One Salt Sea

TWENTY-ONE

DUGAN WAS WHERE THE QUEEN said he’d be: in the armory, conducting a small army of pages in the complicated business of preparing for a war. Most of them were too occupied with their tasks to notice our arrival. I cast a glance toward Etienne, raising an eyebrow. He was frowning, his attention on the children. I shared the sentiment.

It’s hard to estimate age on fae kids—differing rates of growth and standards of physical maturity mean it’s possible for an adolescent to be in his thirties, although most don’t slow that sharply until they hit puberty—but even so, I wouldn’t have placed some of those kids at more than nine. There’s a certain ungainliness that comes with the years between eight and fourteen that tends to fade away on kids who get stuck at that age for more than the customary span. These kids didn’t just look young; they were young.

“Should I be calling child welfare, Harrow?” I asked, leaning in the doorframe.

Dugan’s head snapped up, eyes widening, then narrowing as he took in the sight of me. He focused on Etienne, and spat, “You bring a traitor here, unbound? Is this a joke? Or have you elected to join her in her treasons?”

“Um, hello?” I raised a hand. “Not a traitor, and the Queen told us where to find you. Or do you think we’re such major badasses that we fought our way through the knowe to come and loiter at you in an imposing fashion? Because I’ve got to say, I’m flattered.”

I was forcing a levity I didn’t feel. It had the desired effect. Several pages ducked their heads, trying to hide their amusement. Dugan’s anger faded as confusion and irritation battled for dominance over his expression. As seemed to be often the case with Dugan, irritation won. “How is it that you were allowed to enter without being arrested and—one would hope—executed on the spot?”

“I’m starting to think I may be the only person in this Kingdom who doesn’t see my survival as a bad thing.” I pushed away from the wall. “Well, except for the local King of Cats, and the Duke and Duchess of Saltmist, and most of the staff at Shadowed Hills, and everyone at Goldengreen, and if we’re done with the name-dropping and being pissy part of our program, we did come here for a reason. Beyond annoying you, I mean. That’s just a really nice bonus.”

“October,” said Etienne. He was trying to sound chiding, but he couldn’t even manage to sound like he meant it. Turning his attention back to Dugan, he continued, “We were sent by Her Highness to speak with you. If you would have a moment?”

“Oh, of course. I always have time to drop everything for the Countess,” said Dugan, sounding disgusted.

I smiled. There’s nothing like open disdain to make me feel better about my role in this world. “And that’s how I like it. Can we get on with it?”

“Will it make you leave faster?”

“Generally.”

“Please.”

“According to the Queen, you’re the one who spoke to the messenger who saw me go into the water with the Duchess of Saltmist. Can you describe this messenger to us, please?”

Dugan frowned. “You’re here for that?”

“Yup. So it should be easy for you to give me what I want and get me out of your hair.” A page paused next to me, staggering under the weight of his armload of arrows. I leaned over to steady him, never taking my eyes off Dugan. “I can wait until you do.”

“She was a changeling. Brown hair. Blue eyes. I’d never seen her before in my life.” He sneered. “Just another bit of mongrel trash seeking to purchase a place in the Court.”

“I’m going to ignore the part where you’re trying to bait me,” I said. “What else? What breed was she? Did she use magic in your presence?” A nasty suspicion was taking shape at the back of my mind. Brown hair and blue eyes didn’t describe any of the changelings I knew—except, by a very generous definition of “blue,” me. But illusions are wonderful things, and if you keep them subtle, they can make a lot of details difficult to be certain of.

“Some sort of Daoine Sidhe out-breed,” he said, sniffing. “I’m surprised you don’t know her by description, Daye. I’d think you mongrels would have a great deal in common.”

“I’ve been upgraded to mongrel? You flatter me.” Taunting him was keeping me from losing my temper, if only just. “Magic, Harrow. Did she use any?”

“She had some sort of filter around her,” he said dismissively, as if nothing a “mongrel” did could be of any concern.

Idiots like that are why I sometimes despair for the future of Faerie. “What did it smell like?” I asked, from between gritted teeth.

“Wax,” he said, with a wave of one hand. “Wax and some sort of flower.”

That was what I’d expected. It still hurt to hear it said. “Cold wax, or wax from a candle that’s still burning?” Oberon help me, but I had to be sure.

“Hot.”

“I see.” The scent and feel of a person’s magic isn’t one hundred percent unique; I’m not the only one in Faerie who smells like copper when she casts a spell, although I’ve never encountered anyone whose magic incorporates all the elements mine does. Hot wax and flowers only described the magic of one person I’d ever met.

“Do you?”

The smugness on his face was too much for me to bear. I closed the distance between us in three long steps, grabbing his collar and yanking him toward me while the gathered pages gaped in dismay. “Do I see that you took the word of a woman whose magic marked her as being Rayseline Torquill? A woman who was wanted for murder in this Kingdom the last time I checked?”

“You dare!” Dugan flailed, trying to pull away. “Release me at once!”

“Make me,” I snarled, pulling him closer still. “Give me one good reason not to show you what this mongrel can do.”

“October!” Etienne grabbed my arm, trying to haul me off Dugan. “That is quite enough!” Bringing his face to my ear, he hissed, “Do not give the Queen cause to arrest you again. Not now. Not over him. He’s not worth your reputation.”

My anger needed something to focus on, and Dugan was more than suited to the position. But Etienne was right—if I got myself arrested, I wouldn’t be able to find the Lorden boys, and I wouldn’t be able to find my own daughter. The thought of Gillian was all that gave me the strength to relax my fingers. I shook Dugan once, hard, before releasing him. He staggered backward, staring at me, bug-eyed.

“I never thought you were a genius, Harrow, but by Maeve’s bones, before tonight, I never knew that you were such a twice-cursed fool,” I spat.

“You dare—” he choked, clutching his throat with one hand. I hoped like hell it was going to leave a bruise.

I took a step forward, feeling a cold satisfaction when he shied back, away from me. “I outrank you, and I’m pretty sure I can outfight you, so yes, I dare,” I said flatly. Raising my voice, I called to the pages, “Be careful with this man. He’ll give you orders that get you killed, as long as they make him look good. If you have a choice? Don’t listen.”

“Time to go,” said Etienne, taking my elbow.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room, feeling the stares of the pages on my back every inch of the way.

We were well down the hall and out of sight of the armory when Etienne tightened his grip, spinning me around to face him. “Are you insane?” he demanded. “Taunting Dugan Harrow is not a good idea!”

“Really?” I asked, scowling at him. “Why not? What can he do, Etienne? Glare at me across the room? Tell the Queen I’m a naughty girl? Oooh, I’m shaking. I can’t lose his good opinion. I never had it.”

“It doesn’t matter that he’s not her seneschal, and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t think well of you. Taunting him is still foolish.” He let go of me. “I taught you better than to lower yourself to his level—and he’s hungry, October. Daoine Sidhe without position are always hungry. You’d know that, if you—” He stopped, looking stricken, as as he realized what he’d been about to say.

“If I were Daoine Sidhe,” I finished, since he clearly wasn’t going to. “If I were Daoine Sidhe, I’d know about being hungry for power and position, and wanting to have something I could control. I guess we’re all lucky I’m not Daoine Sidhe, huh?”

Etienne lowered his eyes, looking ashamed. “I apologize. I should never have said that.”

“You didn’t.” I paused. If I were Daoine Sidhe—what I always believed myself to be—I would have understood being hungry for power. But I’m Dóchas Sidhe, and that means I understand something different.

I understand blood.

“Change of plans. Can you transport us again?” I asked.

“What?” Etienne raised his head. “I—yes, of course, if it’s only the two of us. Have you found everything you need? Is it time to return to Shadowed Hills?”

“Not quite.” I pulled the borrowed phone from my pocket, holding it up for him to see. “I need to make a few phone calls. But first, we’re going to Goldengreen.”

Etienne frowned. “Are you intending to do something foolish?”

“I guess that depends on your definition.” I shrugged. “But yeah, by most definitions, probably. Come on, Etienne. Let’s go prevent a war.”