One Salt Sea

TWENTY-SIX

THE RED VEIL OF DEAN’S memories crashed down on me almost instantly, stronger than I expected. I struggled against them automatically before I realized they weren’t trying to overwhelm me; they were just there, open, welcoming me in. Blood magic had never been this easy.

I took a breath, and let myself fall into someone else’s skin.

Everything hurts. Moving hurts. Breathing hurts. Nothing is supposed to hurt like this. Even dying shouldn’t hurt like this. I raise my head, squinting through the tears I won’t let them see me shed. It’s dark. The floor is cold, and the straw that covers it isn’t enough to fight the chill. It smells like something died here a long time ago, the stink barely disguised by the distant scents of spices I don’t know the names of.

“He’s alive,” I said, pulling myself far enough out of the memories to speak. “They’re not keeping him in the water.” If Patrick responded, I didn’t hear it. The blood surged over me again, and I was gone.

“Are you scared now, little prince of the sea?” It’s a woman’s voice, sweet as honey and toxic as cyanide.

I knew who belonged to that voice. Dean didn’t, but I did.

I tuck my head down, feigning sleep. Anything would be better than facing her again. “Oh, sleeping? Lost in pretty dreams of home, of freedom, and of family?” A hand grabs my hair and jerks my head up. “Don’t be stupid.”

Her hair is red, like blood coral, and her eyes are gold. Her ears rise to tapered points under the twined braids on the sides of her head, blunter than they’d be if she were pure Daoine Sidhe, but still as sharp as mine. There’s a sharpened sickle in the hand not snarled through my hair.

I gritted my teeth. The red film of memory broke slightly, cleared away by my anger. No matter how much I knew Raysel was involved, it still hurt like hell to see her there, torturing an innocent. How could she have fallen this far? Then the red haze closed over me again, and nothing mattered but Dean’s borrowed fear.

I go rigid, trying not to look at the sickle. I will not cry is the thought the blood remembers. “Let me go before my parents find you,” I say, forcing a bravado that isn’t really there.

She smiles. “Oh, you silly little thing, don’t you know? Your parents will find you. We’ll leave you for them a piece at a time, like bread crumbs leading children out of the woods. We don’t need you both alive. One will do nicely for what’s needed.”

“Where’s my brother?”

“That’s up to you. Behave, do as I tell you, die like the little nobleman you are, and your brother will be fine. You’ll be a hero for keeping him alive. Make too much fuss, and . . .” She draws the blunt side of the sickle across her throat in a gesture both graphic and direct. “He’s the one fit to inherit, isn’t he? The golden child. Such a pity when the more valuable son has to die.”

I love my brother. That only fuels my fear. “I won’t fight you.”

“I hoped you’d say that.” Her smile grows wider, until it shows the sharp tips of her incisors. “Such a brave little boy. So noble.” She raises the sickle, and I look away. I know what comes next, I know I can’t escape it, but oh, Maeve, I don’t want to see, I don’t want to feel that blade come down—

The pain of the sickle biting into Dean’s hand was enough to snap me out of the spell. I slammed back into my own skin so hard that it was like hitting the water after a badly-botched dive. It didn’t hurt. “Hurt” was too small a word. It burned.

The fragments of my shattered spell hung in the air around us, reeking of cut grass and copper. The finger dropped from my hand, rolling away. It wasn’t just a bit of discarded meat and bone anymore—I remembered it as part of my body. It would take time for the memory of being Dean to fade, and until then, it was my finger on the floor.

Turning my head, I bent as far to the side as I could, and threw up.

Patrick didn’t move. His eyes were saucer-wide in his pale face, and his hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles gone white from the pressure. “Did it work?” he asked.

I wiped my mouth with one shaking hand as I turned back to him, barely managing to keep from snapping, No, I threw up because I realized what I was putting in my mouth. Dean’s love for his parents had been almost as prominent in his mind as his love for his brother. Patrick didn’t deserve to hear something like that.

“It worked.” I wiped my mouth again, only spreading the sticky taste of blood. My head was pounding. I hadn’t had a headache this bad since Amandine shifted the balance of my blood. Apparently, I still had limits. That wasn’t as reassuring as I’d expected.

“Is he . . .” Patrick stopped mid-sentence, and just looked at me.

“He was alive when the finger was taken. They’re keeping him in a stone room, above water. There’s straw on the floor, but the stone is rough, like it wasn’t milled or worked at all.” I shook my head. “There was no iron in the air. Whoever has him, it’s not the Queen. I’ve been in her dungeon, and the iron is everywhere down there.”

Patrick nodded. I could see the hunger in his eyes, the burning need to know everything there was to know about the place his son was being held. I didn’t blame him. I just wished that Dean had been held in the same room as Gillian, so that I could have some reassurance of my own. “Is he hurt?”

“Other than the missing finger? I think they used at least one knock-down spell on him. He’s in a lot of pain, but there are no other serious injuries.”

“Was Peter there?”

“No. I’m sorry. He was alone.”

“Did you see who was holding him?”

I lowered my hand, looking up. He stared back with eyes that were suddenly cold and implacable, filled with a deep fury that I was glad wasn’t directed at me.

“It was Rayseline,” I said. Picking up the finger, I put it gently back into the box. That made me feel a little better. “She can’t be working alone, but she’s the one who . . .” Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to say “cut off your son’s finger.” “. . . hurt him,” I finished lamely.

Patrick’s expression darkened further, something I hadn’t been sure was possible. “That little bitch will regret the day of her birth by the time I’m finished with her,” he growled, in a voice like waves crashing against the shore.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost a child here, Patrick,” I said, as calmly as I could. “Rayseline has my daughter, too. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t agree to go in swinging. I’d like half a chance in hell of getting Gillian back alive.”

The darkness parted, replaced by a grimace of apology. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Most people do.” I handed him the box before I stood, wiping my hands against my jeans. It wasn’t enough to wipe away the feel of phantom blood. Very little ever is. “I’m scared as hell about what they might be doing to her. Her father was human.”

“Ah,” said Patrick, sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“She doesn’t know how to defend herself. I never had the chance to teach her.” Something about that bothered me. Patrick wouldn’t have known Gillian existed if I hadn’t told him. She was never a part of my life in Faerie. Rayseline knew that she existed, had even met her before, but . . . how did she know where to find her?

“If anyone can find her, I believe that you will,” said Patrick.

“Somehow, that’s not comforting,” I muttered. More loudly, I asked, “Shall we go reassure your subjects that I haven’t shoved you off a balcony?”

“You have balconies?”

“Not in this room. But we have a few.”

“In that case, we should definitely reassure them.” Patrick looked at me gravely as he stood. “We are in your debt for this.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re not in my debt until they’re home.”

“Still. At least you’re willing to try. That’s more than I can say for anyone else in this benighted Kingdom.”

“The Queen’s not all bad.”

He lifted his eyebrows and looked at me.

“Okay, maybe she is,” I admitted. “But I’m going to bring your sons home.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Patrick said, and smiled. He still looked exhausted and afraid, but there was hope in his expression. I considered him a moment before smiling back. There might be a way out of this madman’s game after all. That was worth smiling over.

Neither of us spoke as we walked down the hall. We both had too much to think about. He was probably dwelling on his missing sons and the impending war, while I thought about my own missing daughter, and the chances that captivity in a shallowing had already driven her insane.

Even more, I thought about who, out of everyone I knew, could have told Rayseline where to find my little girl. There weren’t many options. I was pretty sure I knew which one was the winner.

The delegation from Saltmist was waiting in the throne room. About half of them had chicken-and-strawberry sandwiches and glasses of lemonade. Marcia and May were circulating through the crowd with more refreshments. Quentin and Raj stood guard on either side of the door, watching the crowd with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Connor sat on the edge of the dais, his head in his hands, looking exhausted. The Roane woman was sitting next to him, patting him comfortingly on the back.

Raj straightened when Patrick and I entered, pointing us out to Quentin. Having both of them looking in our direction was enough to tip off the rest of the room, all of whom turned, one by one, to look at us.

I raised one hand in a small wave. “Hi. Miss us?”

“Done more than she thought she would, but not as much as she’ll do, once she’s given cause to eat the fruit of the Judas tree.” The Roane woman stood. Connor started to follow, and she patted his shoulder, motioning for him to stay. “Now, now, my little soldier boy, stay as you are, and rest. Your place in this tale is nearly severed through, and the time for roving’s done. Rest a while, before the end begins.”

Connor sat again, looking as perplexed as I felt. The Roane smiled like she was giving a benediction and walked over to us, seizing Patrick’s free hand in both of her own. “She’s seen him in the halls of stone?”

“She has,” Patrick replied. Pitching his voice to carry to the rest of the courtyard, he said, “Dean is alive.”

The resulting cheer was loud enough to rouse a swarm of pixies from the rafters. They swirled around us in a great wave, buzzing their irritation before zipping out into the hall. A single spider-form bogey dropped from the ceiling and ran after them, drawing startled shrieks from a few of the Undersea fae.

Patrick turned to me. “What can we do?” he asked. “Anything you need, anything you want, the Undersea will gladly provide.”

For a brief, dizzying moment, I wanted to ask for a pony. Except for the part where I’d probably wind up with a Kelpie. “Just let me take care of this for now. My methods, my results. Please.”

“Will you call on us for assistance if needed?” asked Patrick.

“Only if your guards can promise not to shoot anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to be shot,” I said. “If you kill someone . . .”

“This war becomes entirely unavoidable. I know.” Patrick sighed deeply, weariness settling across him like a blanket. “I need to help, October, as does Dianda. They’re our sons.”

“I know. But for right now, I need you to trust me. If you can’t trust me, trust the Luidaeg. She’s the one who first got me involved.” I shook my head. “Truth be told, she sometimes has more faith in me than I have in myself, but I won’t let her down if I can help it. I’m going to find them, and I promise, I will call you if there’s anything you can do to help me bring them home.”

“She’ll bring them home to us,” said the Roane woman. Smiling, she continued, “What she has to pay is dearer than salt, but she’ll bring them home.”

I blinked at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I don’t believe I freed it,” she said. “Mary does me well enough.”

That couldn’t be her real name. The fae avoid duplicating names when they can, and “Mary” would have been taken centuries ago. Still, there’s a long, proud tradition of pseudonyms in Faerie. I bowed, saying, “October Daye, Countess—”

“Countess of Goldengreen, the land that falls to rise and falls again, daughter of Amandine the liar, mother of Gillian with the eyes half-open but so soon to close, she who’ll stand by the burning tree with a brand bare in her hand and a song upon her lips, yes, yes, we know you,” she said, waving a hand. “Trust her, my Pat. She believes her words, and if she lies, she doesn’t know it.”

I stared, first at her, then at Patrick. He flashed me a small, strained smile.

“Mary holds the Roane gift of prophecy a bit more directly than most,” he said. “You learn to filter what she says until you find the useful parts.”

“So you understand her?” I asked, fighting the urge to shake Mary until she told me what she knew about my daughter in words I could understand. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t be diplomatic. That didn’t do a thing to stop my wanting to do it.

“I’ve had years of practice.”

The Undersea fae were finally calming. Mary looked up at me, smiling distantly. “You’ve done but the start of what’s to do, and still you have our gratitude, daughter of Amandine. You’ll understand soon enough.” She paused, tilting her head to the side, and added, “She waits. They’ve not hurt her. Ask no more, for I don’t know it.”

I stiffened. “You’re talking about Gillian. Where is she?”

She raised a hand. “I’ve said what I know.”

“She’s telling the truth,” said Patrick. I glanced at him, frowning. “Mary never sees everything. If she did . . .”

“You wouldn’t need me,” I finished wearily. “Is there anything else you need right now? I need to get back to work.”

“What you’ll do, you’ll do. Come, my Pat. My mother’s soon to be involved, and it’s best if we not be standing in whatever path she comes by. She favors solitude. I try to do well by her when I can.” Mary smiled again, more sadly, and turned to the others. “Up, then, all of you lot, and away! We’ve news of all the world and more to carry to our lady.” Again, her gaze went to Connor. “Not you, soldier boy. Your place is by your lighthouse keeper’s daughter.”

Patrick looked briefly concerned before inclining his head, saying, “Connor, stay here. It’s a good idea for us to keep the channels of communication open, especially now.” Turning to me, he bowed as deeply as if he were bowing to the Queen herself. “The sea will not forget what you’ve done for us, or what we’ve done to you.”

“I appreciate that.” I returned the bow, putting every ounce of courtly grace that I possessed into the gesture. “I’ll throw you another bottle if I learn anything else. Until then, please try to keep Dianda from doing anything rash?”

“You credit me with a great deal more power than I possess, but I’ll try,” said Patrick wryly, and turned to go. The delegation from Saltmist parted to let him take the lead before following him out the door. Patrick’s shoulders were higher than they’d been when he arrived; he was walking like a man, and not like someone who’d been beaten. That was good. He was going to need his strength.

Connor waited until they were gone before standing up, saying, “He must like you,” and walking over to put his arms around me. “Are you all right?”

“No,” I said, and buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in the reassuring sea-salt smell of him. For a moment, I just let him hold me, trying to pretend that everything could ever be all right again. Voice muffled by his skin, I whispered, “She took Gillian, Connor.”

“I know.” He stroked my hair with one hand, holding me closer. “We’re going to get her back. I swear to you, we’re going to get her back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I refuse to let this end any other way.” He pulled back, just enough to press a kiss against the side of my jaw, and said, “Besides, she’s your daughter. She’s probably too damn stubborn to do anything but survive.”

I laughed a little as I pulled away, wiping my eyes with the back of one hand. “I hope you’re right. For right now, we need to find Raysel.” I took a breath, trying to clear my head. “Did she ever say anything about redwood trees? Maybe a park she liked visiting, or a place that she remembered from her childhood?”

“Raysel never talked about ‘liking’ anything,” he said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Mostly, she just talked about how everyone was letting her down, including—and sometimes, especially—me.”

“Right.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I need to call Danny. Maybe one of Rayseline’s rocks remembers redwood trees.” Statements like that are just one of the many reasons mortal police work and Faerie will never mix.

“What can we do?” asked Quentin.

My attention snapped back to the doorway, where Quentin and Raj stood like mismatched chess pieces waiting for their next moves. I blinked as I realize how accurate that was; they were both waiting for me to tell them what to do. Oak and ash, had I acquired a Cait Sidhe Prince to go with my Daoine Sidhe knight-in-training?

I could worry about that later. “I’m going to go meet with Bucer after I call Danny. You can come, if you want to.” Seeing me shake answers out of the little weasel would be educational for them, right? And maybe showing up with a couple of unfamiliar teenagers in tow would make him more willing to talk to me.

I flinched from the thought as quickly as it crossed my mind. That was Devin’s tactic: bring the kids along, throw your opposition off-balance. Was I really resorting to his techniques? And so what if I was? If it got Gillian back, it was worth doing.

“We’ll hold down the fort,” May said. “I already called Jazz.”

“Good thinking.” I glanced at Connor, asking hopefully, “Do you want to come with us? It’s probably not going to be fun.”

“Like anything has been, this week?” Connor shook his head. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you out of my sight before I have to. I’m coming.”

“Great. I’ll meet you all at the car after I call Danny.” I turned and walked out to the hall, heading for the kitchen. I needed coffee for the drive, or I was going to get a lot less useful, very soon.

Connor followed me. I gave him a questioning look. He shook his head, saying, “I’ll get your coffee. I need to talk to you before we go.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly, and dialed Danny’s number.

Danny’s voice boomed through the speaker after the first ring, declaring, “Danny here. Where’s the fire?”

“Hopefully, not under my frying pan,” I replied. “Hey, Danny. You get any answers out of those rocks yet?”

“Toby! You ain’t dead!” I couldn’t decide whether it was amusing or disturbing that he sounded so surprised by my continued survival.

I settled on amusing. I needed more amusement. “Not for lack of trying. The rocks, Danny. Have they said anything?”

“Not too much that’s useful, but I’m still tryin’.”

“Do you think you might have better luck with direct questions?”

“Hey, yeah—that’d probably help. Why, you got one?”

“I do. I want you to go to the nearest florist and get some decorative redwood branches. Put the branches with the rocks, and ask them if they’ve ever seen or smelled anything like that before. If any of the rocks says ‘yes,’ see if you can get them to tell you more about where they were before Raysel picked them up.”

Danny hesitated. When he spoke again, it was slowly, with the sort of tone one might use when talking to a crazy person. “Uh, Tobes? Are you really askin’ me to make a rock your star witness?”

“Yeah. You have a problem with that?”

“Fuck, no.” He laughed merrily. “This is the best thing I’ve done all month. I’ll getcha your answers. Count on me.” The line went dead.

I sighed, looking at the phone for a long moment before tucking it away in my pocket. “I sort of think I am counting on you,” I said, to no one in particular.

“Toby?”

“Huh?” I looked up, meeting Connor’s eyes. He held my long-neglected Thermos out to me.

“Coffee,” he said. “For the road.”

“Oh.” I took it, smiling a little. “Good thinking.”

“Yeah. I guess I know you pretty well.” He took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”

“Connor, this really isn’t the best time. Gilly’s missing, and we need to—”

“I’ve asked Duchess Lorden to release me from my service to Saltmist. After what you did today, I’m pretty sure the Duke will support my request.”

That got my attention. “Wait—what?”

“I said, I’m leaving Saltmist. I’m leaving the protection of the Undersea. Patrick left one Kingdom for another in order to be with the woman he loved, and so can I.” He smiled uncertainly, looking through his eyelashes at me. “I know I said I didn’t want to be banished, and I still don’t, but I’m staying with you, October. If you’ll have me, I’m yours. I won’t fight against you, and I won’t let them take me away from you again.”

“Connor . . .” I stopped mid-sentence, too stunned to know how to continue. The world was falling down around us, my daughter was missing, and now Connor was giving up the Undersea to stay with me . . . and that didn’t even begin to touch the topic of Tybalt, and the kiss he’d given me before he threw me into the shadows. It was all too much to process.

A look of deep uncertainty flickered across Connor’s face. “Don’t you want me to stay?”

That, at least, was something I could answer. “With all my heart,” I said, stepping forward, and then I was kissing him, and he was kissing me, and for a few beautiful seconds, everything else fell away. Maybe everything else was a mess, but here, finally, was something I could hold onto. Connor was staying.

Unfortunately, like most good things, the moment couldn’t last. I pulled away from him, reluctantly. “Come on,” I said. “It’s time to get to work.” Oberon preserve us all.