Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(112)

Again, I stared at her. My mind was racing. Tybalt’s objection to getting married at Shadowed Hills was twofold: he didn’t like Sylvester, and he needed to avoid looking like he was swearing fealty to the Divided Courts. Getting married in Muir Woods shared the second problem, if not the first. Arden was his equal, not his superior.

But there was no High King of Cats. Getting married in Toronto could solve a lot of things. “I can’t agree without talking to Tybalt, but I’m not opposed to the idea,” I said carefully.

“In that case, I believe we can agree that your actions were necessary and proportionate, and do not represent a pattern of hostility against the nobility of the Westlands.” Maida gave her husband a challenging look. He nodded, and she smiled. “We appreciate your time.”

“Uh, sure,” I said. “Look, about time . . . when are you planning to wake the others? I feel like I should be here for that.”

“Queen Siwan expects to have the potion ready by morning,” said Arden, sounding confident now that she was back on comfortable ground. “They’ll wake Dianda first, so that we can focus our apologies on her, and let her decide what’s to be done with Duke Michel. I’ll wait to wake my brother until after all the guests have gone. He’ll have enough to adjust to without adding in a hundred new faces that he won’t need to remember right away.”

I nodded. “Smart.”

“Yes.” Arden looked down the line to Sylvester.

“Luna is already agitating to have Rayseline woken,” he said gravely. “I would appreciate it if you could be there.”

“Of course,” I said. “Whenever you need me.”

He inclined his head.

“The others who sleep will be dealt with one by one, until all are either awake or sleeping off a sentence that shouldn’t be commuted,” said Aethlin. “It may take years, but by the time we’re done, no one will slumber who doesn’t deserve it.”

I thought of all the people who might be woken, and what they might be deserving of—especially Simon Torquill. But that was Sylvester’s problem, not mine, and all of this was a problem for another day. “That’s good,” I said. “May I go?”

“You may,” said the High King. I curtsied deeply to the four of them—my liege, my Queen, the parents of my squire, the people who had called this conclave and changed our world forever—and turned as I straightened, moving toward the door. There were people waiting for me out there, people who I had thought were going to be lost for a long, long time, who were magically, gloriously still with me. So I was going to go and be with them.

Out of everything in the world, that was the only thing that really mattered. Everything else was just stage dressing. They were the show.





You are for dream and slumbers, brother.

—William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida





ONE


June 10th, 2013

“I’M SCARED.”

The words were simple: their meaning was complex. My entire life is like that these days. It got complicated almost a year ago, when a wild-eyed woman crashed into the bookstore where I worked and ordered me to take back my father’s throne. Like it was a little thing to ask for, or an easy thing to do, and not just a complicated way of committing suicide.

A year ago, if something sounded simple, it probably was. “Yes, we have that book in stock,” or “no, we only carry science fiction and fantasy,” or “let me ask Alan if he knows.” There were days when I’d been bored, restless, convinced I was meant for something better . . . and on those days, I’d slip into the basement, past the bounds of the illusion I used to keep everyone—even Alan, who owned the place—from realizing I lived there. I’d go into the tiny sanctuary I had carved from the flesh of the mortal world, and I’d wipe the dust from my brother’s lips, and I’d remind myself that boredom was a blessing.

Boredom meant the nameless Queen’s agents hadn’t found us. Boredom meant I wasn’t faced with the choice between running and leaving my sleeping brother alone and defenseless, or staying and risking us both. Boredom was everything. Until October Daye, Knight of Lost Words, daughter of Amandine, bane of my peace of mind, smashed her way in and ruined it all.

I’m going to fuck up the tenses here, because past and present get blurred when you’re talking about more than a century, but I’ll do my best. Here it is:

My father was a King, which made me a Princess born and an orphan before I turned sixteen. It made my brother Nolan a Prince, but there was never any question of who would take the throne; I was the elder by two full years. My magic came in earlier and stronger than his. And when we were children, I was fearless. I treated the world like a game that could be won, and I was going to be Queen someday.

Not that anyone knew. My father was unmarried; my mother, his mistress, hid in plain sight as a servant in his Court. Nolan and I lived in a house by the sea with our nursemaid, Marianne. She disguised us as changelings when she brought us to see our parents, and it was the best of all the wonderful games we played. I was a princess in hiding, ready to dazzle the world by bursting forth fully-formed and ready to rule. Someday. After decades and decades and decades of watching how my father did it, learning from his experiences, and preparing.