Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(69)

From the kitchen came the hiss of batter hitting a griddle, followed by the hot flour and butter smell of pancakes cooking. Quentin sat up, eyes still closed. “I’m awake,” he announced.

“Good,” I said. “Tell me what you know.”

He cracked one eye open. Then he opened the other, and said, “You’re awake and you’re not pancakes.”

“Those are both true and things that you know, but it’s not good enough,” I said. “What did Walther say?”

“The elf-shot that put Dianda to sleep was about as close to generic as you can get. No hidden poisons, and the only add-on is something that will frustrate her dreams without turning them into nightmares. She’ll sleep for a hundred years and wake up feeling rested and probably super-pissed.” Quentin shrugged. “He said the cure would counter the elf-shot—no problem—if he was allowed to use it, but since he’s not, she’s just going to nap.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Dianda was able to tell us who elf-shot her.”

“Oh,” said Quentin. “Wow. What are we going to do about it?”

“We’re not going to do anything,” I said. “I’m going to go talk to the High King.” I barely caught myself in time to keep from saying “your father.”

Quentin saw my correction in the way my eyes tightened. He grimaced. “Karen knows,” he said. “She knew before you did.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I walk in dreams,” said Karen. “Um. Not to be creepy or anything, but if I’ve visited you while you were dreaming, you probably don’t have that many secrets from me. I try not to visit people I don’t know. It seems rude. And I always let people know that I’m there.”

“Not actually reducing the creepy factor by that much, but I appreciate the warning,” I said, feeling the tips of my ears turn red. Some of the dreams I’d had about Tybalt before we’d finally managed to make our relationship more formal had been, well, inappropriate for teenage girls. Some of the dreams I’d had since then made those look positively tame. I had never really considered this aspect of Karen’s dream-walking before.

I also hadn’t considered what it meant to have Quentin forming all his friendships and allegiances here on the West Coast, rather than back home in Toronto. When the time came for him to become High King, was he going to try to carry half the kids I considered mine to take care of away with him? Was he going to try to take me? And if he did, would I be able to tell him “no”?

“What about Dianda’s injuries?” I asked, to distract myself from the question.

“Their Majesties approved Queen Windermere’s request to have Duke Torquill summon Jin from Shadowed Hills,” said Quentin. “Jin was able to heal the wound left by the arrow.”

“Good,” I said, once I had finished working my way through the chain of monarchs in the sentence. Jin was here. That was one worry off my long and growing list.

The smell of bacon joined the smell of pancakes. Both teens lit up, beaming at the air behind me. I turned. There was Tybalt, a smile on his face and a tray in his hands, laden with bacon, cinnamon rolls, and various sliced fruits.

“Breakfast is to be an informal affair, eaten largely in private rooms and not forcing any of us to deal with one another before absolutely necessary,” he said. “I thought you might like food. The, ah, fruit may be a little frozen. I tried to move quickly.”

“You brought breakfast through the Shadow Roads,” I said. “I can’t decide if that was romantic or really, really stupid.”

“Always elect for the blessed ‘both,’” said Tybalt.

“Both it is, then,” I said, and reached for a cinnamon roll. The outside was cool to the touch and the frosting had iced over, but I could still feel the warmth inside the pastry. He really had moved quickly. “How did you sleep?”

“Poorly and alone, but you’re forgiven, as you had things to do,” said Tybalt. “I thought perhaps the lady sea witch would be less inclined to transform me into something unpleasant if I brought her bacon. Not that I think you would be so easily bribed,” he added, attention shifting to Karen, “but in case you had considered it, I note that there are chocolate croissants buried beneath these more pedestrian pastries.”

Karen giggled. I rolled my eyes.

“Stop flattering my niece and put down the tray,” I said. “We need to go see the High King.”

Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “Am I nothing but a taxi service to you?”

“No,” I said. “Danny, who actually has his license, is a taxi service. You’re more like a transporter from Star Trek. Me and you to beam up, Scotty.”

He looked at me blankly. Karen covered her mouth with one hand. Quentin started to snicker.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’ve ever actually encountered the English language,” Tybalt said, putting the tray gingerly down on the nearest flat surface. Quentin and Karen fell upon it, moving with the speed and efficiency known only to hungry teenagers and the occasional swarm of locusts. Then they took off for the kitchen, carting their ill-gotten gains with them.

“I’ll tell the Luidaeg you’re leaving!” called Quentin, before ducking through the door and out of sight.