One Salt Sea
Page 18
So the Undersea didn’t share the aversion to admitting death existed? That was a nice change. If it weren’t for the water part, I might have been tempted to start attending their ice cream socials. Or whatever it was they did down there.
“It was a royal appointment. I killed Blind Michael, and they couldn’t give me a medal for murder, so they slapped me with a County instead.” I started to fold my arms, and stopped, remembering the arrow.
Dianda kept glowering as she looked from my face to the arrow in my hand and back again. “How did you know?”
“The reflections in my wine were wrong.” She looked at me blankly. I explained, “Personal invisibility spells can be tailored to work on specific surfaces, but that won’t stop them from throwing reflections on things the spellcaster didn’t think to block, like liquid. I noticed something out of place, and I’m a little paranoid about that sort of thing. Connor, you okay over there?”
“I think so.” He bowed to Dianda. “Your Grace.”
“Connor,” she said frostily.
I cleared my throat. “Your Grace, I’m sorry I had to tackle your husband, but I’m glad to have been of service. I was . . . hoping to . . .” My voice trailed off. The Queen of the Mists was storming up behind Dianda, moonstruckmad eyes bright with fury. She had the skirt of her white silk gown clenched firmly in her hands, creating a sea-foam froth of fabric around her feet. I swallowed and tried my statement again, hoping to finish it before the Queen reached us. “Your Grace, not everyone here is against you.”
Dianda never had a chance to answer. The Queen stepped between us, turning her back on Dianda and Patrick. “Countess Daye, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded, ignoring the Undersea nobles.
I’ve never been one of the Queen’s favorite people, but I try not to piss her off. True anger lends her voice a dulcet shriek that can’t help reminding me of her part-Banshee heritage—or of the damage she could do if she ever got really mad.
“There was an archer under a personal invisibility spell, Your Highness,” I said, holding up the arrow. “I saw him—or her—reflected in my wine and acted to protect your guests.”
“An archer, you say,” she sniffed. “How can I be sure it wasn’t you?”
“Because, Highness, the day I can shoot an arrow from behind myself and embed it in solid stone is the day I stop needing to shoot arrows at anyone.” She glared. I sighed. “Ask anyone you like; it wasn’t me. I strongly recommend you have the place searched before there’s another attack.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Dianda’s voice could have stopped a heat wave in its tracks. “It’s clear that there’s nothing to be settled here, and we’ll be going now.”
The Queen of the Mists gave her a look filled with the kind of loathing she normally reserved for me. “If you must.”
“We must. The land has made it perfectly clear what it wants, and we’ll see you on the field of battle,” said Dianda, and turned to stalk into the crowd. Patrick shot me a pleading look, and followed.
“Toby! What’s going on?” Sylvester and Luna came rushing up from the other side. The Queen glared daggers at them both. He ignored her, focusing his attention on me. “What just happened?”
“Someone tried to shoot the Duke of Saltmist. That’s bad. And this place is emptying like a sieve. That’s also bad. But I still have the arrow.” I was clinging to whatever hope I could find. It wasn’t much.
“It’s worse than that,” said the Queen.
I turned back to her, blinking. She smiled. It was a thin, bitter smile, and there was no joy in it.
There was no joy in her voice, either, as she raised it to address the room. I could feel her Banshee heritage at work, carrying her words through the knowe. “Lords and Ladies of the Court—those of you that remain—it is my duty as reigning monarch of the Kingdom of the Mists to inform you that as of this moment, we are at war.”
Her smile twisted, warping until it was practically a grimace. “May Oberon see fit to guard us,” she said, “for we’ll have little power left with which to guard ourselves.”
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.
“It was a royal appointment. I killed Blind Michael, and they couldn’t give me a medal for murder, so they slapped me with a County instead.” I started to fold my arms, and stopped, remembering the arrow.
Dianda kept glowering as she looked from my face to the arrow in my hand and back again. “How did you know?”
“The reflections in my wine were wrong.” She looked at me blankly. I explained, “Personal invisibility spells can be tailored to work on specific surfaces, but that won’t stop them from throwing reflections on things the spellcaster didn’t think to block, like liquid. I noticed something out of place, and I’m a little paranoid about that sort of thing. Connor, you okay over there?”
“I think so.” He bowed to Dianda. “Your Grace.”
“Connor,” she said frostily.
I cleared my throat. “Your Grace, I’m sorry I had to tackle your husband, but I’m glad to have been of service. I was . . . hoping to . . .” My voice trailed off. The Queen of the Mists was storming up behind Dianda, moonstruckmad eyes bright with fury. She had the skirt of her white silk gown clenched firmly in her hands, creating a sea-foam froth of fabric around her feet. I swallowed and tried my statement again, hoping to finish it before the Queen reached us. “Your Grace, not everyone here is against you.”
Dianda never had a chance to answer. The Queen stepped between us, turning her back on Dianda and Patrick. “Countess Daye, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded, ignoring the Undersea nobles.
I’ve never been one of the Queen’s favorite people, but I try not to piss her off. True anger lends her voice a dulcet shriek that can’t help reminding me of her part-Banshee heritage—or of the damage she could do if she ever got really mad.
“There was an archer under a personal invisibility spell, Your Highness,” I said, holding up the arrow. “I saw him—or her—reflected in my wine and acted to protect your guests.”
“An archer, you say,” she sniffed. “How can I be sure it wasn’t you?”
“Because, Highness, the day I can shoot an arrow from behind myself and embed it in solid stone is the day I stop needing to shoot arrows at anyone.” She glared. I sighed. “Ask anyone you like; it wasn’t me. I strongly recommend you have the place searched before there’s another attack.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Dianda’s voice could have stopped a heat wave in its tracks. “It’s clear that there’s nothing to be settled here, and we’ll be going now.”
The Queen of the Mists gave her a look filled with the kind of loathing she normally reserved for me. “If you must.”
“We must. The land has made it perfectly clear what it wants, and we’ll see you on the field of battle,” said Dianda, and turned to stalk into the crowd. Patrick shot me a pleading look, and followed.
“Toby! What’s going on?” Sylvester and Luna came rushing up from the other side. The Queen glared daggers at them both. He ignored her, focusing his attention on me. “What just happened?”
“Someone tried to shoot the Duke of Saltmist. That’s bad. And this place is emptying like a sieve. That’s also bad. But I still have the arrow.” I was clinging to whatever hope I could find. It wasn’t much.
“It’s worse than that,” said the Queen.
I turned back to her, blinking. She smiled. It was a thin, bitter smile, and there was no joy in it.
There was no joy in her voice, either, as she raised it to address the room. I could feel her Banshee heritage at work, carrying her words through the knowe. “Lords and Ladies of the Court—those of you that remain—it is my duty as reigning monarch of the Kingdom of the Mists to inform you that as of this moment, we are at war.”
Her smile twisted, warping until it was practically a grimace. “May Oberon see fit to guard us,” she said, “for we’ll have little power left with which to guard ourselves.”
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.
