A Red Rose Chain

SIX

I DIDN’T SLEEP LONG, BUT the sleep I got was sweet, tangled as I was in the welcome cage of Tybalt’s arms. The light of the afternoon was coming in around the edges of the blackout curtains when I finally opened my eyes and blinked, bewildered, at the dimly lit ceiling above me. “What time is it?”

“Later than it could be, earlier than it should be,” said Tybalt. I turned to find him sprawled next to me, his head propped up on one hand. “Did you rest well?”

“As well as can be expected, given what we’re about to go and do,” I said. His hair was artfully disarrayed, like it had been arranged by some supernatural stylist while he slept. Mine, on the other hand, was a bird’s nest of tangles, halfway blocking my eyes. I shoved it out of the way. It flopped right back down again. I sighed and gave up as I asked, “Do you need to go back to the Court of Cats for anything?”

Tybalt shook his head. “No. I made my farewells and my arrangements before I came to you. There was a chance that Arden might have ordered you to leave at sunrise, giving me no time to double back. I’m all yours, both now and until you’ll no longer have me.”

“Forever. Forever’s good.” I kissed him quickly before rolling away and out of the bed. There wasn’t time to get distracted; Walther needed to be picked up, which meant driving in the exact opposite direction from Muir Woods. We’d already kept Arden waiting. It wasn’t a good idea to do that more than we had to.

I stretched, causing my muscles to grumble and groan. I recover fast from injuries, but there are still consequences for my actions. Thank Oberon for that. Without consequences, I’d probably be worse about plunging headlong into danger than I already am. “I would kill a man for another six hours of sleep,” I said.

“And here I was assuming that beginning quests while exhausted had become perfectly normal,” said Tybalt, sliding into a sitting position. He was naked. I could see the ghosts of his cat-form’s stripes on his back, narrow bands of darker skin. They weren’t always there. Like all Cait Sidhe, Tybalt had some control over the places where his Sidhe and feline forms met. Unlike most, his control was absolute—he looked as Sidhe as any child of the Daoine when he wanted to, and the face he usually wore only had a few telltale feline elements, which he could have hidden if he’d ever wanted to. The fact that he was comfortable enough with me to let me see his stripes was a great honor, and it just made me more determined to do right by him.

By both of us. “Did you bring a suitcase?” I asked. “Because much as I like this look, I don’t think it’s suitable for Court, and you can’t wear the same flannel shirt for three days.”

Tybalt snorted, shooting me an amused look. “I appreciate that you felt the need to inform me of that. I might have been unaware.”

I shrugged. “Just making sure.”

“Yes, I packed a valise for this trip, and it contains all that I’m likely to need during the time we have available. I am fortunate to have been born a member of the sex whose fashion requires less space; had I the need for ball gowns and elaborate footwear, I am sure I would be traveling with a steamer trunk too heavy to shift on my own. I definitely would not smash them down to make more space in a single container.” He turned to smirk at my hard-shelled suitcase. “I have always been more interested in clothing than is perhaps ideal.”

“Whereas I’m just happy when my ass isn’t cold.” I stretched again. “Okay. I’m going to grab a quick shower, and then we can wake up May and Quentin and get on the road.”

“I have a better idea,” said Tybalt. “While you shower, I will wake the others, as they may also wish to cleanse themselves before getting into the car. The more we can accomplish at once, the more quickly we will be able to depart.”

“I wasn’t aware that you were in such a hurry to go,” I said.

He leaned over and caught my hand, giving it a brief squeeze before releasing it. “I assure you that I’m not. I am in a deep hurry to return home, safe and sound and with all of this behind us. If this must be done—and it must—then it is best that it be done quickly.”

“I love it when you misquote Shakespeare,” I said, earning myself a wry look before he grabbed his trousers off the floor, pulled them on, and prowled, bare-chested, out of the room. May was going to get a surprise.

Ah, well. She could handle a few surprises. I took my bathrobe off the back of the door and made my way to the master bathroom.

Showering only took about ten minutes. It wouldn’t have taken even that long if I hadn’t needed to wash my hair before going to visit hostile royalty. It seemed polite. Packing my toiletries and cosmetics—such as they were—took me even less time. I stepped out of the master bathroom to find that Tybalt had not yet returned. I dropped my cosmetics case into my backpack and was in the process of zipping it up when my eye caught on the bottom drawer of my dresser and I stopped, just looking at it, feeling my heart beating too hard against my ribs.

There was a time, when I was more human than I am now, when I carried two knives everywhere I went. A silver knife, received from Dare before she died, and an iron knife, received from Acacia, otherwise known as the Mother of the Trees. The iron hadn’t burned me then, although I’d needed to handle it with care. Iron kills magic. It’s the only thing that can reliably be used to destroy the fae—all save for the Firstborn themselves, who must be killed with iron and silver together. It’s not forbidden, exactly, but it’s viewed as a cheater’s weapon.

And I wanted to take it with me so badly that it hurt. I wanted the safety it would afford, even if I never took it out of its case. I couldn’t carry it in my bare hands anymore; it would blister my skin and poison my blood if I tried. The closest comparison in the human world was pure uranium.

In the end, I turned away, and left the dresser drawer closed. There would be a time for iron. This was not that time.

I dressed the way I always did: jeans, a tank top, and my leather jacket, which was the only armor I’d ever worn into battle, and sometimes felt like the only armor I would ever need. Then, with my hair still damp against the back of my neck, I picked up my suitcase and walked out to face my fate.

May, Tybalt, and Quentin were already in the kitchen when I came downstairs. Quentin was at the breakfast table, his face pressed against the mat. May seemed slightly more alert, but only slightly. She was wearing jeans and a brown cable-knit sweater. At least one reason for her exhaustion was immediately evident: the streaks of color were gone from her hair, leaving it the plain, no-color brown that she’d inherited from me when she took my face and form. I blinked at her before raising an eyebrow.

“What did you do to your hair?” I asked.

“I figured anything I could do to not draw attention to my appearance would be a good thing,” she said, before smothering a yawn behind her hand. “I’m not going to lie about what I am, and there’s a good chance Nameless McBitchypants will tell the King of Silences that I’m a Fetch as soon as she realizes who I am. But if we can pass me off as a changeling member of your retinue for at least a little while, that’s what we should do.”

I blinked at her again. “That’s . . . a really good idea,” I said finally. “Good thinking.”

“I was up until an hour before he,” she jerked a thumb toward Tybalt, “came to pry me out of bed. This is a terrible plan. Why can’t we sleep until six? We can prevent the war after six happens.”

“Arden wants us there before we’re expected,” I said brusquely, leaving my suitcase in the doorway as I walked to the fridge. I yanked the freezer door open and rummaged until I found my waffles. “This way we arrive while they’re all still getting ready for the day.”

“And this won’t make them shoot us on the spot?”

“That would be undiplomatic. Look, I figure they’re already going to be pissy and hard to deal with. Maybe if they’re pissy, hard to deal with, and exhausted, they’ll slip up.” I dropped my waffles into the toaster. “Or maybe we will. Hell, I don’t know. Do whatever you have to do to wake yourselves up. Swallow a bottle of No-Doze. Lick a bee. I have no useful suggestions here.”

“Nor do you have any actual nutrition in your planned meal,” observed Tybalt.

“Why mess with a good thing?” I threw the empty waffle box at the back of Quentin’s head. It hit him squarely. He sat bolt upright, twisting around to give me a betrayed look. “Up. It’s time for wakefulness and energy, not drooping like a wilted flower.”

“I hate you,” he said.

“Weren’t you enrolled in human high school at one point? They would have made you get up much earlier than this.”

“I was going to bed earlier when I did that, and fewer things were trying to kill me on a nightly basis,” he said, before yawning enormously. “Can I sleep in the car?”

“Until we get to Muir Woods, yes, you can sleep in the car,” I said. My waffles popped up, somehow managing to be soggy and burnt at the same time. I plucked them out of the toaster, juggling them from hand to hand as I waited for the hot parts to cool off and the frozen parts to warm up. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. You could stay here with Jazz. No one would blame you.”

His sleepy expression hardened into narrow-eyed suspicion. “Are we leaving this early because you don’t want me coming with you?”

“No, but it’s a good idea,” I said. I finally got both waffles settled in one hand, and walked to recover my suitcase. It was heavier than it looked. Spider-silk compacts small. It’s still heavy as hell. “My sword is in the car; this is all I need. Do the rest of you have all your things?”

“Yes,” said May.

“Yes,” said Tybalt.

“I really hate you,” said Quentin.

“Good. Get your stuff in the car.” I started for the door. Spike—having crept into the kitchen at some point when I wasn’t looking—followed, sticking close to my ankles and rattling its thorns like an angry maraca. It was almost soothing, in a weird sort of way. Here I was, diving back into the unknown, and my rose goblin was coming with me for the ride.

Quentin was asleep almost as soon as his butt hit the backseat. He put his head against the window, mouth hanging open, and fell back into the deep, slow breathing that signified a body fully at rest. May slouched into the other side of the backseat, yawning, and slumped slowly over to rest her head against his ribs. I paused in the act of opening the driver’s side door, looking at the pair of them.

“This is going to be a disaster,” I said.

“Have faith,” said Tybalt, opening his own door. “Perhaps we will all return home with our limbs intact and our souls unbowed.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll finally get that pony,” I said.

Spike followed me as I slid into the car. First it scrambled into my lap, and then it leaped onto the dashboard, where it paced and rattled before settling down in a catlike curl. I wasn’t worried about any of the human drivers we shared the road with seeing it: the smaller creatures of Faerie are protected from mortal eyes by almost unconscious illusions, making them seem like shadows and tricks of the light, not impossible creatures. It was a nice trick.

Sadly, it wasn’t a trick the rest of us shared. All four of us were roughly human, and could probably pass from a distance, but it wasn’t a good idea to push our luck. I reached up and grabbed a fistful of shadows and air from the roof of the car.

“I’ll do my illusion if you can put a don’t-look-here on the car,” I said to Tybalt, who nodded. He mimicked my gesture, and for a few seconds the car was filled with the mingled scents of our magic and the slightly disjointed sound of our chanting. We both chose Shakespeare: me, a passage from The Tempest, him, one of the sonnets. I couldn’t stop my own casting long enough to listen and figure out which one it was. That was a pity. Tybalt reciting Shakespeare was something that should have been savored, not ignored in favor of blunting the tips of my ears and shifting the color of my eyes to something that looked more blue, and less like the fog that hung in the early morning air.

I shouldn’t have needed a separate human disguise—not with a good don’t-look-here over the rest of the car—but someone was going to need to go and collect Walther when we got to the college, and that someone might as well be me. It was my fault that he was getting involved in all of this, after all.

My spell gathered and burst, followed by Tybalt’s a bare second later. I slid the key into the ignition and started the car, feeling it purr to life around me. Glancing at Tybalt, I asked, “So how much do you know about the Cu Sidhe?”

“The dogs?” He wrinkled his nose. “As much as I must. They’re pleasant people, for the most part, if a bit simple. Not stupid, mind: just simple. I dislike their lack of complexity. It makes every interaction feel like a trick. Why do you ask?”

“Tia,” I said. “I’ve never known one of them to get angry that fast.”

“Ah.” His expression shifted, becoming almost melancholy. “There was a time when not many Cu Sidhe lived in this Kingdom, little fish. This was cat territory, and we mostly avoid one another, when we can. They lived in Silences.”

“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.”

She looked at him blankly. “What?”

Walther sighed and let her go. “See, this is why I never have anyone to talk to. My students have ruined me.”

“This is fun and all, but we should probably be heading for the knowe,” I said. “Lowri, is there anyone who can help me with my suitcase? It’s pretty heavy.”

“I’ll get it,” she said, and started toward the open trunk of my car. I shrugged and followed her. Glastig are a hell of a lot stronger than they look, and what was almost too much for me to carry would be nothing to her.

As I had expected, she hefted my suitcase like it was nothing. I retrieved the backpack that held my toiletries and the sword I tried my best to avoid wearing. Belting it around my waist made all this feel real. This was happening. Whether I liked it or not, it was happening.

May, meanwhile, was eyeing Walther suspiciously. “Toby’s right, though,” she said. “You never told us you were related to the ruling family of Silences.”

He shrugged. “You never asked.”

Lowri walked back over to them, carrying my suitcase in one hand. “If you’ll leave your keys with me, we can move your car to a more secure parking space,” she said. “Duchess Lorden has agreed to grant us the use of a lot she owns near here.”

“Of course the Undersea owns a parking lot near Muir Woods,” I said, pulling my keys out of my pocket and dropping them into Lowri’s waiting palm. “Why wouldn’t they? Mermaids need a place to keep their cars, right?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” asked Lowri. She started walking. Lacking anything better to do, and any way to get out of the situation, the rest of us moved with her. Lowri, Tybalt, and I took the lead, while May, Quentin, and Walther lagged behind—May and Quentin because of exhaustion and luggage, Walther because he wasn’t in a hurry. I couldn’t blame him. He was as trapped as the rest of us.

Lowri glanced back a few times as we walked. Finally, when we were starting up the side of the hill, she said, “I’m not sure he is who he says he is.”

“You mean Walther,” I said.

“Yes. He looks so much like Prince Torsten . . .”

“If he says he’s not your missing prince, he’s not. The person who introduced me to him vouched for him. She said he was a good guy, and she never said anything about him being a prince in hiding. I think she would have told me.” Walther had started his time in the Bay Area in the Japanese Tea Gardens, which had been held by a woman named Lily. She was an Undine, and had known my mother for years before I was born. She’d always been good to me. If he’d been keeping secrets that could harm me, she would have said so. I had faith in that.

“I thought I knew all the members of the royal family,” said Lowri. “I was training to serve in the guard. Torsten had many cousins, but none by the name of ‘Walther.’”

“So he changed his name to keep himself out of trouble,” I said. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Leave it be, all right? He’s coming with me, and I’ve trusted him with my life before.”

“As you say,” said Lowri—but she glanced back at Walther one more time, frowning like she knew the answer she wanted was somehow just out of reach.

I shook my head and kept on climbing.

Arden was waiting in the clearing at the top of the hill, standing a good ten feet outside the doors of her own knowe. Her guards were behind her, holding the open door. It struck me that this was the first time since Lowri had left the false queen for the true one when I had seen her on duty but outside of her armor. She really was standing as Arden’s seneschal, at least for now.

Madden’s sister Tia was also there, holding herself slightly apart, watching the scene with cold eyes. She looked angry. I understood the sentiment.

“Are these to be your companions?” asked Arden, eyes going from me to the small group straggling up the hill behind me. “I’d offer you my guard, but I can’t do that. I need you to understand that whatever happens once you leave my lands will be avenged, but it won’t be prevented.”

“I do understand that,” I said. If the King of Silences had me arrested, elf-shot, or even killed, Arden could respond. She couldn’t send someone with me to make sure that it never happened in the first place. Pureblood politics are strange at the best of times, and unbearably complicated all the rest of the time. “I need something from you, though.”

Arden blinked. “What’s that?”

“Blood. I have an alchemist,” I indicated Walther, “and being able to access your magic might make the difference between a strategic retreat and a massacre. Nolan’s would be better, but yours would be good.”

She relaxed marginally. “We anticipated this request. Tia?” The Cu Sidhe stepped forward, handing Arden a carved redwood box. Arden handed it, in turn, to me, indicating that I should open it.

Lifting the lid revealed four crystal vials, each full of a dark red substance that I had no trouble accepting as the Queen’s blood. It would hold her power. If Quentin or I consumed it, we could use it to open teleport gates, just like she did. After Walther had treated it, anyone would be able to use it that way, although the power wouldn’t last as long for anyone who didn’t have natural skill at blood magic. That blood could be our escape route, if things got as bad as I was afraid they were going to.

“Is that enough?” Arden asked. “My brother can’t consent, so I’m afraid I’d prefer not to involve him.”

“It should be,” I said, and passed the box to Walther, who somehow made it vanish inside his coat. “If it’s not, I guess we’ll find out.”

But Arden wasn’t done. “Are you sure you should be taking the King of Dreaming Cats?” she asked, her gaze going to Tybalt. “His presence states—”

“You can neither prevent me nor forbid me; I am not yours to command,” said Tybalt. His words were dangerously calm. “I will find and inform the local King of Cats of my presence, but so long as I do not enter his Court uninvited, I am issuing no challenge by entering his territory. We are more civilized than you believe us to be. My presence states only that no harm will come to my betrothed, unless it comes first through me. I am very much looking forward to seeing anything try to get through me.”

Arden paled slightly. That was the appropriate response. She turned back to me. “I’ve arranged dressing rooms for all your people, off the main hall. As soon as you’re changed, I’ll open the portal to see you into Silences. You do your Kingdom a great service on this day.”

“Just make sure the Mists are still standing when we come home,” I said.

That earned me a small, quick smile. “I’ll do my best,” said Arden.

“Good,” I said, and walked past her into the open doorway, and the inevitable.