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“Don’t you want to hang out and learn about the politics and stuff?” I asked. “Hell, it’s an opportunity to get to know a Princess. Isn’t that supposed to appeal to your inner romantic or something?”

Quentin snorted. “If you’re going to ask two questions in a row, could you not end them with ‘stuff’ and ‘something’? It makes you sound . . .” He stopped, apparently realizing there was no good way to end that statement. Finally, he mumbled, “Princesses aren’t that exciting. I’ve met princesses before.”

“Uh-huh.” I balled up a ribbon, flicking it at him before starting on the next one. “Where did you meet a Princess?”

“Not here.” He folded his arms, looking back to the gathering.

That meant that he’d probably met a Princess somewhere in Canada, and that telling me would give away too much about where he came from. Pressing the subject would have been rude, and so I didn’t try, asking instead, “What did you find at the Library after we left?”

“Lots of stuff about the history of the Kingdom of the Mists. The Kingdom was founded by Denley and Nola Windermere; they had two children, a daughter, who died before she could be named—a curse was suspected, but never proven—and Gilad, who was basically raised in a bubble.”

“They probably felt like that was the only way he’d live to take the throne.” I shook my head. “Does anyone royal ever die a natural death?”

“Statistically speaking, no,” said Tybalt, stepping out of the shadows beside me. I didn’t flinch. Years of putting up with his sense of humor even before we started dating have left me surprisingly desensitized to people sneaking up on me that way. It’s probably going to get me killed one of these days.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I was not in the Mists before Gilad’s reign, but it was common knowledge that his parents had been murdered. I would not be surprised if it was done to make room for someone else’s political agenda. Gilad was a young King. He had not been given sufficient time to prepare before he took his place.” He moved to stand behind me, pushing my hands away as he began delicately unwinding the ribbons from my hair. “The trouble with killing old Kings in hopes that young ones will be more easily controlled is that young Kings are frequently headstrong and angry over their change in status. They refuse to listen to reason, and they are not always as weak as they are expected to be.”

“Did anything indicate that King Gilad was involved with the conspiracy that killed his parents?” I asked, dropping my hands to give Tybalt room to work.

Quentin shook his head. “Kind of the opposite. Apparently, the High King had to coerce him into taking the throne, because he didn’t want to rule in the Kingdom where his parents had died. And then, once he was in charge, he was a good King. Not everybody liked him, but everybody agreed he was as fair as it was possible for him to be.”

“Faerie isn’t fair,” I said, automatically. My eyes strayed back to the water, where one of the Cephali was bowing to Arden. She looked discomforted by the whole situation. I guess having an octopus person bow to her wasn’t a normal thing back at the bookstore. “Did the books say anything about him having children?”

“They said he was really private. He didn’t like anyone knowing what he was doing, or where he was going when he didn’t have to be formally before the Court. Some people said he was arrogant, but most of them thought he was sad. He was all alone. He never had any lovers the Court knew about.” Quentin followed my gaze to Arden. “But there was nothing to say that he didn’t have children.”

“She does look like her father,” said Tybalt. “Even if I had not known, I would have suspected, once I saw her eyes.” He pulled another ribbon from my hair. “The question becomes, is she prepared for what lies ahead?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “She looks pretty unhappy to me.”

“Where did you find her, anyway?” asked Quentin.

“There’s a bookstore on Valencia,” I said.

“I know. Dog Eared Books.”

“No, there’s another one. It’s called Borderlands. They have a café.” I paused before adding, in my most portentous tone of voice, “It sells coffee, and I had no idea it was there.”

Quentin turned back to me, eyes going very wide. “Wow. Whatever spell she’s been hiding under, it’s a doozy.”

“I know, right? She’s been hiding in plain sight this whole time. Hiding and hoarding all the coffee.” I shook my head. Tybalt’s fingers promptly snagged in my hair, and I winced, going still again. “She’s been living in the basement with her brother. He’s upstairs now. The Queen had him elf-shot sometime in the 1930s, and any chance Arden was going to lead an uprising on her own died when he went to sleep. I guess we could wait another decade or two for him to wake up, but somehow, I doubt the Queen is going to put up with me lurking around the borders of her Kingdom until then.” Not to mention all the changeling children who’d become addicted to goblin fruit before that could happen—and once they were addicted, they were as good as lost.

No. It had to be Arden. The Queen was part of the problem, not part of the solution. I couldn’t do anything if I was banished from the Kingdom of the Mists. Quentin would have to find a new Knight, and Tybalt . . .

That wasn’t even worth thinking about. I sighed, and continued, “Arden didn’t want to come, we didn’t really give her a choice, and now we have to talk her into a revolution. If anyone can do it, it’ll be Dianda.” The Undersea Duchess looked positively gleeful about the entire situation. I couldn’t hear them from where I was standing, but handing her the opportunity to overthrow the Queen of the Mists was probably just shy of her personal Christmas.

“The Lordens are a good choice,” Tybalt agreed. “They knew her father well.”

“Yeah. For now, we need to go put in an appearance where the Queen’s men can see me.” Both Tybalt and Quentin looked at me blankly. I swallowed the urge to roll my eyes, and said, “If I disappear completely, she’s going to assume we’re up to something. Since we are up to something, it’s important we keep her from thinking that.”

“Ah,” said Tybalt. “Misdirection.”

“That, and having me around isn’t going to help Arden make up her mind. Getting out of the way and letting her talk to people who remember her father just might.” I held out my hand. “Can I have the ribbons, please?”

“Certainly.” Tybalt handed them to me. “If I may say so, the style does not exactly suit you. Perhaps if you were a trifle more staid . . .”

Quentin snorted.

“I’m not going to put them back in my hair, and you,” I pointed to Quentin with my free hand, “no commentary from the peanut gallery, you got me? I’m going to go get Raj, and then we’re getting out of here.” I turned and walked toward the group gathered near the water, where Raj had joined the others in studying our lost Princess.

Patrick saw me coming and smiled. “You know, October, I’m starting to think you’d be a dangerous enemy to have. You have a disturbing tendency to find what people don’t want you looking for.”

“I can’t take all the credit this time; I’d never have done it if the Luidaeg hadn’t pointed me in the right direction,” I said, and turned to Arden. “Are you going to be okay here for a little while? I need to go be seen in public so the current Queen doesn’t start an inquisition looking for me.”

Arden blanched. “Is that a risk?”

“Only if I don’t go. There’s no way she followed us here, and you’ll be safe with the Lordens. They’re some of the best people I know.” Assuming “best” meant “most potentially deadly if thwarted.” “Your brother is safe here, and we’re going to be looping back to the Library of Stars. I’ll see if there’s anything about waking up elf-shot victims early.”