Once Broken Faith (9 page)

Antonio raised both eyebrows. “I'm sorry, little miss. I was unaware that you were a queen in your own right. Tell me, what demesne do you claim, that you can contradict my words so forcefully, and with so little hesitation? What fiefdom is yours by blood, or conquest, or appointment?”

Dianda made a gagging motion. Oddly, that helped. It broke the back of my anger, allowing me to take a deep breath and look to Arden for the support Tybalt couldn't give me.

“She is no queen, as well you know, but she speaks from a position of authority that none of us have,” said Arden coolly. “If you like, we can elf-shoot you, and awaken you, and let you testify as to your experience. In fact, I would have to insist. Sir Daye is sworn to one of my most trusted vassals, and by questioning her, you question me. The only way to avoid that becoming dire insult would be to allow honor to cause you to feel the poison for yourself.”

King Antonio stood perfectly still for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, he said, “I yield to the sea witch and her interpretation of the changeling's blood,” and sat.

“Now that
that's
over,” said the Luidaeg. She turned back to me, holding out her hand. “Arm.”

I grimaced as I laid my forearm across her palm. “Please try not to open an artery. I don't want to have this whole stage bathed in blood.”

“You have so little faith in me,” she said, and bent forward, and bit down.

Her teeth were as sharp as they'd appeared. That didn't make it hurt any less. The smell of my blood filled the air, mixing with the bitter-cold sea-smell of her magic, which stung like salt when it touched my skin. She drank deeply, and the feel of her pulling the blood from my veins was disorienting enough to make me close my eyes for a moment, centering myself.

I opened them when she pulled away. The wound in my forearm was already healing, leaving only a smear of blood and saliva behind. I wiped it away with my free hand, then scrubbed my palm against the leg of my pants.

The Luidaeg, eyes now black from side to side like the depths of an angry sea, turned to the gallery, and said, “I, the Luidaeg, sea witch and undying daughter of Maeve, tell you that the woman beside me, Sir October Christine Daye of Shadowed Hills, was elf-shot twice, and lived each time through the intervention of outside forces. The first shot was delivered by an assassin's bow, and was countered by the magic of my sister, who changed the blood in Sir Daye's body such as to sunder her from her own death. The second shot was delivered by the hand of the deposed King Rhys of Silences, and was countered by a tincture brewed by Master Walther Davies, alchemist. In both cases, the elf-shot was true: her sleep, and death, should have followed. It did not. The cure works.”

“So it is said,” said High King Aethlin. “Let it be accepted within these chambers that the cure works.”

Some of the people in the gallery muttered, but no one objected. That was a relief.

“You may be excused, Sir Daye,” said the High King.

I turned to him, bowed, and walked back to my seat as quickly as I dared. The Luidaeg followed me, leaving Walther to face the ensuing inquisition alone.

It felt like everyone in the room had a question for him. What was in the tincture? How was it made? Could
anyone
make it, assuming it wasn't banned as a result of this conclave? Was he holding anything back? Had there been earlier versions that hadn't worked? How had he tested them? How had he been sure that using the cure wouldn't kill us, and result in a violation of the Law? It went on and on, and frankly, I wasn't listening. I was too busy sinking into my seat, rubbing the place on my arm where the ghosts of the Luidaeg's teeth still lingered, continuing to try and get a feel for the room.

Most of these people had previously been only names on paper to me, if that. The monarchs of Golden Shore, for example. Their Kingdom is known for being a safe haven for changelings, as long as those changelings are willing to work. Everyone works in Golden Shore. It's an agrarian community, responsible for providing most of the noble houses on the West Coast with fae produce and livestock. Yes, there are fae cows, called Crodh Sith by people who want to be pretentious about it, and their milk and butter are supposed to be some of the finest in this world or any other. Golden apples, silver grapes, sheep with fleece finer than silk . . . if you want any of those things, you get them from Golden Shore. Golden Hinds are rare, as they breed even more slowly than most fae and don't like to live in human cities. Seeing a married couple was fascinating.

Both of them were frowning as Walther spoke, and their questions were sharp-edged, like they were trying to trip him up. I didn't get the feeling they were on the side of distributing the cure. I just couldn't figure out
why
.

King Antonio, on the other hand, was definitely opposed to distributing the cure, and I knew
exactly
why.
Angels has a reputation as a place where you could do what you wanted without fear of noble intervention, because the nobility of Angels don't care. As long as they can party the nights away, the riff-raff in the streets doesn't matter to them. Elf-shot was the monarchy's primary method of enforcing the few rules they did have. I'd always thought it was sort of like Shakespeare's Verona: gleefully lawless, with brawls breaking out every time two warring factions tripped over each other in the grocery store. Take away elf-shot as a threat and a pacifying tool, and Antonio and his court might actually start needing to
work
.

Queen Siwan of Silences was obviously in favor of distributing the cure, for a lot of reasons. Walther was her nephew. Even if he was currently residing in and serving the Mists, having him be the one to discover a way to break one of the oldest enchantments in our world reflected well on his family and the Kingdom that they held. Aspiring alchemists from all over the world would want to go and train in Silences, the Kingdom that had created the finest alchemist of our age. Also, I was pretty sure the Yates family had already used the cure to wake everyone in their Kingdom, and that would be easier to explain if the cure didn't wind up illegal.

It was hard to say which side of the argument Dianda came down on. She was glaring at the stage with such intensity that it was almost surprising when no one burst spontaneously into flames. Patrick looked thoughtful. Patrick usually looks thoughtful. Patrick is the leavening influence that keeps Dianda from killing us all because she's bored, or hungry, or doesn't like the way someone's looking at her. I'm very fond of Patrick.

High Queen Maida leaned over and murmured something to her husband who, in turn, leaned over and murmured something to Arden. She nodded, rising gracefully from her throne and clasping her hands together as a signal for silence. The room quieted.

“We're agreed, then, that this is no small topic: whatever we decide will change the course of Faerie for however long remains before Oberon returns to us. In light of this, no decisions will be made rashly, or without consideration of all perspectives. Many of you have traveled far to be here. The hospitality of my home is open to you for the duration of this conclave, plus the traditional three days, should you wish to remain and enjoy the courtesies of my Kingdom when our business here is done. For now, we'll stop to enjoy a meal, and to consider what we have heard so far. The conclave will resume after we have all eaten.”

She waited for Siwan to rise and join her before the pair turned and walked off the stage, followed by the High King and High Queen. I stayed where I was. If I could avoid being trampled by royalty, that would be swell.

I wasn't the only one: basically everyone in my row was holding still, as if that would somehow keep them from being noticed by the outgoing kings and queens. Having the Luidaeg with us probably helped a lot, since no one wanted to poke the Firstborn if they could help it.

Sylvester cast a look in our direction as he walked up the aisle, like he wanted to come over and speak to me, but didn't quite have the nerve. I turned my face to the side, not waving him over, and eventually, he just left.

Tybalt didn't look at us at all.

Politics were politics, and I could worry about them later. For now, I had bigger things to focus on. Twisting in my seat, I leaned forward until I could see Karen. “Honey, are you okay?”

Her face crumpled, like she'd been holding herself together by the thinnest of lines. “Auntie Birdie!” she wailed, flinging herself across Quentin to get to me. She wound up mostly in my lap, arms around my neck, legs slung over his lap. Quentin looked nonplussed but didn't say anything. He knew she wasn't trying to invade his personal space, no matter how much she was succeeding.

“Oh,
honey
.” I put my arms around her and held her as tightly as I could, feeling the warm wetness of her tears against my neck. She was crying too hard to talk. I stroked her back with one hand, turning to look at the Luidaeg.

“Karen appeared on my doorstep at sundown,” she said. “I was already planning to come to this shit-storm circus, so she's lucky she didn't miss me. Said my scumbag sister had appeared in her dreams and threatened her family if she didn't come and represent her interests.”

There was a lot of “she” and “her” in that sentence, but I followed it well enough, especially because I knew where the Luidaeg's restrictions were. She couldn't say Eira's name, or any of her aliases. For her, Evening Winterrose was a pronoun and a problem, a looming disaster that had already killed her once and wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

I also knew that whatever Evening had said to threaten Karen, she could follow through on those threats. We'd learned that Karen was an oneiromancer after she was taken captive by Blind Michael, who had been a Firstborn son of Oberon and Maeve, and hence the Luidaeg's younger brother. He'd stolen Karen while she was sleeping, leaving her body behind while he prisoned her dreaming form in a glass ball. If one of the Firstborn could hurt her that way, I had no doubt that another Firstborn—especially one as powerful as Evening—could do the same.

“You know, I was worried when we started working on this cure,” I said bitterly. “I thought ‘well, hell, we just got Evening out of the way for a hundred years, and now we have to worry about somebody waking her up like the villain from a bad slasher movie.' Only now even elf-shot can't keep her from hurting my family. Why didn't we kill her, again?”

“Because if you were in violation of Oberon's Law,
you'd be imprisoned or executed, and either way, you wouldn't be able to finish my training,” said Quentin. His voice shook. He was as unhappy as I was about this; he just didn't know what to do about it. It didn't help that Evening was his Firstborn. Everything he was told him he should obey and honor her, not side against her. Carefully, he reached over and patted Karen's shoulder. “Hey. It'll be okay. Toby's not going to let her hurt you.”

Sometimes I was so proud of that kid that it hurt. I stroked Karen's hair with one hand, and asked, “Anybody got any bright ideas about how to keep Evening from using Karen as her catspaw forever once she gets woken up?”

“What?” Karen pulled back, letting me see her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were wide, glossy, and filled with tears. “What do you mean?”

I frowned at her, confused. “I meant that after the cure is approved, and Evening is woken up, what's going to make her leave you alone?”

“She didn't send me here because she wants the cure to be used, Auntie Birdie,” said Karen. “She sent me here because she wants it to be buried.”

I stared at her. So did Quentin. The Luidaeg, who had presumably heard this before, sighed and pushed herself to her feet.

“Okay, kids,” she said. “Let's go eat.”

Karen climbed out of my lap. Walther, Quentin, and I stood, and together, the five of us walked toward the door. When we were halfway there, Karen took my hand. I didn't pull away.

M
OST OF THE LOCAL NOBLES had loaned Arden members of their household for the duration of the conclave, making up for the shortcomings in staffing at the kingdom level. Arden was still getting established, and had a lot of hiring to do before she'd be operating at full capacity. Besides, this guaranteed those nobles a steady source of gossip, even if they weren't attending the conclave themselves.

It also meant that when we stepped into the ballroom, Karen and I were no longer the only changelings in the place. The fact that we were the only changelings not holding serving trays wasn't exactly reassuring, but that's life in Faerie. Sometimes the reminders that we'll always be a feudal society are impossible to ignore.

Tables were set up around the room. There were no assigned seats, but people tended to stick to what they knew. One table was on a raised dais, reserved for the leaders of the conclave. It held Arden, the High King and High Queen, Queen Siwan of Silences . . . and Tybalt. I stopped dead when I saw him sitting there, talking with High King Sollys, an expression of deep solemnity on his face.

The Luidaeg touched my elbow. “Muir Woods is technically within the bounds of the Court of Dreaming Cats,” she murmured, voice low enough that she probably wouldn't be overheard. “That gives your kitty-boy equal claim to the land, if he wanted to get cranky about it. By attending this conclave, he said, ‘Hey, treat me as an equal,' and so they are. I bet he's on the stage when we resume. They just didn't know he was coming in time to avoid putting him in the audience when he first showed up.”

Tybalt knew Arden. He could have told her he was coming. The fact that he hadn't could only have been intentional, a move designed to put her off her guard. It might have been a reaction to her failure to invite him in the first place: I didn't know. I didn't know a lot of things, including what sort of game he was playing here, and since I couldn't ask him, it was difficult to keep the pit in my stomach from opening even wider than it had before.

The Luidaeg gave me a sympathetic look. “Never forget that he's from a different Court. You can love him—I know you do—and he can love you, but there are places where your differences will always win out. Maybe it's good that this is happening now, while you still have the distance to see them.” She reached over and carefully untangled my fingers from Karen's. “You, come with me. We need to do a circuit of the room, so everyone here remembers you're under my protection.”

Karen bit her lip and nodded, only looking back once as the Luidaeg led her away.

Walther, Quentin, and I stood silent for a moment, taking in the room. Whoever was in charge of the decorating—probably Lowri, given how recently Madden had been woken—had pulled out all the stops. Redwood boughs draped with fog-colored ribbons formed great arcs across the ceiling, heavy with the glittering shapes of pixies and fireflies. The floor was hidden by a warm, conjured mist that smelled of blackberries and the
sea. Everywhere I looked there were servers in the colors of the Kingdom, moving through the crowd with trays of drinks and small canapés. Most people were seated by this point, and the servers were bringing them baskets of fragrant bread and larger glasses of sparkling wine.

The only table not being attended by one or more servers in Arden's livery had been claimed by the King and Queen of Highmountain. They sat alone while their Barrow Wight handmaid rushed back and forth, bringing them trays of delicacies, carting away their empty glasses, and trying to avoid colliding with any of the servers.

“Paranoid about poison?” I guessed.

“Or they're just jerks,” said Walther. “Not uncommon, as it turns out.”

“I can take you to your table, if you want.”

All three of us turned. Madden was behind us, golden eyes glowing in the diffuse light, dressed in the colors of the Kingdom. He'd never looked so much like a seneschal. Mostly, I was just glad to see him awake and moving around.

“That would be nice,” I said. “I'm not quite sure what the pecking order here is supposed to be, apart from ‘everyone is more important than you.'”

“Nah, not everyone,” he said. “Some people are less important. But, mostly, you're right. Come with me.” He started across the room toward one of the tables that still had open seats. One of the people already seated there had hair the color of fox fur, russet red and inhuman.

Sylvester.

For a brief moment, I considered turning and running for the door. My fiancé was ignoring me, my niece was being tormented by a woman who should have been incapable of hurting us until she woke up, and now I was being seated with my semi-estranged liege? There wasn't enough “no, thank you” in the world. In the end, I couldn't do it. Walther needed me here. The High King had ordered me to be here.
Karen
needed me to be here.
I squared my shoulders, straightened as much as I could, and allowed Madden to lead us to the table.

There were seats for ten. The five occupied seats were held by Sylvester, Luna, Li Qin, Elliott, and Elizabeth Ryan, who had somehow convinced the servers to give her a large glass of whiskey instead of the sparkling wine that everyone else was drinking. She barely glanced up as we approached the table.

Sylvester, on the other hand, rose and offered me his hands. “October,” he said. There was no mistaking the delight, or the relief, in his voice. “I was hoping you'd come sit with us.”

No matter how angry with him I was, he was my liege, and the man who'd been the closest thing I had to a father for most of my life. I slipped my hands over his, letting him close his fingers around mine, and said, “I guess this is where Arden wanted us. Hi, Sylvester. Hello, Luna.”

Luna Torquill, Duchess of Shadowed Hills, and formerly a friend, did not reply. She turned her face to the side, showing me the tapered point of one white-skinned ear. Her hair was pale pink at the roots, tapering to red-black at the end, and had been partially braided to form a crown around her head, while the bulk of it fell, loose and unencumbered, down her back. She was beautiful. There was no denying that. But she wasn't the woman who'd known me as a child, or the one who used to comfort me. That version of Luna had died when her own daughter poisoned her, forcing her to abandon her stolen Kitsune skin in order to survive.

“I met your sister,” I said, partially out of spite, partially out of sheer stubbornness. I wanted her to
see
me. I wanted her to acknowledge that we had a history, and she couldn't just cut me out of her life because she didn't want me anymore. “Ceres, I mean, in case you have other sisters. She's living in Silences these days. She said she was glad to hear that you were doing well.”

“I'm not doing well,” said Luna. “My daughter yet sleeps, for all that you changed her blood. When your mother changed your own, you woke. The same for your own child. You've kept my Rayseline from me. So no, October, I have nothing to say to you.”

“Luna,” said Sylvester, in a chiding tone.

Luna said nothing.

“I think I know why that is, actually,” said Walther. I turned to look at him. So did Sylvester. Walther flushed red, and continued, “When I'm mixing a potion, a lot of it is about intent, telling the spell what I want it to do.”

“All magic is like that,” I said finally, pulling my hands out of Sylvester's and sitting down. He held on to me for a few seconds longer than I wanted him to, resisting my efforts to remove myself. In the end, however, he had to let me go. Anything else would have been rude.

“Sure, but that's the point,” said Walther. He sat. So did Quentin. As if by magic, servers appeared to set goblets and bread in front of the three of us. “When your mother changed you, she wanted you to wake up. When you changed your daughter, you made her mortal, and you knew she needed to wake up or she was going to die. So you both brought intent to what you were doing. You removed the elf-shot as part of removing the parts of the blood that weren't needed anymore.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. That was all. I didn't dare say anything else: I was too afraid that he was right.

Rayseline Torquill was Sylvester and Luna's only child. She had been born the daughter of a Daoine Sidhe and a Blodynbryd, something that would have been impossible if Luna hadn't been wearing a skin stolen from a dying Kitsune, making herself part-mammal for as long as she had it. Faerie genetics don't follow rules so much as they obey vague suggestions, at least when they feel like it. Rayseline had been born with biology that was forever in the process of tearing itself apart, and eventually, she'd snapped under the strain, trying to murder her
parents and claim their lands as her own. She'd killed my lover—her ex-husband—Connor O'Dell when he'd jumped in front of the arrow intended for my daughter. Sadly, his sacrifice hadn't been enough to keep Gillian from being hurt. It had just been enough to make me lose them both, him to death, her to the human world.

Raysel had also been elf-shot on that day, and her mother had asked me to soothe her pain. I'd done the best I could, slipping into Rayseline's sleeping mind the way I had once slipped into Gillian's—the way my mother had slipped into mine—and asking what she wanted to be. When I'd finished, she was purely Daoine Sidhe, more prepared to control her magic and her mind . . . and she'd still been asleep, because I hadn't wanted her awake.

Luna must have known that from the start. It explained a lot. And it didn't make things any better between us. I wasn't sure anything could.

Li Qin smiled at me across the table. She was a short, lovely woman of Chinese descent, with eyes almost as black as her hair, and an air of serenity that came from knowing she was in control of her own luck. Literally: her breed of fae, the Shyi Shuai, manipulated probability in a way that could lead to remarkable good fortune and equally remarkable backlash. I sometimes suspected, although I'd never asked her, that one of those backlashes had influenced Li's widowing. Her wife, January O'Leary, had been Sylvester's niece, and she'd died when I wasn't fast enough to save her.

Sometimes I wondered why Sylvester
wanted
to make peace with me. I wasn't good for his family.

“How have you been, October?” asked Li. “You haven't been to visit in a while.”

“Busy,” I said. “Preventing a war. Deposing a king. Keeping Walther alive while he figured out how to unmake elf-shot. You know, nothing big, but it all took up a lot of time.”

“We miss you,” said Elliot. “April sends her regards.”

Quentin perked up. He liked April. She was always happy to fix his phone when he broke it, which was surprisingly often. “How is she?”

“Doing well,” said Elliot. “She's really grown into her role. Although she still acts as the company intercom most of the time.”

“Naturally,” I said. April was Li and January's adopted daughter. As the world's only cyber-Dryad, she was half electricity, and lived in the County wireless when she didn't have a reason to be physical. Again, fae genetics are weird. “I'm sort of relieved that she's not here.”

“Believe me, so am I,” said Elliot. “She's a wonderful regent, but she doesn't do diplomacy well.”

I had to laugh at that. Diplomacy was not and would never be one of my strong suits, and somehow it kept turning into my job. Elliot answered my laughter with a lopsided smile, eyes twinkling above the bushy tangle of his beard.

Elizabeth finally looked up from her glass, eyes hazy with her omnipresent inebriation. I'd never seen her without a drink in her hand. Sometimes I wondered whether she rolled out of bed and straight into her cups. “Could you please keep the noise down?” she asked. “I intend to get righteously drunk before they bring the first course around, and you're slowing me down.”

“Hi to you, too, Liz,” I said.

“Hello, October.” She sighed, and took a swig before setting her glass aside. “We've been waiting for you.”

“I know.” According to the Luidaeg, the bargain she'd struck with the Selkies after their ancestors killed her children was coming to an end. I was going to play a part in whatever that meant. I just didn't know what that part was, or when it was going to be necessary.

“But until that grand day comes, you're all going to play nicely, or I'm going to pull your fucking spines out
through your nostrils,” said the Luidaeg, stepping up behind me. I twisted to look at her. Karen was sticking close by her side, and while my niece looked shaken, she didn't seem any more traumatized than she'd been when they walked away. That was a nice change.

The Luidaeg's eyes, however, were only for Elizabeth. “Hello, Liz,” she said. “I wasn't sure I'd see you here.”

“However much I may dislike my position, I'm still leader of our colony, and that means things like this are important,” said Elizabeth, making no effort to conceal the bitterness in her tone. She lifted her glass in a mocking half-salute. “Hello, Annie-my-love. Broken any young girls' hearts recently?”