One Salt Sea

TWELVE

TYBALT WAITED UNTIL THERE WAS a corner and half a hallway between us and Etienne before asking, “So now what happens?”

“Now I call Walther and ask him to analyze the contents of the vial,” I said, nodding toward the box I was carrying. “I’m willing to bet that it’s poison, but I’d like specifics. I’m going to check with the Luidaeg to see if she’s arranged that meeting with Dianda. After that, I’ll head for the Queen’s Court, and . . .” I sighed. “After that comes whatever comes after that. I can’t be any more specific. A nap might be nice.”

“It’s a beginning,” said Tybalt. “Whatever comes next, we’ll confront it. There’s nothing more than that to be done.”

I smiled a little. “Deal.”

Tybalt smiled back. It was nice how normal that was starting to seem to me.

The stream of pages and courtiers heading for the ballroom grew thicker as we moved through the knowe. Their burdens had grown more obviously awkward; they’d had time to empty the lighter parts of the armory, stripping away the arrows, daggers, and chain mail shirts that blocked the serious weapons of war. I suppressed a shudder as a Candela staggered by, half-bent under the weight of a Bridge Troll-sized shield.

Purebloods are immortal, but they can be killed. Faerie wars used to decimate the population so much that entire races died out, becoming legends even to the fae. We kill each other when the excuse seems good enough—as if there’s any excuse good enough to justify killing something that was meant to live forever. The Luidaeg once said, in a moment of particularly black humor, that nature made us territorial and temperamental because otherwise we’d have overrun the world within five generations. Times like this made me wonder if she was right.

No one came to stop us or wave good-bye as we stepped out the exit and into the warm air of the mortal night. Everything smelled green, like the mustard flowers and tall grass that grew all throughout Paso Nogal Park. It was the kind of night that makes war seem impossible, even when you know that it’s inevitable. I sighed and started down the hill, with Tybalt pacing alongside me. His presence was reassuring. I’m not used to being uneasy in Shadowed Hills, but with the threat of war so close at hand, I couldn’t help but wonder about the shadows too deep for me to see into. Having Tybalt there made it easier; if anything attacked me, I wouldn’t be fighting it off alone.

Crickets chirped in the tall grass, and pixies chattered in the distance, their tinkling-bell voices adding to the illusion that everything was business as usual in Shadowed Hills. That illusion died when we reached the edge of the parking lot, and I stopped just short of the pavement, swearing under my breath.

Quentin was sitting on the hood of my car, his increasingly copper-colored hair reclaiming some of its childhood gold in the glow of the streetlights. A rose goblin was curled in his lap. He stroked its yellow-gray back with one hand as it kneaded his leg, keeping the bulk of his attention on one of the more common pathways down the hill.

Tybalt followed my gaze, and blinked. “Perhaps he wishes to avoid heavy lifting?”

“Oberon only knows,” I said, and started walking again. “Come on.”

The rose goblin spotted us before Quentin did. It stood, rattling its thorns in greeting as it stepped off him. Quentin looked up, eyes wide. Then he slid off the hood, standing at something approximating attention. No longer in possession of a convenient lap, the rose goblin jumped off the car and trotted into the darkness.

“Quentin.” I stopped in front of him, Tybalt a silent presence by my side. “Shouldn’t you be emptying the armory with everybody else?”

“No, sir.” Quentin looked me squarely in the eyes. “I should be right here.”

Sir? Uh-oh. “Why?”

“In times of war, all squires are required to attend their knights.” He flashed a smile. “That’s you.”

I groaned. “Did Sylvester put you up to this?”

“Of course.” Quentin shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I argued. He says you’ve got more problems than just the war. I’m your squire. Your problems are my problems.”

“You have a squire now?” asked Tybalt, sounding amused. “When were you going to mention this to me?”

“Oh, half an hour after never,” I said. “Quentin, this is too dangerous. You need to stay at Shadowed Hills.”

“So this is more dangerous than getting shot by a crazy woman?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Oh, so it’s more dangerous than stealing my human girlfriend back from the crazy Firstborn who turned her into a horse.”

“Not exactly, but—” I stopped. “You’re not going to let me talk you out of this, are you?”

Quentin smiled. “No, sir. I learned stubbornness from the best.”

Tybalt made a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone coughing to cover laughter. I shot him a dirty look. He coughed harder. Right. I sighed, handing Quentin the box from Raysel’s room before digging the car keys from my pocket. I dropped them on top of the box.

“Unlock the car and get in. Do not mess with the radio.”

Quentin’s smile became a grin. “Yes, sir!”

“And stop calling me ‘sir.’ ”

This time, Tybalt definitely laughed. I scowled at both of them. Still grinning, Quentin ducked away and moved to open the car. I turned my focus to Tybalt. “So.”

His laughter died, his expression sobering. “Is this the point at which you tell me that my company is no longer desired?” he asked.

“No. This is the point where I tell you I need your help.”

Tybalt blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “I am intrigued, and will hear your proposition.”

“All right. I . . .” I paused, glancing back toward the car. Quentin was in the passenger seat, clearly pretending not to eavesdrop as he buckled himself in. I returned my attention to Tybalt. “I have a lot to get done, and a limited amount of time to do it. I can only be in so many places at once.”

“Whereas I can be in quite a few,” he said slowly. “Am I correct in presuming that you want me to talk to the cats?”

“I do. Ask them if they’ve seen anything, anything, that might lead us to the Lorden boys—or to Rayseline. I’m going to do what I can at the Queen’s Court, but I don’t think that’s going to be enough. Not without some extra help.” Extra help, and one hell of a lot of luck.

He stepped a little closer, the air between us crackling with the hot pennyroyal and musk scent of his magic. “And if I do this for you?”

“I’ll owe you a favor.” I offered him a small smile. “Also, maybe we’ll all survive long enough for me to repay it.”

“Perhaps we will.” He looked at me gravely.“October . . .”

“Yes?”

Tybalt stopped, and shook himself, looking for all the world like he was trying to dry himself off after an unexpected dunking. “Nothing. Open roads, October; I’ll see you shortly.” He handed me the drawer before he stepped backward, drawing the shadows around his body like a veil, and was gone.

Well, that was one problem dealt with, at least for now. Cats get just about everywhere, and even the ones that aren’t Cait Sidhe are usually willing to cooperate with their King. If anybody would be able to find out more about what was going on, it would be the cats, and through them, Tybalt.

I put the drawer in the backseat before getting in the front and taking the keys from Quentin. “And we’re off.”

“Where did Tybalt go?” asked Quentin. “Did you guys have another fight? Because I don’t know anybody who fights as much as you two.”

“Your insight is appreciated, squire,” I said dryly, and started the car. “Aren’t you supposed to be respectful now, or something?”

He snorted.

“About what I thought,” I said, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Quentin spent most of the drive back to San Francisco changing the radio station and telling me about the war preparations at Shadowed Hills. They were worrisome, to say the least. Sylvester might believe this war could be avoided, but the Queen was going full speed ahead getting the Kingdom ready. I suppose it made sense—better to be prepared and not need it than unprepared and in serious trouble—but it felt almost like she wanted this war. And that scared me.

Having Quentin along was useful for at least one thing: I made him carry the drawer of rocks down the path to my apartment, while I took the substantially lighter collection of papers. The living room lights were on when we arrived, and the wards were open. I opened the door and stepped inside, calling, “Hey. I’m back.”

“Hey,” May replied. She was on the couch with Jazz’s head in her lap; the Raven-maid was sound asleep, black hair fanned out like glossy feathers on her girlfriend’s leg. She probably needed the rest. Keeping up with us nocturnal folk can be exhausting. A masked psychopath was on the TV, vivisecting a teenage girl in a way that was probably supposed to be new and inventive, but was nothing compared to watching a Kelpie shred a surfer.

“Sorry.” I closed the door, motioning for Quentin to put the drawer of rocks on the floor next to the umbrella stand. He did so, with obvious relief.

“Don’t worry about the noise—I don’t think a nuclear explosion could wake her right now.” May clicked off the TV. “You brought Quentin. That’s new.”

“Hi, May,” he said.

“Hi.” She twisted around to focus on me. “So what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I leaned over the back of the couch, putting the box of papers down before scooping Spike off the cushion where it was curled. It chirped before ramming its head, catlike, against my upper arm. I winced. “Ouch. Yes, I missed you, too.” Spike chirped again, sounding pleased. The sound caused the lump of fur on the beanbag chair to raise all three of its heads. Two were brown and cream, belonging to my half-Siamese cats. The third was russet-red, and belonged to Raj, currently lounging in the form of an Abyssinian cat.

“You left with Tybalt and came back with Quentin.” May said. “I’m a little worried. I’d appreciate it if you’d throw me a bone before I gnaw my fingernails to the quick.”

“Ah.” I sighed. “Well, we’re going to war.”

“I knew that.”

Raj yawned, blinking glass-green eyes first at me, then at Quentin. “Hi, Raj,” said Quentin. Raj mewled in answer.

I stayed focused on May. “I mean we’re really going to war. Sylvester’s pages are emptying the armory, and the Queen’s men are looking for Amandine so they can ask her to contribute.”

“Contribute what?” asked May, with horrified fascination.

“I don’t know. A headache?” I put Spike down. It shook itself, rattling like a maraca, and wandered over to sniff at Quentin.

“So where’s Tybalt?” asked May, causing Raj to turn and watch me intently.

“I asked him if he’d talk to the cats for me. People aren’t always careful to check the corners for strays before they open their mouths, and I need information.” I pointed to the drawer of rocks. “We need to get these to Walther.”

“These being . . . ?”

“Rayseline’s rock collection. I want him to see if there’s anything special about them.”

“No.”

I blinked. “No?”

“No, we’re not getting them to Walther.”

“Then who—?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about that big Bridge Troll guy that’s always hanging around? You know, the one who talks to rocks for fun? I’m just putting that out there.”

“You mean Danny?”

“Yes, Danny. Who has, by the way, called twice to say that he hasn’t found anything, but he wants to help. Poor guy’s going to show up and start offering to get things down from high shelves if we don’t give him something to do soon.” May shrugged. “Interrogating a box of rocks is probably about right.”

“Okay. Good. That’s a good idea.” I leaned over again, gingerly removing the needles and vial from the box of papers. “I need you to start sorting through these scraps. Try to put them in order by the writing on the backs, not whatever happens to be on the front.”

She gave the box an uneasy glance. “Do I want to know?”

“It’s Raysel’s diary. Sort of.”

“Of course it is.” May shuddered, jostling Jazz. Jazz made a sleepy sound of protest and snuggled closer, eyes still shut. “What’s that you’re holding?”

“I don’t know yet, but these are going to Walther.” I ducked into the kitchen, returning with Raysel’s potential poisoning gear in a sealed Ziploc baggie. “I found them in Raysel’s bathroom.”

“Charming.” May wrinkled her nose. “How did things go with the Luidaeg?”

“She’s contacting the Lordens to arrange a meeting, and she made this for me.” Opening my jacket, I displayed the pin shoved through the lining. “This will let me visit the Undersea, somehow. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. That’s probably intentional. The Luidaeg likes to keep me guessing.”

“That’s because she knows you well enough to know that you wouldn’t go through with things if you knew what you were getting into,” said May, in an irritatingly logical tone. “I mean, really, if I wanted you to go underwater for an extended period of time, I’d want you to do as little thinking as possible before you went under. You’d be less likely to freak out that way.”

“Oh, that’s real nice,” I said, wrinkling my nose at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side here? A little support would be—”

The sound of the doorbell cut me off mid-sentence. Jazz sat up with a squeak, while Raj arched his back and hissed. Even Quentin jumped, hand going to his belt where—through the glitter of his human disguise—I could just see the outline of a scabbard.

I stalked to the door, wrenching it open. “What?!”

Connor didn’t flinch. Putting his hands against the sides of my face, he stepped close and kissed me deeply. I grabbed his wrists, using the added leverage to pull myself closer to him. For a moment—a brief, sweet moment—I forgot we were on the verge of war. His skin was damp, and his lips tasted even more like salt than they usually did. He’d been in the water recently. Connor was the only one who could make that thought appealing to me.

He broke the kiss but didn’t let go. Pressing his forehead to mine, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I laughed unsteadily. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” He kissed me again. This one didn’t last as long, but what it lacked in length, it made up for in sheer knee-weakening need. Finally, he pulled away, and said, “I’m also here on business. The Duchess wants you. Can you come?”

It took me a moment to realize he meant Duchess Lorden, not Luna. I stared at him before looking back to the others. Quentin was looking at the wall, cheeks and ears burning red.

May shook her head. “Never a moment’s peace around here, is there? Go. Do your job. Also, hi, Connor. I’m glad I’m not the one who opened the door.”

“Hi, May.” Connor smiled at her, letting go of me. “Don’t worry, I can tell the two of you apart.”

“You have no idea what a relief that is. Now make sure she comes home.” May turned her attention to Jazz, who was looking sleepily around the room. Dating a day-dweller isn’t easy. I did it when I was with Cliff, and I didn’t envy May the challenge.

The situation was getting away from me again. “I’ve got time,” I said. “The Queen doesn’t expect me until dusk tomorrow. Let’s go.”

“I’m coming,” announced Quentin. “I’m her squire.”

Connor blinked. “Okay, wow, I missed that memo. Sure, whatever. No one’s going to separate you from your knight.” He offered me a quick smile. “I brought a car.”

“Great. We’re definitely going to die.” I stepped onto the front porch, adding, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” May waved after us, and Quentin closed the door behind himself as he followed us outside.

Connor’s car was a boxy white rental, the sort of thing even the tourists try to avoid. Even better, it was illegally parked in front of a fire hydrant. He unlocked the doors with a click of the keys, and all three of us got in.

I fastened my seat belt, checking it to make sure it was tight. Connor’s not the world’s worst driver—that honor’s reserved for May—but that doesn’t make him good. “Where are we going?” I asked, once I was sure I wouldn’t fly out of the moving car.

“Ghirardelli Square.”

I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“We’re meeting Duchess Lorden at a secure location just down the street,” he said, and started the engine.

San Francisco is a city full of people who like it when our desserts come with a floorshow, and that makes Ghirardelli Square a San Francisco institution. Where else can you get expensive chocolate and the amusement of watching tourists try to eat sundaes bigger than their heads? Unfortunately, that means the Square gets filled to capacity with people who think it’s “quaint.” Driving in that area is a nightmare. It wasn’t likely to be as bad at four in the morning, but after living in the city as long as I have, I’ve developed a natural aversion.

I got increasingly tense as we drove toward the wharf area where Ghirardelli Square is located. Connor’s driving wasn’t helping. I closed my eyes after the third time he turned the wrong way on a one-way street. That was when Quentin started popping his knuckles, producing a nerve-grinding sound that made my teeth itch. Every time I thought he was finished, he started over again, as Connor drove us jerkily toward our destination.

I was starting to think there’d be a homicide before we got there, and I wasn’t sure which one of us was going to be the killer.

The car pulled to a halt, and Connor said, “We’re here.”

I opened my eyes.

We were parked on the street outside the Square, where the slope of the hill was shallow enough to make parallel parking only somewhat dangerous, rather than actively suicidal. The lights in the surrounding shops were off, and the running lights of distant ships reflected off the smooth obsidian surface of the San Francisco Bay.

“Come on,” said Connor.

We went.

He led us down the empty, fog-shrouded street, heading for the patch of captive ocean on the other side. Instead of continuing down to the beach, he stopped at the bus shelter. Quentin and I stopped behind him, waiting for him to wave his hands and open some hidden entrance to an Undersea knowe. He did nothing of the sort. He just leaned up against the pole that marked the stop, waiting.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

Connor smiled. “Waiting for the bus.”

“Why did we leave behind your perfectly good car if it means we have to take the bus? If you say it was for the fresh air, I hit you.”

“You can’t find the place we’re going in a car. The bus stop, on the other hand, will work. I didn’t design the spell, but I’ve given up trying to work around it.” Connor shrugged as a bus pulled up. Grinning at my expression, he stepped backward, toward the opening doors. “My lady’s chariot awaits.”

“Whee,” I deadpanned, and followed him.

Connor boarded first, paying all three of our fares with a handful of quarters that would probably turn into sand dollars at sunrise. The driver grunted acknowledgment and waved us toward the back, not waiting for us to sit before he pulled away from the curb. I caught myself on one of the metal posts, swinging my ass into a seat. Quentin and Connor sat to either side of me.

There are always a few people on the all-night buses. They viewed our arrival with everything from exhaustion to mild suspicion, but didn’t say anything. Connor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and started talking, voice pitched low and urgent.

“You have to play nice. The rules she follows aren’t the ones you know, and the penalties for screwing with her are big. They don’t play games where she comes from.”

I nodded. He was speaking in generalities; anyone overhearing us would think we were going to meet his dealer or something. His advice was likely to be good. He’s always known how to play the system, and he’s a lot more political than I am. Then again, that’s how he wound up married to Rayseline Torquill. Maybe there are advantages to being politically inept. “So what do we—”

“Here’s where we get off.” Connor hit the signal button, bringing the bus shuddering to a stop. The other passengers watched in silence as we rose from our seats and filed out the rear doors.

The bus stop was about five blocks and a hell of a lot of hill from where we’d started. Looking down gave me a view of the ocean from a practically vertical angle. “Now where?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the dizzying drop.

“This way.” Connor pointed at a dingy storefront whose guttering neon sign identified it as “Bill’s Seafood.” It was the only thing on the block that looked open. A menu was taped to the window, next to a sign that offered a ten percent discount for anyone who wore a shirt and shoes but no pants. Cute. And risky, at least in San Francisco, where people would probably be more than happy to take the management up on their offer.

“Well, Quentin,” I said, “it looks like we’re having dinner.” He offered an uneasy smile, and the two of us followed Connor inside.