It was frightening. By allowing Tybalt to be announced as a King—and hence equal to every other monarch at this conclave—Arden had shown how much respect she had for the Court of Cats. That was good. That was the right thing to do. And it just might have made things infinitely more complex, where my relationship was concerned.
“Their Majesties, by right of blood and ascension, High King Aethlin Sollys and High Queen Maida Sollys, of the Westlands.”
Everyone stood, even Tybalt, who had barely had time to sit. Dianda was the only one who remained where she was, although she placed her hands upon her shoulders, fingers pointing toward the back wall, as a sign of respect. It showed that she was neither armed nor making a fist. Among the Undersea, there wasn’t much more of an honor.
Maida and Aethlin came gliding down the center aisle, their steps so smooth and measured that they might as well have been floating. I wondered how much time they’d spent practicing entrances like this one, smoothing away their rough edges and rendering them brief but potent expressions of effortless grace. I decided to stop thinking about it, and just be grateful that there was no circumstance, however unlikely, that could put me in their place.
They joined Arden on the stage. She remained standing until both of them were seated. Then, after bowing deeply to each of them in turn, she settled in her throne.
“Welcome,” she began. “This conclave—”
The doors at the back of the room slammed open. Everyone turned, eyes wide, to stare at the figure standing there.
She wasn’t tall, or thin, or gloriously beautiful. She didn’t need to be any of those things to catch our eyes and hold them, silencing the room. Her skin held the ghosts of old acne scars. Her hair was thick, black, and curly, falling loose down her back. Her dress cascaded down her body and broke into white foam at the hem, a slice of the tide captured eternally in the process of flowing out. It was clear as water, but showed nothing of the skin beneath it. Her eyes were green as driftglass, filled with the deep and silent shadows of the sea. They betrayed nothing. They revealed nothing.
The Luidaeg stepped over the threshold into the room, and said, “As eldest of Maeve’s children, I claim the right to witness. To observe. And to speak, should the need come upon me. Would any deny me this right?”
No one said a word.
“Good.” She took another step forward, moving off to the side as she was followed into the room by another figure. A teenage girl with bone-white hair, looking profoundly uncertain and uncomfortable in her gown of white spider-silk. I gasped. I couldn’t stop myself.
It was Karen.
SIX
“THIS IS KAREN BROWN, and she is under my protection,” said the Luidaeg. She sounded strained, like the words she was using weren’t the ones she would have chosen. That worried me, almost as much as the sight of Karen standing there, small and scared and alone. “Any who would harm her will need to first pass through me.”
All right. Maybe not totally alone.
The Luidaeg put a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “It’s all right, honey,” she said, and while the charms amplifying the room carried her words clean and clear to the rest of us, her voice was gentler than it had been before. “Just tell everyone why you’re here, and then we can sit down until it’s time for us to talk.”
“Are . . . are you sure?” asked Karen. Her voice was barely a whisper. It was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.
“I promise.”
Karen bit her lip. Then she turned to face the gallery full of nobles and monarchs, and said, “I’m an oneiromancer. I walk in dreams. I can speak to the sleeping. I’m here because I’ve been commanded to come by Eira Rosynhwyr, Firstborn daughter of Titania, who created elf-shot, and wishes to have a voice in its fate. I’m . . . I’m really sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I couldn’t tell her no. She said I’d never sleep peacefully again.”
“I’m going to kill her,” I said. I wasn’t sure how loudly I was speaking. I didn’t actually care. “I’m going to get Acacia to open a Rose Road, and I’m going to go back to where we left Evening sleeping, and I’m going to kill her.”
The Luidaeg looked amused. She shouldn’t have been able to hear me, but she had. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Always the hero,” she said. “Come along, Karen.” She took my niece’s hand and walked the length of the silent gallery with her, until they came to the row where I was seated. Karen moved to sit on Quentin’s other side. He took her hand and squeezed. It was a brotherly gesture, comforting. Her eyes filled with tears, and she dropped her head to his shoulder. The Luidaeg met my eyes and nodded once as she settled next to Karen. She wasn’t happy about this either. But then, when was she happy about anything involving her sister?
The silence in the gallery was profound. I turned back to the stage. All four of the seated monarchs were staring at us. Siwan looked confused. The High King and Queen looked stunned. Arden looked more resigned. This was the sort of thing she’d been dealing with since the start of her reign. She might not be the most accomplished Queen in the Westlands, but she was well on her way to becoming the most unflappable.
I grimaced, spreading my hands and mouthing, “Sorry.” Arden shook herself, snapping out of her surprise, and turned to the rest of the room.
“As you can see, this conclave is of great importance, and will shape the future of our people in a way that cannot be overstated. Everyone will be heard, although the final decision lies with the High King and High Queen of our fair land. For those of you who’ve come because you were summoned, but do not fully understand what is to be discussed, I ask you to be patient, and listen. Master Davies?” Arden beckoned Walther. “Please come, and explain.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Walther rose, knees only knocking a little, and stepped onto the stage. There was a small “X” on the far right corner, marking the place where guest speakers should go for their presentations. He took his position, took a deep breath, and began telling the room how he’d been able to alchemically create a cure for elf-shot.
I knew this story—I’d been there when it was unfolding—and so I took the opportunity to look around the gallery, trying to size up the participants in this little production. Some of them were familiar to me, Sylvester and Li Qin and Dianda and the rest. Most were strangers, which made it hard for me to judge how opinions were going to go. Sylvester and Luna would want the cure distributed freely: they’d be thinking of their daughter, asleep on her bier of roses, who could wake up so much sooner than a century from now if she had the opportunity. Li Qin would probably also support the cure. She had no one under elf-shot—the people who’d served under her wife, January O’Leary, had been murdered, not put to sleep—but she knew what it was like to lose someone she cared about. Dianda, I didn’t know which way she’d go. The rest of our guests from the Divided Courts . . . I didn’t know which way they’d go, either.
Golden Shore was a mostly changeling Kingdom. Theron and Chrysanthe would probably be in favor. Highmountain was a very traditional Kingdom. Verona and Kabos could go either way, but would most likely support whatever gave the purebloods the most power. And so it went, the math of control, down through all the gathered monarchs, nobles, and silent observers.
The door at the back of the room opened and someone slipped through, taking a seat at the back. Elizabeth Ryan, the head of our local Selkie colony. She sat straight and uncomfortable, holding her purse in her lap like she was afraid it would be stolen. It wasn’t that odd to see her here. If anything, it was odd that she hadn’t arrived earlier. Elf-shot was fatal to Selkies, because of the human bodies under their fae-touched skins. If anyone would want the stuff gone, it was her.