One Salt Sea

SIX

THE SILENCE FOLLOWING the Queen’s announcement was broken only by the sound of skirts rustling and shoes scuffing against the floor. Then the whispering started. It was soft at first, but it swelled rapidly to a fever pitch as the Queen’s final words sank in. I kept my eyes on the Queen. She watched me in return, a quiet challenge in her expression. The next move—whatever it was—was going to be mine.

Fine. I turned to consider the room. Maybe a quarter of the original guests remained; the rest had poured out like the tide rushing out to sea, either vanishing deeper into the knowe or fleeing to the mortal world. Connor was still standing next to me, but there were no other Undersea fae in evidence. There wasn’t a Selkie or a Nixie to be seen.

Sylvester and Luna were only a few feet away, standing at the edge of one of the few groups remaining. Seeing them made me realize what my next step was. The Torquill family has always had . . . let’s call them “unusual talents.” Well, before she became Countess of Tamed Lightning, April O’Leary—Sylvester’s adopted niece—had served as the County intercom, combining the Dryad talent for short-range teleportation with a total disregard for spatial relativity.

I cleared my throat. “April, could you come here, please?”

The air in front of me shimmered. There was a brief flare of ozone, and then April was simply standing there, looking annoyed. “Do you know what is going on?” she demanded. “Everyone appears to have gone insane. I have been forced to order my escort to remain with my server. He was prepared to run away and leave me.” She sounded both wounded and amazed, like she had never previously considered that someone could do such a thing.

The faster I got the explanation out of the way, the faster we could get down to business. “An archer took a shot at one of the visiting nobles. They’ve stormed out in a huff, and now we’re going to war.” I held up the arrow, gesturing at the Queen with my free hand. “Her guards aren’t stopping the exodus. Can you do a quick check for people who aren’t on the guest list?”

April looked at me blankly. “I could, if I had a copy of the guest list.” We both turned to the Queen.

An expression of dawning anger was spreading across her face. “It would be entirely inappropriate for me to share that information outside my Court,” she snapped. “Nor will any of my Court disclose it.”

Damn. Well, it was worth a shot. I looked back to April. “Can you check for people who look out of place and come back here if you see anything that looks suspicious?” It wasn’t a good compromise. It was the one I had.

“Certainly.” She vanished in a spray of sparks.

A hand gripped my shoulder. I turned to find myself facing the Queen. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, moon-mad eyes narrowing with fury.

“I’m asking the Countess of Tamed Lightning to do a perimeter check, since otherwise we have no idea who’s here and who isn’t.” I stepped out from under her hand. The Luidaeg’s shell was so cold it hurt, but I didn’t dare pull it out until I was away from the Queen. “Unless you ordered an attack on Patrick Lorden, I can’t understand why you’re letting people leave. It doesn’t make sense.”

“This isn’t a mere crime,” said the Queen. Each word was precisely shaped, and pronounced as though it were being hurled at a disobedient child. “It was an act of war. Finding a single archer won’t change that.”

I stared. “Are you telling me some asshole can attempt an assassination and commit an entire Kingdom to suicide? That’s stupid.”

“Welcome to politics,” said Luna.

“If you want to stop the war, find the Lorden children,” said Sylvester. “Lives will be saved, possibly including theirs. People who steal children aren’t always careful with them.”

I winced. The subject of stolen children is very personal for Sylvester. His daughter, Rayseline, grew up in a magical prison. It drove her insane. His wife is the child of possibly the greatest kidnapper and destroyer of children Faerie has ever known. Calling them a family with issues is putting it mildly.

The Queen glared for a long moment before reluctantly saying, “Finding the children might stop the war, especially as someone is claiming my Court was responsible for their loss.”

“Was it?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “What did you just say to me?”

“Was your Court in any way responsible for the disappearance of the Lorden children?” I shook my head. “I can’t do anything about it if you did, Your Highness, but if you stole them and you’re about to send me looking for them, it’d be nice to know before I follow the trail right back to you.”

“What in the world makes you think I would send you?” The Queen’s anger was fading into disdain. “Your failures outweigh your successes by too large a margin.”

Sylvester started to step forward. I gestured for him to stop. The Queen was still speaking in a reasonable tone, rather than using her Banshee gifts against me, and I was trying to take that as a good sign.

“Highness, despite my failures, I’m one of the few people in this Kingdom who actually knows anything about handling a kidnapping case,” I said. “Unless you want this war, you need me.”

The Queen looked from me to Sylvester and Luna, and then to Connor, who still stood silently beside me. Her expression calmed. “Never speak to me like this again,” she said, turning back to me. “If you do, no number of powerful ‘friends’ will save you. I will have you stripped of lands and titles and cast you as far from my shores as I can. I will send you into exile, and I will be glad. Do you understand?”

I swallowed. “Yes, Highness.”

“Very well.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re welcome to try. It’s not as if even you could make things any worse.”

“How long do I have?”

“Three days,” said Sylvester. We all turned to look at him. He shrugged. “That’s the traditional length of time between the declaration of war and the start of hostilities. The Lordens have to send official notice to all the local fiefdoms, and that slows things down.”

Pureblood honor sometimes works for us as much as it works against us—rarely, but rarely is better than never. The delay in hostilities would give the local fiefdoms time to send their children and fosters to safety before things got violent. Oberon’s Law allows adults to kill one another on the field of war, but there’s nothing that justifies killing a child.

I looked back to the Queen. “I’m going to need the authority to question your Court, Highness.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you questioning me again?”

“No, I’m asking to question the people under you. No matter how stainless your honor is, the people who work for you may be less admirable.”

The Queen hesitated before nodding, once. “Provided you ask no more than is necessary, you may speak to them, starting at dusk.”

“Dusk tomorrow? But that’s hours from—”

“I told you not to question me, Daye.” There was a dangerous edge to her voice. “My people need time to calm themselves and send notice that war is coming—and it is coming, unless you’ve somehow gained the power to perform miracles on demand. I’ll let you play your little detective game, but mark me: this will be settled on the battlefield.” She looked around our group. “How far Faerie has fallen that you, all of you, would stand here while this mongrel bitch challenged my authority. I rejoice that Oberon isn’t here to see this.”

“My grandfather would approve of Countess Daye’s actions,” said Luna softly.

The Queen stopped. None of us are quite used to thinking of Luna as the daughter of two Firstborn—and more, as someone who knew Oberon personally, as a loving grandparent, in the days before his disappearance. That gives her a certain scary credibility.

“Be that as it may,” said the Queen, finally, “he’s not here, and war stands before us.”

“That’s nice,” I said flatly. “Dusk?”

“Dusk.”

“May we be excused?” No one else asked before fleeing, but in this case, civility seemed like the better part of valor.

“Go.” The Queen pointed to the door.

I didn’t want to say anything that might set her off again, so I simply bowed before taking Connor’s hand and starting for the exit. Sylvester and Luna followed. They weren’t letting me turn my back on the Queen of the Mists alone, and I found that reassuring.

We had just passed through the curtain dividing the ballroom from the entrance hall when April appeared. “The guards of this establishment are exceedingly jumpy,” she said, scowling. “I got a crossbow bolt through my chest.”

April is only material when she wants to be. I still grimaced. “Glad you’re okay,” I said. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing of interest. People fleeing. Poorly trained guards unable to believe an attack would occur within a royal knowe, thus proving that they possess an insufficient grasp of historical fact. Several pages copulating in the kitchen. I believe they were upset when I appeared next to them.”

“There was no sign of our attacker?”

“None. I apologize.”

“It’s okay. You did your best.” I looked to Sylvester. “Sylvester—”

“I know. Do you really think you can find the boys?”

Probably not. But a girl’s got to try. “I hope so. If I can’t . . . will we really go to war?”

“You’ve never seen a war, have you?” Luna glanced at her husband. “I always forget how young she is.”

I’m more than fifty years old. By human standards, I’m middle aged. By fae standards, I’m little more than a highly precocious child. “I haven’t had the privilege.”

“It’s not a privilege,” said Sylvester. His voice was soft. “It’s the worst thing in our world. Consider yourself fortunate that it’s been so long since the War of Silences. I fought there. Part of my heart has never left that battlefield.”

“Oh, oak and ash,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

The Kingdom of Silences meets the Kingdom of the Mists within a mile of where the state of Oregon meets the state of California. The War of Silences was fought there, shortly after King Gilad died. The Tylwyth Teg who used to rule in Silences didn’t like the proclamations our new Queen was making, and when diplomacy failed, they decided to overthrow her. What they didn’t count on was the Mists having an army of its own.

The war lasted six days.

Hundreds died on both sides: when Faerie goes to war, the night-haunts eat very, very well. When the dust cleared, the ruling family of Silences was broken, their heirs scattered and their army banished by the man who took the throne—a man who, coincidentally, used to be a Baron in the Court of the Mists. We’ve had good relations with the Kingdom of Silences ever since.

Of course, it’s not that hard to have good relations with a puppet government. It’s also easy to let your army fall into disrepair when your nearest neighbors would never dream of raising a hand against you. Silences might get the last laugh after all.

“That fight ended long ago,” said Sylvester. “Now it falls to us to keep the next war from beginning.”

I reached across our small circle to take his hand. “It won’t,” I said. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”