One Salt Sea
Page 7
“About something nasty enough to keep me distracted? Yes, October, you should care, if only because you don’t like people breaking your toys.” The Luidaeg touched the surface of her coffee with the tip of one finger, watching the ripples spread through the liquid. “You owe me.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting . . . but that wasn’t it. “What?”
“You owe me.” She raised her head. “I showed you the way to my brother’s lands, twice; I broke his Ride for you, and I helped you kill him, if only by getting you there. I did it because you asked, but I don’t work free. I don’t even work cheap. I told you that. You said you didn’t care.” The color was draining from her eyes, leaving them as pale and unforgiving as sea foam. “There are debts between us, October, daughter of Amandine, and it’s time for you to start paying your bill.”
I stiffened. “We were never friends, were we? You were just protecting your investment.”
“This isn’t the time. Believe me, I wish I could sit here and argue about your deluded ideals of friendship, but I can’t. The hour is far too late.” She picked up her coffee. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. I had things to take care of that were a little more important than a few problems I knew you could handle without me.”
I stared at her. A few problems? Lily died. So did more than a dozen Cait Sidhe. I nearly died, and my survival meant giving up everything I’d believed I was. Unable to stop myself, I demanded, “What the fuck could you have been doing that was more important than being here?”
There was something satisfying about using human profanity on someone as inhuman as the Luidaeg—even if she wasn’t above using human profanity herself, from time to time. My brief flare of satisfaction died when she implacably answered, “I’ve been trying to prevent a war.”
It took a moment to find my voice again. Half-stammering, I asked, “Prevent a war? What war?”
Fae society divides itself along feudal lines—kings and queens, dukes and duchesses and knights and ladies and all the other things mortals romanticize and call “chivalry”—but we don’t go to war without a reason. As far as I knew, no one was currently invading anyone else. Even Dreamer’s Glass, with its paranoid, expansionistic Duchess, was quiet; they were too busy waiting for Tamed Lightning to explode to bother harassing the rest of us. There was always the possibility one of the other Kingdoms had decided to invade, but raising an army to threaten a throne is a tricky business that requires time, troops, and a lot of resources. We couldn’t have missed movement on that sort of scale.
“How much do you know about the Undersea?”
“What, we’re about to be attacked by mermaids?”
The Luidaeg looked at me flatly.
I realized she was serious.
Humans inhabit just one level of the world: the land. They can travel through the air and sea, but being unable to fly or breathe water puts a damper on long-term habitation. The fae don’t share their limitations. There are Kingdoms under the ocean and high in the clouds, thriving outside the range of mortal eyes . . . and most fae eyes, if we’re being honest. Land fae rarely go to the trouble of visiting the Undersea, and the majority of the winged races are too weak to reach the Cloud Kingdoms. We may be everywhere, but that doesn’t keep us from being divided by environment.
“Is it so difficult to believe? The land poisons their waters and kills their people. The Undersea has never dealt with humans when they didn’t want to, and they don’t understand why the land fae have let the humans get so out of control. They’re in a state of mild annoyance about ninety percent of the time. Not actively pissed—hence the lack of annual invasion—but annoyed.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“In small words? Somebody’s been harassing the Duchess of Saltmist and her family. You know Saltmist?”
“That’s Connor’s home Duchy.” He technically hails from the Selkie fiefdom of Roan Rathad in Half Moon Bay, but Roan Rathad answers to Saltmist, which stretches the length of the Northern California shoreline. It was Saltmist that decided he was expendable enough to be sold into a diplomatic marriage with Rayseline Torquill. I’d never met its Duchess. I couldn’t say I had much respect for her decision-making skills.
“It’s a coastal fiefdom, with holdings in both land and sea, although it’s primarily aquatic,” said the Luidaeg, in a calm, “you should already know this” tone. “Duchess Lorden has been regent there for the last two hundred years.”
“Merrow?” I guessed. Merrow are to the sea as Daoine Sidhe are to the land, only without the blood magic, and with a tendency to summon storms when annoyed. Oh, and fins, although they can have legs when they want to. Little Mermaid, eat your heart out.
“Yes.” The Luidaeg sipped her coffee. “She was a contemporary of King Gilad’s. He worked to maintain ties with the Undersea. The current Queen . . . doesn’t.”
I was starting to feel like I’d missed a whole series of memos. “King Gilad had open dealings with the Undersea?”
“Things were very different in this Kingdom before the 1906 quake.” Her expression turned distant. She set her coffee cup gingerly down. “The Queen of the Mists hasn’t cared to stay in Saltmist’s good graces. I doubt she believes they matter.”
“She has Sea Wight blood. Didn’t her parents teach her where she came from?”
The Luidaeg paused, looking at me levelly. Then she continued like I hadn’t spoken: “Dianda Lorden has a soft spot for land fae. Her husband’s Daoine Sidhe. He was a landless Baron before he ran off to play Ducal consort.”
“So how does he not drown?” I was interested despite my innate dislike of water. I’m pretty sure Daoine Sidhe aren’t aquatic. Someone would have told me.
“He’s married to a Merrow. They’ve had plenty of time to work something out. Sadly, there’s been some bad blood over the union, and the Lordens have been forced to cut off the majority of their relations with the land Courts.”
“Why?”
“Some people are more politically aware than kelp, Toby. Please note that I’m not including you in their number.” She sighed. “Most purebloods don’t like mixed marriages, and they especially dislike marriages that cross the realms. So when a land noble marries an Undersea Duchess . . .”
I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting . . . but that wasn’t it. “What?”
“You owe me.” She raised her head. “I showed you the way to my brother’s lands, twice; I broke his Ride for you, and I helped you kill him, if only by getting you there. I did it because you asked, but I don’t work free. I don’t even work cheap. I told you that. You said you didn’t care.” The color was draining from her eyes, leaving them as pale and unforgiving as sea foam. “There are debts between us, October, daughter of Amandine, and it’s time for you to start paying your bill.”
I stiffened. “We were never friends, were we? You were just protecting your investment.”
“This isn’t the time. Believe me, I wish I could sit here and argue about your deluded ideals of friendship, but I can’t. The hour is far too late.” She picked up her coffee. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. I had things to take care of that were a little more important than a few problems I knew you could handle without me.”
I stared at her. A few problems? Lily died. So did more than a dozen Cait Sidhe. I nearly died, and my survival meant giving up everything I’d believed I was. Unable to stop myself, I demanded, “What the fuck could you have been doing that was more important than being here?”
There was something satisfying about using human profanity on someone as inhuman as the Luidaeg—even if she wasn’t above using human profanity herself, from time to time. My brief flare of satisfaction died when she implacably answered, “I’ve been trying to prevent a war.”
It took a moment to find my voice again. Half-stammering, I asked, “Prevent a war? What war?”
Fae society divides itself along feudal lines—kings and queens, dukes and duchesses and knights and ladies and all the other things mortals romanticize and call “chivalry”—but we don’t go to war without a reason. As far as I knew, no one was currently invading anyone else. Even Dreamer’s Glass, with its paranoid, expansionistic Duchess, was quiet; they were too busy waiting for Tamed Lightning to explode to bother harassing the rest of us. There was always the possibility one of the other Kingdoms had decided to invade, but raising an army to threaten a throne is a tricky business that requires time, troops, and a lot of resources. We couldn’t have missed movement on that sort of scale.
“How much do you know about the Undersea?”
“What, we’re about to be attacked by mermaids?”
The Luidaeg looked at me flatly.
I realized she was serious.
Humans inhabit just one level of the world: the land. They can travel through the air and sea, but being unable to fly or breathe water puts a damper on long-term habitation. The fae don’t share their limitations. There are Kingdoms under the ocean and high in the clouds, thriving outside the range of mortal eyes . . . and most fae eyes, if we’re being honest. Land fae rarely go to the trouble of visiting the Undersea, and the majority of the winged races are too weak to reach the Cloud Kingdoms. We may be everywhere, but that doesn’t keep us from being divided by environment.
“Is it so difficult to believe? The land poisons their waters and kills their people. The Undersea has never dealt with humans when they didn’t want to, and they don’t understand why the land fae have let the humans get so out of control. They’re in a state of mild annoyance about ninety percent of the time. Not actively pissed—hence the lack of annual invasion—but annoyed.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“In small words? Somebody’s been harassing the Duchess of Saltmist and her family. You know Saltmist?”
“That’s Connor’s home Duchy.” He technically hails from the Selkie fiefdom of Roan Rathad in Half Moon Bay, but Roan Rathad answers to Saltmist, which stretches the length of the Northern California shoreline. It was Saltmist that decided he was expendable enough to be sold into a diplomatic marriage with Rayseline Torquill. I’d never met its Duchess. I couldn’t say I had much respect for her decision-making skills.
“It’s a coastal fiefdom, with holdings in both land and sea, although it’s primarily aquatic,” said the Luidaeg, in a calm, “you should already know this” tone. “Duchess Lorden has been regent there for the last two hundred years.”
“Merrow?” I guessed. Merrow are to the sea as Daoine Sidhe are to the land, only without the blood magic, and with a tendency to summon storms when annoyed. Oh, and fins, although they can have legs when they want to. Little Mermaid, eat your heart out.
“Yes.” The Luidaeg sipped her coffee. “She was a contemporary of King Gilad’s. He worked to maintain ties with the Undersea. The current Queen . . . doesn’t.”
I was starting to feel like I’d missed a whole series of memos. “King Gilad had open dealings with the Undersea?”
“Things were very different in this Kingdom before the 1906 quake.” Her expression turned distant. She set her coffee cup gingerly down. “The Queen of the Mists hasn’t cared to stay in Saltmist’s good graces. I doubt she believes they matter.”
“She has Sea Wight blood. Didn’t her parents teach her where she came from?”
The Luidaeg paused, looking at me levelly. Then she continued like I hadn’t spoken: “Dianda Lorden has a soft spot for land fae. Her husband’s Daoine Sidhe. He was a landless Baron before he ran off to play Ducal consort.”
“So how does he not drown?” I was interested despite my innate dislike of water. I’m pretty sure Daoine Sidhe aren’t aquatic. Someone would have told me.
“He’s married to a Merrow. They’ve had plenty of time to work something out. Sadly, there’s been some bad blood over the union, and the Lordens have been forced to cut off the majority of their relations with the land Courts.”
“Why?”
“Some people are more politically aware than kelp, Toby. Please note that I’m not including you in their number.” She sighed. “Most purebloods don’t like mixed marriages, and they especially dislike marriages that cross the realms. So when a land noble marries an Undersea Duchess . . .”
