“You mean did I, Walther Davies, find the solution for elf-shot? Yeah. I did.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t think of what to say after that. I settled for looking down at myself and confirming that yes, once again, my clothes had been changed while I was unconscious: my tank top and jeans were gone, replaced by a long white chemise that probably wouldn’t stay white for long, if my recent adventures were anything to judge by. I recognized the bed as the one I had been given when we arrived in Silences. I looked up. “We’re still here? Where are May and Quentin? Did we ever find Tia? Is she still on the loose?”
“May is awake and helping Marlis get an accurate count of the household staff. Rhys didn’t really have any records, and even as his supposed seneschal, she had very little idea of who all the changelings were, how old they were, or what kind of health they were in.” Walther made no effort to hide his expression of disapproval. “He thought it was improper for purebloods to spend time belowstairs like that. Some of them are so terrified of us that they can’t even speak in our presence.”
“They’ll come around.” Changelings inherited one major trait from our human ancestors: we were flexible, capable of adjusting to incredible changes in our situations. They would come to realize that not all purebloods were their enemies. “Some of them . . . Rhys was really casual about his goblin fruit usage. Some of them are addicted.”
“And you want to help?” asked Walther.
I nodded. “Once I can stand unassisted.”
“I would expect no less, from a hero.” There was a new formality in Walther’s tone. I didn’t like it.
“As for Tia, we found her attempting to flee the Kingdom,” said Tybalt. “I was . . . not gentle in apprehending her, I am afraid.”
“You were gentler than you had any reason to be.” For once, it was Walther whose voice was as cold as death. “She’s being held for trial. She’s confessed to betraying my family during the War. The Cu Sidhe led the forces of the Mists straight to us, and we never knew.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought that we treated them like pets, and not like allies.” Walther’s mouth turned down at the edges. “I don’t know whether we did or not. I always thought that we were friends.”
“I don’t think Tia believes it’s possible for the Cu Sidhe to be friends with their regents,” I said, and tried to push the blankets off. Tybalt moved them back into place. I realized for the first time that he was kneeling on the edge of the bed, not sitting; he was ready to move.
“No,” he said. “Stay where you are.”
I frowned at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“You’ve been asleep for a week,” said Walther.
“I knew that.”
“I’ve been trying to wake you up for six days,” he shot back. I stopped. “You had seizures. You shifted your own blood back and forth so fast that I could see your features changing. You kept returning to the point you’re at right now, but it took longer every time, and we were afraid that if it didn’t stop, you were going to tear yourself apart. So you’ll forgive us for being sort of nervous about you passing out again. You were trying to do what your mother did, and shift the elf-shot out of your blood. It was going to kill you before you succeeded.”
“You woke once before,” said Tybalt. “You said my name. And then you went back to sleep.”
“That was then,” I said. I felt bad about essentially brushing off their genuine concerns, but I didn’t see that I had a choice. “Let me up. I have to call Arden. I have to tell her—”
“She’s here,” said Walther.
I stared at him. “What?”
“Queen Windermere is here,” said Walther. “The Queen of Silences contacted the Queen in the Mists this morning to rescind the declaration of war, and ask for help in rebuilding this Kingdom. Queen Windermere arrived an hour ago.”
I kept staring at him. “What?”
He smiled, looking a little frayed around the edges. “I didn’t wake you up first, remember? I started with my mother, and then moved on to the rest. You actually took longer, because every time you pulled yourself toward mortal, I had to back off. Aunt Siwan is back on her throne, with Uncle Holger beside her. It’s going to be a while before they’re comfortable. They’ll have time.”
“And . . . and Quentin?”
“Your young squire has been getting to know the younger people of Silences, and reporting back on what he learns,” said Tybalt. “He has been invaluable to the cause of knowing who might yet turn against the throne, and who is simply relieved to see Rhys the bastard gone at last.”
This time, when I swept the blankets aside, Tybalt let me. He rose as I did, offering me his arm. I took it. My whole body felt too light, like the center had been pulled out of things. “Is there a robe or something I could borrow? I think I need to eat before I get dressed.”
“You didn’t have to get out of bed for that,” said Walther.
“No, but I have to get out of bed to see Rhys and the false Queen.” He frowned at me. I shook my head. “I need to see them. I need to know that they’re asleep.” I needed to know that Tybalt hadn’t responded to my loss of consciousness by killing them both.
Tybalt clearly understood the reasons for my insistence. He folded his hand over mine and said nothing, only joined me in looking at Walther, who sighed.
“You’re not content unless you’re running yourself to death, are you?” he asked. “All right. Follow me.”
The difference in the knowe was apparent the moment we left my rooms. There were people, for one thing, moving here and there with quick purpose. Some of them were stripping tapestries off the walls; others were installing golden filigree in holes and corners that had clearly been designed to hold those specific ornaments. Everything smelled of yarrow and roses, a perfume that was explained by the vases of fresh flowers that had appeared on every flat surface that wasn’t the floor.
A few curious glances were cast at me and Tybalt, but people were polite enough not to stare. Walther, on the other hand, got blatant pointing, and even a brief round of applause. His cheeks reddened. He kept walking.
“I’ve told everyone that this is on you as much as it’s on me,” he said, voice pitched low. “You took out Rhys; you confirmed the roses I needed; you gave yourself up to buy me time. But they keep insisting that I’m their savior.”
“I don’t mind if someone else is the hero for a change,” I said. “I’m just glad I’m not going to be asleep for the next hundred years.”
“You are not alone in that,” said Tybalt.
I squeezed his hand, and kept walking.
We were descending a flight of stairs when a voice from behind me shouted “Toby!” I turned in time to see Quentin racing toward us, and braced for impact. Tybalt even let go of my hand, moving to position himself just below me. My squire slammed into me, knocking me back a half-step; Tybalt caught us both, saving me from needing to do anything but return Quentin’s embrace. I held him tight. He held me tighter. That was our relationship, in a nutshell.
When he finally pushed me away, it was to look me critically up and down, and proclaim, “You’ve lost weight.”
“I’m going to eat something after I see them.” I didn’t need to explain who I meant, or why I wanted to see them with my own eyes: Quentin nodded in clear understanding, taking his hands off my arms. I turned to retake Tybalt’s hand, and asked, “Coming with us?”
“Never leaving again,” said Quentin. Now four, we walked the rest of the way down the stairs. At the bottom, we found a hallway; at the end of the hall, there was a door. It wasn’t locked.
The room on the other side was small and austere, furnished only with two plain stone biers. Rhys lay atop one; the false Queen of the Mists, whose name we might never know, was on the other.
“They’ll sleep out their enchantments before they stand trial,” said Walther, watching me as I looked at them. “A hundred years isn’t much, but it’s a start.”