Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(21)

Arden was on the stage conjuring balls of witch-light and tossing them up to join the others that were already bobbing among the rafters. With each ball, the light in the room got a little brighter, twilight melting into day. She looked toward the sound of my voice and smiled, although it didn’t remove the lines of strain around her eyes. “The bookstore used to host a lot of author events,” she said. She didn’t seem to be raising her voice, but it carried, clean and clear, to the back of the gallery. There must have been amplification charms on the stage. Neat trick.

Arden continued her thought as we walked toward her: “Usually, we just had to move a couple of shelves and set up folding chairs, but it could still get pretty intense. Genre authors can attract some weird crowds. So I’m trying to think of this as if it were that. We’re hosting like, Stephen King and J.K. Rowling at the same time, and the weirdoes are going to ride, ride, ride.”

“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.