Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(25)
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.
Walther finished explaining the alchemical processes and principles behind his cure. Reaching up to remove his glasses, he tucked them into his pocket, and asked, “Are there any questions?”
King Antonio of Angels stood before anyone else could react, his Merry Dancers spinning a pirouette in the air around his head. “How are we to trust that this cure works, and is not simply a bid by the alliance of Mists and Silences to poison our people?” He asked the question mildly enough that it didn’t sound like an accusation, which was a neat trick. He must have spent a lot of time practicing.
“We know it works because it’s been used, while we were trying to retake my family’s throne and didn’t have time to request permission from the High King.” Walther frowned. “I was worried about that, but he forgave us for our indiscretion, once we explained the situation, and he realized that there’d been some major injustices perpetrated against our people.”
High Queen Maida cleared her throat. “Please, Master Davies, stay on the path of alchemy, and not the path of politics. Your aunt’s claim to the throne of Silences is not under debate here, and does not need to be defended.”
“My apologies,” said Walther. He paused for a moment, clearly buying time, before returning his attention to King Antonio. “We know it works because those who’ve used it have been moving amongst us for months now, with no ill-effects.”
“You say this, counting the Queen and King of Silences among their number, but—and forgive me for my indelicacy—it is well understood that the Tylwyth Teg are sensitive to alchemical workings. What works for one of that bloodline will not necessarily work for another, and you do not produce another,” said King Antonio. “Are you hiding something?”
“This is making my head hurt,” I muttered.
Walther kept his temper remarkably well. “Your Highness, I am an alchemist in a room filled with royalty,” he said. “It would not be in my best interests to hide anything right now. Not if I want to be allowed to leave here a free man.”
On the stage, Arden glanced at me. That was all: just a glance, a flicker of her eyes. I knew what it meant. It took everything I had to suppress my sigh as I stood, turned to the High King, and asked, “May I have permission to join Master Davies?”
“Of course you may,” said High King Aethlin.
All eyes were on me as I climbed the steps. Some were sympathetic, understanding, even concerned. More were confused verging into hostile. Why was I, a changeling, allowed to speak, much less stand upon a stage that contained the great powers of our region?
Tybalt’s eyes were cool and unreadable, as they’d been in the days and years before the first time he told me that he loved me. I tried not to let myself be hurt by that as I took up my position next to Walther.
“My name is October Daye, Knight of Lost Words, sworn in service to Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, hero of the realm. I’m also a changeling,” I said. My voice didn’t shake. I was pretty proud of that. “While in Silences, I was elf-shot, and fell into an enchanted sleep. Because elf-shot is fatal to those of us with mortal blood, my body began to die. The alchemical tincture Walther Davies created was able to both wake me and cleanse the elf-shot from my system sufficiently that I did not, in fact, pass away.”
King Antonio switched his attention to me. I read no malice in his expression. Then again, he was a King. That meant he was probably a pretty good liar, even for one of the fae. “Why should we believe this claim?”
Sylvester moved like he was going to stand. I made a quick motion with my hand, hoping he’d understand that I was waving him off. Luna gave me a hard look as he settled back in his seat. I did my best to ignore them both, focusing instead on the greater threat: King Antonio, who didn’t know me and had no reason to trust me. I had too many allies who didn’t let my human blood call my words into question. I needed to remember that it didn’t work that way for everyone in Faerie.