreciate the easy availability of KFC in the modern world.”

  The magic gathered and broke around me, and the silence was replaced by the soft, distant sound of waves lapping against the shore of some tropical lagoon. I leaned back on the bed and waited.

  There was a click, and suddenly a woman’s voice was in my ear, snarling, “Who is this, and why am I not juggling your internal organs right now?”

  “Hi, Luidaeg; it’s Toby,” I said. “Got a moment?”

  “Toby!” Her tone shifted, becoming warm—even welcoming. We hadn’t always been friends, but our relationship was, at this point, built on a foundation of mutual respect and saving each other’s asses. That was enough to buy me a positive reception. “Quentin’s sleepover party is tonight, isn’t it? Why did you call it that, anyway? It’s not like they’re going to sleep.”

  “Human teenagers don’t usually sleep during these parties either,” I said. “It’s an excuse for them to hang out in their pajamas, eat lots of junk food, and not have to worry about going outside. Call it an artifact of my weird upbringing and let it go.”

  “Right,” she said. “If I ever needed more proof that you were Dad’s descendant, you filling your home with those kids would do it. That’s heroism of the stupid kind. Please tell me you’re not calling because you want me to come over and help you deal with them. I’d just turn them all into axolotls until the sun came up.”

  “Peaceful, but probably stressful,” I said. The Luidaeg can’t lie. That meant she could turn both my resident and visiting teenagers into axolotls. I wasn’t even sure what those were, but I was pretty sure I didn’t like the idea. “That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “No? What impossible quest are you planning to embark on now?”

  “I’m skipping the impossible quest in favor of attending the High King’s conclave to discuss what’s going to happen with the elf-shot cure.” I explained the situation in quick, terse sentences, leaving nothing out, but not embroidering either. The Luidaeg didn’t like it when people danced around the point. I guess a few millennia of listening to lies, bullshit, and pointlessly florid pureblood etiquette had eroded her patience.

  When I was done, she said, “Well.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “A thing which is actually happening.”

  “Probably.”

  “You realize I’ll be showing up to watch the fireworks, right?”

  I sat up a little straighter. “What?”

  The Luidaeg sighed. “Much as I hate my sister—and trust me, no one hates my sister like I do—she’s still Firstborn. Elf-shot was her gift to our father, to curry favor with him when she was out of his good graces. I applaud unmaking it. I think this is a good thing. But that doesn’t mean I can sit by while the work of one of the First is unmade, and not at least come for the sake of witnessing the process. I won’t speak on her behalf. I won’t try to suppress this cure. I’m still going to come, and watch, and see.”

  The Luidaeg was the eldest among the Firstborn. Almost everyone I’d ever met was afraid of her, and with good reason: she was terrifying when she wanted to be. Having her at the conclave would make a lot of people very uncomfortable. That alone would make the proceedings more entertaining, at least for me. But if the Luidaeg was planning to show up . . .

  “Should we be worried about other Firstborn deciding they need to come sit in the audience?”

  She was quiet for a moment before she said, “Acacia might. She’s been getting out more, and I know that some of Blind Michael’s Riders have been elf-shot and locked away by people who didn’t see any other means of protecting their children. She could come just to see if she’ll be able to free the last of her husband’s victims. Your mother isn’t likely to show up, if that’s what you’re worried about. Amandine never considered herself Firstborn, and she doesn’t care enough about the work of her elder siblings.”

  “I don’t know if I’m worried about seeing Mom so much as I just really, really don’t want to.”

  “If she does decide to come, that’ll give me the opportunity to drag her away by the ear and ask what the fuck she
thinks she’s doing. It’ll be okay, Toby. This isn’t an army marching on the Mists. This isn’t a case you have to solve. It’s just a bunch of nobles coming to puff their chests out at each other and try to look important. Do what I do. Bring popcorn.”

  I smiled. Maybe it was weird to be reassured by the words of a woman who could remember the rise and fall of almost every mortal civilization, but my life has never been particularly normal. “Okay,” I said. “See you there.”

  “Yup,” she said, and hung up.

  I lowered my phone, looking at it thoughtfully for a moment before I stood. The kids probably didn’t want my company, but May might, and there were Rice Krispie treats. It was time to focus on the ordinary, for as long as the world allowed.

  FOUR

  BY SEVEN IN THE MORNING all the kids except for Quentin and Raj had been collected by their guardians. They slunk home with sugar-glazed expressions and doggie bags of leftovers. Etienne was going to learn a lot about nacho cheese over the course of the next day or so. I sort of wished I could be there for that. Quentin and Raj, meanwhile, had retreated to Quentin’s room for an actual slumber party, meaning they were actually going to sleep. Raj’s tendency to sleep in feline form meant they could both fit in a single bed, which was nice. One trip to the Mattress Outlet with the family had been enough to hold me for a decade—or until the mattresses needed replacing, whichever came first.

  Please let it be the decade.

  I turned out the last of the lights and drew the last of the curtains before retreating to my room. The house was blissfully quiet. The air smelled like fresh-baked cookies, a combination of burnt sugar and chocolate that would linger for hours yet. Jazz had gone to bed shortly after one o’clock in the morning, pleading the fact that she was diurnal. May had gone to join her at dawn.

  Now it was my turn. I shut my bedroom door and started toward the bed, unbuttoning my jeans as I walked. It was rare for me to be the only person awake in the house. I reveled in the feeling.

  The smell of pennyroyal and musk cut through the scent of cookies, telling me that I wasn’t alone after all. That was all the warning I got before Tybalt’s hands grasped my waist, turning me to face him. I saw him smile, and then he was pulling me close and kissing me so fiercely that it was like we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. It had only been hours, but I wasn’t complaining. I slid my hands up his chest and linked them behind his neck, not hesitating as I kissed him back. A purr reverberated through his body, vibrating my skin and reinforcing the feeling that this, just this, was proof that I was finally home.

  If someone had told me right after I stumbled out of the pond that I’d eventually fall in love again, I might have believed them. After all, the heart is a hardy organ: it heals, it moves on. If that same someone had added “with the asshole King of Cats,” I would have laughed until I threw up, and then probably started punching people. Tybalt wasn’t my friend back then, much less a potential lover. He was a bastard and a bully who took too much joy in tormenting me for me to even consider the possibility that one day I’d start keeping company with him.

  It’s funny what time can do. Bit by bit, I’d come to realize that Tybalt’s barbs were less about cruelty and more about keeping me at arm’s length, where I couldn’t hurt him—something I’d never imagined I could do until I was doing it. We’d traded a few kisses almost accidentally, and then, with no real fanfare or warning, we’d been in love. Me, the changeling street rat, and him, the handsome Cait Sidhe monarch. Maybe it shouldn’t have worked, but it did, and it had become one of the rocks I put my trust in. The sun rose; the tide turned; Tybalt loved me.

  He slid his hands down to cup my ass, pulling my feet off the floor. I responded by kicking my feet up and wrapping my legs around his waist, making it easier for him to carry me to the bed. There was an aggravated yowl as one of the cats protested. I didn’t look to see which one it was. I was distracted by Tybalt’s hand in my hair and Tybalt’s lips on my throat, and then I didn’t pay attention to anything but him for a little while. Who could blame me?

  One major advantage to living in the Victorian, rather than my old two-bedroom apartment: much thicker walls, and much less chance of someone wandering in to see what all the fuss was about.

  Afterward, naked and sweaty and pleasantly loose in that way that followed strenuous exercise, I stretched and rested my head against Tybalt’s chest, closing my eyes. He was purring again. I couldn’t think of a more comforting sound.

  “I take it you missed me, little fish,” he said, playing his fingers through my tangled hair.

  “Excuse me?” I rolled over, opening my eyes and squinting at him. “Who jumped who here? I ask not because I’m complaining, but because I think it’s important we keep the sequence of events as clear as possible.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, but you see, had you not missed me, you wouldn’t have responded so ardently to what could have been merely a simple hello. I kiss you quite often. Most of the time, you’re capable of kissing me back without dislodging your undergarments in the process.”

  “You waited until I was taking my pants off!”

  “An accident of timing.” He waved a hand, dismissing my protest. “There’s no need to be ashamed. Were I fortunate enough to be engaged to me, I would take every opportunity to get me to bed.”

  “You are such a cat sometimes.” I yawned, snuggling down and closing my eyes again. “Did you have a good night at Court?”

  “I did. Nothing of much interest happened, which is always the ideal; better a night where my people are free to make their own entertainment than a night where I must race from place to place, extinguishing fires and praying we’ll live to see the morning. Alazne is finally able to hold her human form for more than an hour at a time. Opal and Gabriel are very proud, and hope you’ll be able to come and visit soon.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “And you? Was your night a welter of teenage vexations and not enough quiet? I saw the kitchen when I first got home. The fridge appears to have been attacked by wild beasts.”

  I couldn’t suppress the thrill that went through me when Tybalt referred to reaching the house as getting home. Eyes still closed, I said, “Oh, the kids were great. They showed Dean The Little Mermaid. I’m expecting Dianda to call it a declaration of war and slaughter us all in our sleep. Arden came by, dragged me back to Muir Woods, and used me to get Walther to go ahead and wake Madden up before the High King got here. Only just before—he’s in the Mists now, he’s holding a conclave next week to discuss how they’re going to distribute the elf-shot cure, and—oh yeah, right—I’m expected to attend. Are you going to be there? I know it’s going to involve the neighboring Kings and Queens, but I’m not sure what involvement the Cait Sidhe would have with something like this.”

  Tybalt was silent. Seconds stretched out like taffy until I opened my eyes, disturbed by the sudden weight of the air. I rolled over and sat up in the same motion, gathering the sheets up around my collarbone as I turned to look at him.

  He was worth looking at, under any circumstances. Most fae are either beautiful by human standards or completely alien and inhuman, covered in leaves or feathers or spines. Tybalt managed to straddle the line between the two. His face was lovely; his body was better. But his pupils were cat-slit narrow, against irises the banded color of malachite, and there were black tabby stripes in the brown of his hair. When he was distracted or distressed, as he was now, more stripes appeared on his skin. They were visible as I faced him, curving up the sides of his ribs and wrapping around his arms.

  “Tybalt?” I said.

  “If the conclave is to be held next week, it’s reasonable that no invitation has yet been sent to us; perhaps one was always intended and perhaps not. Now that I’m aware a conclave is to occur at all, I must attend, or take it as an insult from a Court that has often been far too willing to dismiss us,” he said. He sat up, reaching
out to cup the curve of my cheek with his hand. “I love you. You know that, yes?”

  I blinked. “Okay, now you’re worrying me. Of course I know that you love me.”

  “Good.” He leaned in and kissed me, sweet and slow. Only the tension in his hand betrayed the fact that all was not well, that this wasn’t just some sweet gesture motivated by affection. Something was really wrong.

  Because of that, I was already braced when he pulled back and said, “I have to go.”

  “Why?” The question came out harsher than I’d intended. I didn’t try to take it back or temper it. I knew I had to share him with his Court, but Oberon’s teeth, I’d already done that today. He was supposed to be with me for at least a night before he left again.

  “Because my Court will need to be told that so many monarchs of the Divided are coming to our territory; because you are a daughter of the Divided Courts, and until I know whether they intend to shun us or curry our favor, I mustn’t seem to have already been pacified. I must seem aloof. Because I need to prepare myself to walk among Kings and Queens who stand too much on ceremony as their equal.” His smile was brief and wry. “I am their equal, of course; I am a King. But they’ll look for any excuse to say that I’m less than they are.”

  I caught his meaning. I didn’t want to. Shoulders going tight, I asked, “Excuses like arriving next to a knight who swears to the throne of the Mists? One who might have ‘pacified’ you?”

  He didn’t answer me. He didn’t need to.

  Irritation flared in my chest, hot and toxic as bile. I swallowed it down as best I could. “You should go, then.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.” He slid from the bed, grabbed his clothes, and was gone. He didn’t bother getting dressed first. Cait Sidhe are even more casual about nudity than the rest of Faerie. Cats are technically naked under their fur, after all. Combine that with the whole “grooming with their tongues” thing, and body shyness just isn’t an option.