“I thought I heard voices while we were in the hall,” I said, looking around. “Who else is here?”
“I am,” chirped Madden, sticking his head out of the wings. This place really was a little theater. Tybalt might try to move in and stage a new Shakespeare production every Thursday. “Hi, Toby. Hi, Quentin. Ever cater a banquet for royalty?”
“Can’t say as I have,” I said. Peanut butter and tuna sandwiches slapped together for Quentin and Raj at two o’clock in the morning probably didn’t count.
“Well, don’t. It’s awful. Just awful.” He vanished again.
I turned to Arden. “We’re here. Where do you want us?”
“My Court is going to be sitting over there,” she said, indicating the seats curving around the left side of the stage. “I was planning on putting anyone unaffiliated but with good reason to be heard on the other side.”
It was clear she wanted me to decide where we belonged. I knew what she was hoping for, but I still smiled as I said, “Okay, cool,” and led Quentin to the unaffiliated seats.
Arden did a good job of hiding her disappointment. Her face only fell a little. It was the best I could do. My fealty has been sworn to Duke Sylvester Torquill since I was young. Even though he’s Arden’s vassal, that doesn’t make me hers. He would have to release me formally for that to happen, and he’s not going to do that unless I ask him to.
Quentin’s fealty ultimately lies with the Westlands, but while he’s my squire, he’s also considered sworn to Sylvester, at least until the day when I declare him a knight in his own right. When that happens, Quentin’s obligations to Sylvester will dissolve, allowing him to go out into the world for his knight errantry. During that time, he’ll answer only to the High King—and his knight. Up until the day he takes the throne, he’ll be expected to answer to me.
No pressure or anything.
Quentin and I took our seats. Madden reappeared a few minutes later, waving before heading to his place on the other side of the stage. As if that were a cue of some sort, other members of Arden’s court began appearing and settling themselves nearby. Walther entered through a side door and moved toward us, pointing to the seat on the other side of me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
“Please. Spare me the anxiety of wondering who might come and claim it,” I said.
“Excellent.” He looked profoundly relieved as he sank into the cushion. “Marlis just called to let me know she’s in the queue outside with our parents, Aunt Siwan, and Uncle Holger. They’ll be entering when the heralds announce them. She wanted to know if I was going to sit with her.”
Walther’s Aunt Siwan was better known as the rightful Queen of Silences. Holger was her King and consort, and Walther’s parents were the court alchemists. Marlis was still seneschal, as far as I knew; she’d served under the pretender King, Rhys, and knew the modern shape of the Kingdom better than anyone else in her family. In a human monarchy, she would probably have been executed as a traitor, or at the very least imprisoned for life. Oberon’s Law changes things, and so does magic. Rhys had been using loyalty potions to compel her obedience. She couldn’t be held responsible for that.
Arden walked onto the stage, followed by a group of courtiers. They set out four thrones. One was silver, patterned with graven redwood branches and blackberry vines. One was golden, patterned with yarrow branches and rose briars. The other two were bronze, patterned with maple leaves and heather flowers. Arden, Queen Siwan, and the High King and Queen. Which made sense. The ownership of the cure was split between Silences and the Mists, and the High King and Queen were here to oversee the proceedings. Of course, those would be the four who sat at the head of the room.
Humans would probably have insisted on giving the High King and Queen golden thrones, focusing on the value of the metal. Because this was Faerie, the division was determined by the colors of their Kingdoms, and how well the metals suited them. Arden had silver, for fog; Queen Siwan had gold, for yarrow; and the High King and Queen had bronze, presumably for King Aethlin’s hair.
The doors opened, and people began entering. Normal people, people who’d heard a conclave was happening and had come to witness the largest gathering of Kings and Queens that they were ever likely to see. I had to wonder whether this was a ploy on Arden’s part to keep the cure from being suppressed; after all, it was harder to bury something people knew about. Or maybe it was just the natural result of gathering this much royalty in one place. Even if each of the Kings and Queens traveled with a minimal staff, they’d still fill the gallery without trying. That would also explain the number of faces I didn’t recognize.
There were no other changelings in the first wave of arrivals. That was no real surprise.
The crowd settled quickly, filling the balcony and the back of the room. When the last of them was seated, Arden’s herald took up a position next to the rear door. “Her Royal Highness, by right of blood, the Queen in the Mists, Arden Windermere,” he announced.
Arden, who was already on the stage, bowed her head to the audience and walked regally to the throne marked for her use. She sat. The people applauded. So did I. It seemed like the only appropriate response.
The applause died down. The herald spoke again. “His Grace, by right of appointment, Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, and his consort, Her Grace, by right of marriage, Duchess Luna Torquill of Shadowed Hills.”
“Oh, sweet Oberon’s ass, they’re going to tell us how every single person got their throne, aren’t they?” I whispered, before flinching and waiting for the reaction from the crowd. There wasn’t one. The amplification charms apparently didn’t cover our part of the gallery. Thank the rose and the branch for that.
Quentin smirked and said nothing.
Sylvester and Luna appeared at the back of the gallery, followed by Etienne. They made their way to the middle rows of seats, well ahead of Arden’s courtiers and the commoners who’d come just to watch, but leaving plenty of room in the front for the higher-ranking nobility. It was the first time I’d seen Sylvester since before I’d gone to Silences to play diplomat. He glanced my way. I didn’t smile. I didn’t look away either. We were going to have to find our peace sooner or later. Honestly, I wanted it to be sooner. He was my liege. I was planning to get married. He shouldn’t be excluded from being part of that.
The list of mid-ranked nobility—important enough to announce, unimportant enough that I’d never heard of most of them—went on and on. Li Qin was announced as interim Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass, which probably pleased her. April O’Leary was announced as the Countess of Tamed Lightning, unable to attend due to duties at home, to be represented at the conclave by her seneschal, Elliot. It was a smart move. April was weird even for Faerie, and sending her to something like this would probably result in her finding a way to baffle and offend all the Kings and Queens at once. Wiring a Dryad into a computer system has that sort of effect.
Finally, the heralds ran out of Dukes and Counts and Barons and Earls. After a brief pause for consultation, the announcements resumed. “Her Royal Highness, by right of blood, Queen Siwan Yates of Silences, and her consort, His Royal Highness, by right of marriage, King Holger Yates of Silences.”
Walther’s aunt and uncle entered through the rear door and proceeded down the aisle. Marlis was close behind them, almost as if she were guarding them against possible attack. She glanced our way and offered a quick, genial nod as they neared the stage. Walther, who was less constrained by propriety, grinned and waved. I split the difference with a smile and a nod.