One Salt Sea
Page 62
Etienne raised his hand, transcribing an arch in the air. The scent of limes and sweet cedar smoke followed the motion, gathering as he pulled his spell together. There was a pause, like the world was holding its breath, and a pale disk appeared in front of him. It was the size of a door, hanging suspended in midair. I couldn’t see through it.
“After you,” said Etienne.
I looked around the hall one more time—maybe for the last time, considering what we were up against. And then I turned to the disk, took a deep breath, and stepped through.
TWENTY
THERE WAS A MOMENT OF blinding light, like we were stepping between levels of a knowe. Then everything froze, a second turning into a dozen seconds, and finally into what felt like the better part of an hour. Nothing moved, not even me. That’s how I knew we were still in transit. I was starting to wonder if it was ever going to end—
—and then we were standing on the marble floor of the entry hall leading into the Queen’s knowe. Etienne looked strained but reasonably untroubled by the transition. I wasn’t quite so lucky. I blundered forward until I hit the point where the wall turned misty, leaning through the phantom stone to vomit into the water just outside. And people wonder why I skip meals when I’m working.
I pulled myself back into the knowe once I was sure I had nothing left to lose. “That wasn’t fun,” I said, wiping my mouth as I turned to Etienne. “Let’s not do that again.”
“As you’ve just been violently ill through the only exit I’m aware of, I think we may not have a choice,” said Etienne. “Unless you feel like going wading?”
The thought made my stomach do another slow flip. “Okay. We can do it one more time.” I wiped my mouth again, wishing I had something to take the taste away. “Come on.”
“Naturally.”
We walked down the silent hall to the doors—unguarded for once, leaving the knowe open to potential attack from outside. Either that was sloppy work, or I was missing something. There were no obvious wards set. If there was anything lurking to strike at unwelcome guests, we were going to find out the hard way.
“Super fun,” I muttered, and opened the doors.
The Queen’s ballroom was big enough to hold an army, and at the moment, that’s exactly what it was doing. I stopped on the threshold and stared, staggered by the scene in front of us. The clang of metal and the buzz of voices filled the air. The scale of it was frightening. I’d seen the ballroom filled with people on occasions ranging from casual court to a formal trial, but I’d never seen it at capacity before. I was seeing it at capacity now.
Throngs of bodies were in motion everywhere, moving things from place to place, clustering in small groups which then scattered like flocks of pigeons, and never holding still. The purpose of the fuss was instantly clear, for all that I didn’t want it to be: they were preparing for war. I knew things were serious—I had no illusions about that—but the scale of it still chilled me. The Undersea was bigger than I ever dreamed. Did all these people realize that? How many people were going to die if I couldn’t stop this?
That was a stupid question. Even one death was too many, and we’d already suffered the first casualty of war: a Selkie whose name I didn’t know, and whose face I might never have seen.
A page rushed past, arms loaded with bundled arrows. I grabbed his elbow, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He staggered, but managed not to drop anything as he turned in our direction, expression bemused.
“What are you doing? I need to get these arrows to—”
“You need to get us to the Queen,” I said flatly. I wasn’t in the mood to argue. My patience has never been legendary, and Raysel stole the last of it when she stole my daughter. “She’s here somewhere. She’s always here somewhere. Tell her Countess Daye is here in the company of Sir Etienne of Shadowed Hills. Tell her we seek an audience. Immediately.” I let him go. Bemusement melting into something close to panic, he clutched the arrows to his chest and scampered away, vanishing into the crowd.
I hate doing that to pages. Most of them have never seen the world outside a court setting, and they’re destined to grow up to be useless fops like Dugan, unless they get lucky and find a knight willing to teach them to be something better. Quentin is the exception where junior courtiers are concerned, not the rule.
“That was unkind,” said Etienne.
“Forgive me if my manners aren’t at their best just now. I have a lot on my mind.” I glared at him, sidelong. “You’re not a parent. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t pretend to understand your pain, October, but there are better ways to express it.”
I sighed. “I guess. I just don’t know what to d—”
The word died as a slender female arm locked around my neck. Its owner brought her other hand up, pressing the edge of a knife to the skin just below my jaw. I froze. The “fight or flight” impulse gets a little muted when either response might leave me with an open jugular. I guess I have some sense of self-preservation after all.
“So you say you’re my dearest, most esteemed Countess Daye,” said the Queen, inches from my ear. “Yet others say the Countess Daye has turned traitor. Others say she’s gone to sea with the enemies of my Kingdom. That she sent her baby-faced death in her place because she couldn’t be bothered to cater to the whims of the woman she’s sworn to serve.”
“Uh, Etienne? A little help here?” I swallowed. The blade she was holding to my neck was very sharp, and I was suddenly intensely reminded of how much she disliked me—and how tempted she might be to “slip.”
“Your Majesty, the Countess Daye was merely undertaking her commission as she understood it, seeking to find the answers to the troubles which plague your fair Kingdom’s shores,” said Etienne, in a voice as slick as buttered silk. “There has been no treason here. You have my word on that.”
“Yours, but not her own? An interesting statement in and of itself.” The Queen’s breath was warm against my ear as she leaned closer, and hissed, “Blood will tell.” Even with her voice pitched so low it was barely audible, the power native to her bloodline—Siren and Banshee both run in her veins—hummed through my bones, chilling them. She can’t command you with her voice. But she can kill you.
“After you,” said Etienne.
I looked around the hall one more time—maybe for the last time, considering what we were up against. And then I turned to the disk, took a deep breath, and stepped through.
TWENTY
THERE WAS A MOMENT OF blinding light, like we were stepping between levels of a knowe. Then everything froze, a second turning into a dozen seconds, and finally into what felt like the better part of an hour. Nothing moved, not even me. That’s how I knew we were still in transit. I was starting to wonder if it was ever going to end—
—and then we were standing on the marble floor of the entry hall leading into the Queen’s knowe. Etienne looked strained but reasonably untroubled by the transition. I wasn’t quite so lucky. I blundered forward until I hit the point where the wall turned misty, leaning through the phantom stone to vomit into the water just outside. And people wonder why I skip meals when I’m working.
I pulled myself back into the knowe once I was sure I had nothing left to lose. “That wasn’t fun,” I said, wiping my mouth as I turned to Etienne. “Let’s not do that again.”
“As you’ve just been violently ill through the only exit I’m aware of, I think we may not have a choice,” said Etienne. “Unless you feel like going wading?”
The thought made my stomach do another slow flip. “Okay. We can do it one more time.” I wiped my mouth again, wishing I had something to take the taste away. “Come on.”
“Naturally.”
We walked down the silent hall to the doors—unguarded for once, leaving the knowe open to potential attack from outside. Either that was sloppy work, or I was missing something. There were no obvious wards set. If there was anything lurking to strike at unwelcome guests, we were going to find out the hard way.
“Super fun,” I muttered, and opened the doors.
The Queen’s ballroom was big enough to hold an army, and at the moment, that’s exactly what it was doing. I stopped on the threshold and stared, staggered by the scene in front of us. The clang of metal and the buzz of voices filled the air. The scale of it was frightening. I’d seen the ballroom filled with people on occasions ranging from casual court to a formal trial, but I’d never seen it at capacity before. I was seeing it at capacity now.
Throngs of bodies were in motion everywhere, moving things from place to place, clustering in small groups which then scattered like flocks of pigeons, and never holding still. The purpose of the fuss was instantly clear, for all that I didn’t want it to be: they were preparing for war. I knew things were serious—I had no illusions about that—but the scale of it still chilled me. The Undersea was bigger than I ever dreamed. Did all these people realize that? How many people were going to die if I couldn’t stop this?
That was a stupid question. Even one death was too many, and we’d already suffered the first casualty of war: a Selkie whose name I didn’t know, and whose face I might never have seen.
A page rushed past, arms loaded with bundled arrows. I grabbed his elbow, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He staggered, but managed not to drop anything as he turned in our direction, expression bemused.
“What are you doing? I need to get these arrows to—”
“You need to get us to the Queen,” I said flatly. I wasn’t in the mood to argue. My patience has never been legendary, and Raysel stole the last of it when she stole my daughter. “She’s here somewhere. She’s always here somewhere. Tell her Countess Daye is here in the company of Sir Etienne of Shadowed Hills. Tell her we seek an audience. Immediately.” I let him go. Bemusement melting into something close to panic, he clutched the arrows to his chest and scampered away, vanishing into the crowd.
I hate doing that to pages. Most of them have never seen the world outside a court setting, and they’re destined to grow up to be useless fops like Dugan, unless they get lucky and find a knight willing to teach them to be something better. Quentin is the exception where junior courtiers are concerned, not the rule.
“That was unkind,” said Etienne.
“Forgive me if my manners aren’t at their best just now. I have a lot on my mind.” I glared at him, sidelong. “You’re not a parent. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t pretend to understand your pain, October, but there are better ways to express it.”
I sighed. “I guess. I just don’t know what to d—”
The word died as a slender female arm locked around my neck. Its owner brought her other hand up, pressing the edge of a knife to the skin just below my jaw. I froze. The “fight or flight” impulse gets a little muted when either response might leave me with an open jugular. I guess I have some sense of self-preservation after all.
“So you say you’re my dearest, most esteemed Countess Daye,” said the Queen, inches from my ear. “Yet others say the Countess Daye has turned traitor. Others say she’s gone to sea with the enemies of my Kingdom. That she sent her baby-faced death in her place because she couldn’t be bothered to cater to the whims of the woman she’s sworn to serve.”
“Uh, Etienne? A little help here?” I swallowed. The blade she was holding to my neck was very sharp, and I was suddenly intensely reminded of how much she disliked me—and how tempted she might be to “slip.”
“Your Majesty, the Countess Daye was merely undertaking her commission as she understood it, seeking to find the answers to the troubles which plague your fair Kingdom’s shores,” said Etienne, in a voice as slick as buttered silk. “There has been no treason here. You have my word on that.”
“Yours, but not her own? An interesting statement in and of itself.” The Queen’s breath was warm against my ear as she leaned closer, and hissed, “Blood will tell.” Even with her voice pitched so low it was barely audible, the power native to her bloodline—Siren and Banshee both run in her veins—hummed through my bones, chilling them. She can’t command you with her voice. But she can kill you.
