Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(39)

How dare they act as though this is a simple vote, something to be decided in an afternoon. How dare they pretend this is “diplomacy,” when it’s clear where the High King’s loyalties lie. He’s meant to be so far above us as to serve as an objective party, a judge, jury, and when need be, executioner. How does this stripling queen have such a strong grip upon his ear, when no one knew she existed before she was crowned? Something is wrong. Something is out of true. And I am, by Oberon, going to find out what it is, and put a stop to it before this madness goes any further.

His thoughts were cold but not cruel. From his perspective, something had gone horribly wrong in the Mists, something symbolized by the way the High King dealt with Arden. I didn’t get the impression that he’d been an evil man. Set in his ways, maybe, and more interested in the good of his Kingdom than anything else—but really, what monarch wasn’t going to put the needs of their own people ahead of the rest of the world? That was practically the job description. I swallowed hard, forcing more of his blood into my system, letting the memories pull me down.

I have stepped away from the noise and nonsense of the dining room to be alone with my thoughts. There are no lights in this part of the knowe. I do not need them. Candela have better night vision than most, and my Merry Dancers spin around me, comforting companions. They pulse with their understanding of my unhappiness. They would soothe me, if they could. How lonely other fae must be, in their strange, singular lives!

A noise behind me, like metal being torn. I stop and turn, suddenly dizzy, as if I am out of breath, even though I am breathing normally. Perhaps the meal is ending; perhaps we are about to return to the pointless pretense of diplomacy. I walk back to the dining room.

It is empty. Where has everyone gone? The curtains are drawn.

That tearing-metal sound repeats. I turn, and there is pain, pain like I have never felt. I am falling. I am falling, I am dying, and even death holds no mercy, for I am still alive when the first of my Merry Dancers hits the ground, and I feel it when she shatters—

Gasping, I ripped myself free of his memories before they could drag me down to the actual moment of his death. I hadn’t been weak enough to kill that easily in a while; riding someone else’s blood to the end was still dangerous. Some rules were never intended to be broken. Not by me. Maybe by my mother, but she’s Firstborn, and I’m not. I’ll never be as strong as she is.

Then the Luidaeg was there, placing a hand between my shoulder blades and holding me up, keeping me from falling over. “What did you see?”

“Nothing.” I closed my eyes. My own body felt strange, too small, too female, and too alone. There should have been Merry Dancers swirling around me, their lives connected to my own on a level too deep to explain with words. The feeling would pass. That didn’t mean I enjoyed it. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt out of synch with myself after riding the blood, but it had never been this strong. “He didn’t see the person who killed him, or detect their magic. He heard a weird sound, followed it back to the dining room, and someone he didn’t get a decent look at stabbed him.”

“So it didn’t work?” Quentin sounded disappointed. He also sounded scared. He’d been with me for long enough to understand that sometimes, when the first, safest method of getting information failed, we had to keep going. We had to find another way.

He was right to be concerned. There was always another way, and it was rarely a good idea. “It worked,” I said, opening my eyes and turning toward the sound of his voice. He and Karen had been busy; the table next to them was covered in shining shards of Merry Dancer. Seeing them that way hurt my heart. That, too, would fade; I wouldn’t be mourning for Christmas ornaments forever.

But someone should have been. I gripped the Luidaeg’s arm as I levered myself to my feet. The feeling of strangeness was already fading, replaced by the more usual absolute faith in my own body, which was familiar and comfortable and home.

“He couldn’t tell me anything because he didn’t see anything worth telling,” I continued, wiping the blood off my hand and onto my trousers. Black is forgiving in more ways than one. “At the same time, we’re going to have company soon, and maybe he can tell me something I can’t intuit from his blood.”

Quentin’s eyes went wide. Karen looked confused. And the Luidaeg sighed.

“You really want to talk to them again?” she asked. “I’m pretty sure they weren’t kidding when they threatened to eat you. They’re not big jokesters.”

“I saved May’s life. That has to earn me a little tolerance.”

“It’s already earned you a little tolerance. They didn’t eat you the last time they saw you.”

“No, they didn’t, because their leader had something he wanted me to do. I’ve done it. They’ll talk to me.”

The Luidaeg threw up her hands and turned her eyes toward the ceiling. “Dad’s bones, you people never learn. Fine. Do you want me to call them? Maybe they’ll be less hostile if I’m the one who calls.”

“Um, excuse me?” Karen’s voice shook. We all looked at her. She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth before she asked, “Who are you talking about?”

Oh. “Quentin, maybe you should take Karen back out to the balcony,” I said quietly. “She doesn’t need to see this.”