Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(27)
I opened them when she pulled away. The wound in my forearm was already healing, leaving only a smear of blood and saliva behind. I wiped it away with my free hand, then scrubbed my palm against the leg of my pants.
The Luidaeg, eyes now black from side to side like the depths of an angry sea, turned to the gallery, and said, “I, the Luidaeg, sea witch and undying daughter of Maeve, tell you that the woman beside me, Sir October Christine Daye of Shadowed Hills, was elf-shot twice, and lived each time through the intervention of outside forces. The first shot was delivered by an assassin’s bow, and was countered by the magic of my sister, who changed the blood in Sir Daye’s body such as to sunder her from her own death. The second shot was delivered by the hand of the deposed King Rhys of Silences, and was countered by a tincture brewed by Master Walther Davies, alchemist. In both cases, the elf-shot was true: her sleep, and death, should have followed. It did not. The cure works.”
“So it is said,” said High King Aethlin. “Let it be accepted within these chambers that the cure works.”
Some of the people in the gallery muttered, but no one objected. That was a relief.
“You may be excused, Sir Daye,” said the High King.
I turned to him, bowed, and walked back to my seat as quickly as I dared. The Luidaeg followed me, leaving Walther to face the ensuing inquisition alone.
It felt like everyone in the room had a question for him. What was in the tincture? How was it made? Could anyone make it, assuming it wasn’t banned as a result of this conclave? Was he holding anything back? Had there been earlier versions that hadn’t worked? How had he tested them? How had he been sure that using the cure wouldn’t kill us, and result in a violation of the Law? It went on and on, and frankly, I wasn’t listening. I was too busy sinking into my seat, rubbing the place on my arm where the ghosts of the Luidaeg’s teeth still lingered, continuing to try and get a feel for the room.
Most of these people had previously been only names on paper to me, if that. The monarchs of Golden Shore, for example. Their Kingdom is known for being a safe haven for changelings, as long as those changelings are willing to work. Everyone works in Golden Shore. It’s an agrarian community, responsible for providing most of the noble houses on the West Coast with fae produce and livestock. Yes, there are fae cows, called Crodh Sith by people who want to be pretentious about it, and their milk and butter are supposed to be some of the finest in this world or any other. Golden apples, silver grapes, sheep with fleece finer than silk . . . if you want any of those things, you get them from Golden Shore. Golden Hinds are rare, as they breed even more slowly than most fae and don’t like to live in human cities. Seeing a married couple was fascinating.
Both of them were frowning as Walther spoke, and their questions were sharp-edged, like they were trying to trip him up. I didn’t get the feeling they were on the side of distributing the cure. I just couldn’t figure out why.
King Antonio, on the other hand, was definitely opposed to distributing the cure, and I knew exactly why. Angels has a reputation as a place where you could do what you wanted without fear of noble intervention, because the nobility of Angels don’t care. As long as they can party the nights away, the riff-raff in the streets doesn’t matter to them. Elf-shot was the monarchy’s primary method of enforcing the few rules they did have. I’d always thought it was sort of like Shakespeare’s Verona: gleefully lawless, with brawls breaking out every time two warring factions tripped over each other in the grocery store. Take away elf-shot as a threat and a pacifying tool, and Antonio and his court might actually start needing to work.
Queen Siwan of Silences was obviously in favor of distributing the cure, for a lot of reasons. Walther was her nephew. Even if he was currently residing in and serving the Mists, having him be the one to discover a way to break one of the oldest enchantments in our world reflected well on his family and the Kingdom that they held. Aspiring alchemists from all over the world would want to go and train in Silences, the Kingdom that had created the finest alchemist of our age. Also, I was pretty sure the Yates family had already used the cure to wake everyone in their Kingdom, and that would be easier to explain if the cure didn’t wind up illegal.
It was hard to say which side of the argument Dianda came down on. She was glaring at the stage with such intensity that it was almost surprising when no one burst spontaneously into flames. Patrick looked thoughtful. Patrick usually looks thoughtful. Patrick is the leavening influence that keeps Dianda from killing us all because she’s bored, or hungry, or doesn’t like the way someone’s looking at her. I’m very fond of Patrick.
High Queen Maida leaned over and murmured something to her husband who, in turn, leaned over and murmured something to Arden. She nodded, rising gracefully from her throne and clasping her hands together as a signal for silence. The room quieted.
“We’re agreed, then, that this is no small topic: whatever we decide will change the course of Faerie for however long remains before Oberon returns to us. In light of this, no decisions will be made rashly, or without consideration of all perspectives. Many of you have traveled far to be here. The hospitality of my home is open to you for the duration of this conclave, plus the traditional three days, should you wish to remain and enjoy the courtesies of my Kingdom when our business here is done. For now, we’ll stop to enjoy a meal, and to consider what we have heard so far. The conclave will resume after we have all eaten.”