Once Broken Faith (4 page)

“Then you should understand why I have to do this,” said Arden. “I've been patient. I kept thinking he'd tell me to go ahead, that he'd say, you know, Master Davies is a citizen of the Mists who was traveling to Silences on official business, and if it was okay for him to wake up the citizens of Silences, he should be allowed to do the same at home before we start talking about bottling up and hiding his cure. But he didn't say that, and I can't wait any longer.”

I took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out. “All right,” I said finally. “Lead on.”

As long as I kept my eyes on the back of Arden's head, I didn't have to think about how high up we were, or how close I was to falling every time I took a step. For all that she'd spent most of her life in the mortal world, she moved along the impossibly long walkway without hesitation or visible distress. Being a teleporter probably had something to do with that. If she fell, she could open a portal and land in her own bed, cushioned by feather pillows, entirely unbruised. I didn't have that sort of safety net.

We reached the next tower in surprisingly short order. Arden opened the door and held it while I stepped through. Moving past me, she offered a strained smile, said, “That wasn't so bad, now, was it?” and started up another stairway, identical to the one we'd left behind.

I swallowed my first response. Just to be safe, I also swallowed my second response, and followed her up the stairs. They terminated at a landing barely wider than one of the steps. She knocked.

“It's open!” called Walther.

Arden took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.

The tower room where Madden and Nolan slept couldn't have been farther from the basement King Rhys had used to store the elf-shot victims in Silences. It was round, airy, and circular, with wide windows set in the walls between the beds, open to allow the night air to flow through. Walther had apparently been serious about his “no magic” rule; there were no witch-lights or charmed lanterns. Instead, he'd set up several halogen camping lights around the edges of the room, creating the odd impression that we'd just stepped onto a film set. That was the only reason to light the place so unforgivingly.

There were eight beds arrayed like the spokes of a wheel. Only two were occupied, one by a burly man with white hair streaked in carnal red, the other by a man whose blackberry-dark locks and olive skin betrayed him as Arden's brother. Madden, who'd been asleep for less than two months, was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. This was still his time. Nolan had been asleep a lot longer. He was dressed like he was planning to roll out of bed and head for a
Great Gatsby
-themed party, down to his suspenders and polished shoes. He'd been elf-shot in the 1930s. His nap was nearly over. I still understood why Arden felt like she couldn't wait any longer, especially now that Madden had joined him. She needed her support system. I couldn't imagine going a hundred years without mine.

Walther was standing between the two beds, spinning a fine rosy liquid in a wine snifter like he was a sommelier and we were here to enjoy a pleasant dinner while surrounded by coma patients. He turned at the sound of the door opening, and looked relieved at the sight of me. That was a fun change. “Toby,” he said. “I was afraid you weren't going to come.”

“Why, because this might technically be an act of
treason against the High King, and hence a good way to wind up locked in gaol for the next, oh, twenty years?” I shrugged like it was no big thing as I strolled into the room and sat down on one of the empty beds. It wasn't as soft as it had looked from a distance, more like a bier than a bower. I blinked. “Wow. Orthopedic?”

“It wouldn't do to have your sleepers wake up in need of a chiropractor,” said Walther, with a tight smile. I smiled back, trying to look sympathetic and encouraging at the same time. He was in a tough spot. If he refused Arden—who was, after all, the Queen of the Kingdom he was currently living in—he could wind up banished. Not the end of the world, but he'd been working for a while to get tenure at UC Berkeley, and a change of address would mean starting all over again. If he didn't refuse her, he could be pissing off the man in charge of the entire continent. No wonder he'd wanted me present. I was his security blanket.

Walther was originally from the Kingdom of Silences to the north, overlapping the human state of Oregon. His aunt and uncle were the rightful rulers of the place, and he'd been raised, along with his sister Marlis, under the expectation that he'd eventually become one of their court alchemists. Only there'd been a war, and his family had lost the throne for a hundred years. During that time, Walther had fled to avoid elf-shot or enslavement—the two fates that befell the rest of his family—and had eventually become a chemistry teacher. The work suited him. He would probably never have gone back to Silences if I hadn't dragged him.

Good thing: going back to Silences had resulted in his family regaining their place. Better thing: we'd come away with a functional cure for elf-shot, the purebloods' weapon of choice when it came to waging war. Little enchanted arrows that could put a person to sleep for a century. Problem: having a cure changed everything. We'd barely managed to get home before the edict had
come from the High King, asking us to keep the cure secret while he decided what to do next. And now he was coming here, which was a whole new problem.

Arden cleared her throat. “The beds were designed by a Coblynau crafter who knew what would be best for our sleepers,” she said. “Now let's wake those sleepers
up
.”

“Before High King Sollys gets here and says absolutely not, don't do it,” I said.

She shot me a sharp look. I shook my head.

“I came when you asked me to. That means I'm going to be in just as much trouble as you are. More, it means I'm supporting you in this. If he asks, ‘Did Queen Windermere wake her brother after I told her not to?' I'll tell him the truth, but I'll also tell him you had a good reason to do what you did. That doesn't mean I'm going to pretend you had permission.” I turned to Walther. “You have a queen and a hero, which is another word for ‘scapegoat,' telling you to go ahead and wake them up. So go ahead. Wake them up.”

“You're also the only person I know who's been elf-shot twice and can still give orders,” said Walther. He gave his rose-colored liquid one more swirl and turned to Arden. His posture shifted with his attention, becoming formal and serious. Arden hadn't been kidding about the way people behaved when they were talking to royalty. “Who would you like me to wake first, Highness?”

“My seneschal,” she said, without hesitation. “Madden will want to know what happened, and Nolan is going to need a lot more catching up.”

Walther nodded, and moved to Madden's bedside, bending to press the lip of his wine snifter against the other man's lips. He placed his free hand under Madden's head, bringing it a few inches up from the pillow, so that gravity would be working on his side. I wanted to ask how he could be sure that Madden wouldn't choke, but I held my tongue. Walther had already managed to
wake me, May, and his entire sleeping family. He knew what he was doing.

After a moment, he pulled the snifter away and stepped back, letting Madden's head return to the pillow. I risked a glance at Arden. She had folded her hands and pressed them beneath her chin, eyes wide and solemn as a child's as she watched.

Seconds ticked by, and everything was silence and the growing scent of roses. I shivered. Elf-shot had been created by Eira Rosynhwyr, the Firstborn of the Daoine Sidhe, and the countercharm was made using roses that matched the precise smell of her magic. Eira and I have . . . calling it “a history” seems too simple, but I don't know how else to describe a relationship defined by her lying to me and me being so eager for approval that I'd never seen the signs. She's dangerous. She's terrifying. She's asleep, thanks to her own elf-shot, which once would have meant she was out of the way for a hundred years. Now, with Walther's cure in play, there's no telling when she'll wake up. So no, I do not care for the scent of roses.

Madden sighed. It would have been unremarkable, but he'd been elf-shot, and people sleeping under an enchantment don't sigh. Arden clasped her hands tighter. He yawned. And then, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, he opened his eyes.

“That's not the sky,” he said, sounding puzzled. “I was outside a second ago. Why isn't that the sky?” He sat up, frowning at Walther. His eyes flashed wolfish gold. “Do I know you?”

“Madden!” Arden dropped her hands and flung herself at him, slinging her arms around his neck.

Madden caught her easily, taking his attention from Walther in order to frown at his friend and liege as she buried her face against his shoulder. “Ardy? What's wrong? Why do I feel like I missed something?”

“That's an excellent question,” said a semi-familiar voice. My heart sank.

It kept sinking as I turned to see High King Aethlin Sollys standing in the doorway. He was wearing a charcoal-gray tailored suit that would have looked perfectly appropriate on a San Francisco street corner. His tie was wine-red and snowy white: the colors of the Westlands. He wasn't wearing a human disguise, allowing the points of his ears and the burnished bronze color of his hair to show. His eyes were sunrise red, and narrowed as he watched Arden and Madden's embrace.

“Why,” he said, echoing Madden's words, “do I feel like I've missed something?”

A
RDEN SCRAMBLED TO EXTRICATE herself from Madden's embrace, wiping the tears from her cheeks with quick, almost shamed swipes of her hand. She positioned herself so that her body blocked Walther and Madden from the High King. It was a noble gesture. It was also a futile one—she was a slender girl, and Madden alone could have made two of her; there was no way she could shield them from Aethlin's regard—but the fact that she was willing to try made me feel a little better about the situation. A little. Not nearly enough, especially since she wasn't shielding
me
.

“Your herald said we should expect you next week, Your Highness,” said Arden. Her voice was thick with tears and worry. “I apologize that I was not prepared for your arrival.”

“Really? It looks to me as though you were taking advantage of every moment you believed you had before I got here,” said High King Sollys. He raised an eyebrow, looking briefly so much like his son that it hurt. This man, tall and regal and terrifying, was Quentin's future. This was his
birthright
. No matter how much I
enjoyed having him with me, I was only ever going to be a way station on his path to the throne.

If that was dismaying for me as his knight, how did it feel for Dean as his boyfriend? Had they even talked about it? Dating is hard for the children of the nobility. Maybe that's why they have formal courtships. Putting all those layers of formality and obligation in the way of casual dating made things easier on the heart.

Arden bit her lip, and didn't move. “Please. I didn't mean to defy you. I just . . .”

“Madden was elf-shot by an agent of Silences as part of the declaration of war against the Mists,” I said. High King Sollys looked at me. I forced myself to remain casually seated on the bed, resting the bulk of my weight on my hands. Every etiquette lesson I'd ever been given was screaming for me to stand, but that was exactly why I couldn't do it. If I kept things informal, maybe he'd do the same. “Everyone else who was elf-shot during the failed attempt at a coup has been woken up. He would've been, too, if we hadn't been so quick about telling you what was going on. It was fair.”

“Sir Daye,” said High King Sollys. “Of course you're involved. I'm not sure whether you know this, but ‘fair' and royal decrees are rarely acquainted with one another.”

“Maybe they should be,” I said. “He's awake now. What are you going to do, ram another arrow into his arm to punish Arden for disobeying you? Maybe it's just me, but that seems kind of extreme, especially since the only thing he ever did wrong was stand by the woman who rightfully inherited the throne in the Mists, instead of supporting the woman who should never have been confirmed as our Queen.”

It was a small but calculated dig. Aethlin flinched as it hit home. When the 1906 earthquake had left King Gilad dead and Arden and her brother in hiding,
Evening Winterrose had been right there to present a “lost heir” who could take the throne and stabilize the region. The High King had been dealing with a lot of things when all that went down. By the time he got to the Mists, it had basically been a done deal, and he'd confirmed a pretender. Arden's life among the humans, beneficial as it may have been for her in some ways, was entirely his doing. I wasn't going to let him forget that.

“I asked you not to act before I arrived,” he said, looking back to Arden. “As it seems you woke your seneschal while I was being ushered into your halls, you've done as I asked. I'll be more precise in my requests from now on. No one else is to be awoken until we have discussed the proper use and distribution of the elf-shot cure. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sire,” said Arden. She glanced at her sleeping brother, mouth twisting, before she returned her attention to the High King. “You are very generous.”

“And you're in a difficult position, Queen Windermere. If I seem generous, it's because, as Sir Daye says, I understand that your current lack of experience with our politics is partially on me. You're learning as you go. I won't punish you this time. Or perhaps your punishment will be hosting this conclave. As for you, Sir Daye . . .” High King Sollys turned to me.

I offered him my best, brightest smile. “I should get ice cream and a pony as my reward for preventing another war.”

“You should be commended for your role in preventing the war between the Mists and Silences; we'll speak of that later,” he said. “Unlike Queen Windermere, you do not have the excuse of ignorance to shield you from your own actions. You knew what I intended by my instructions, and you allowed it anyway.”

“She's Queen, I'm not,” I said. “I don't ‘allow' Arden
to do anything. I just try really hard to minimize its impact on the people around me.”

Arden wasn't saying anything in my defense. I couldn't blame her for that. If she spoke, she might attract the High King's attention again, and worse, he might decide to censure Walther or Madden, neither of whom was at fault here.

“Still, you can't be allowed to flaunt my decrees just because you don't feel like arguing with your regent,” he said. The corner of his mouth was turning upward, like he was fighting a smile. Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better. “I'm afraid I must order you to attend the conclave, as you need to understand what your actions could have done. Bring your squire. I'm sure it will be educational for him.”

I resisted the urge to glare. This wasn't about punishing me: this was about getting Quentin to the conclave without blowing his cover. Never mind that anyone who looked at my squire next to the High King was likely to start asking questions about Quentin's blind fosterage. There was no way a responsible regent could pass up this kind of learning opportunity for a king-to-be.

“I'll clear my calendar,” I said, standing and bowing deeply. “So this has been fun and everything, but I'm supposed to be hosting a slumber party for a bunch of teenagers right now, and I'd like to get back to it before they burn my house down. May I be excused?”

“Certainly,” said High King Sollys, with a broad wink. He turned to Arden. “I'm assuming you brought Sir Daye here?”

“Yes, sire,” she said. She scribed a wide arch in the air with one hand. Apparently the injunction against magic was no longer in effect if she wasn't getting ready to wake her brother. A portal appeared at the center of the room, showing a lovely view of my back yard. It was a good call. The yard was sheltered from mortal eyes,
which meant I wouldn't need to embarrass myself by fumbling with my clumsy illusions in front of the High King, and since it wasn't inside, she didn't need to worry about freaking out any of my guests.

“Sir Daye?” said Aethlin, looking back to me. “I believe your road home is open.”

“I see that,” I said. “Mind if I take Walther with me? May's making cookies. He loves her cookies.”

“You may take the alchemist,” said the High King.

Walther put his wine snifter down on the nearest table and all but bounded to my side, clearly as eager to be out of there as I was. I reached for his hand, ready to pull him through with me, and paused as High King Sollys cleared his throat.

“The alchemist—Master Walther Davies, is it not?” He paused long enough for Walther to nod before he continued, “Master Davies will also be required to attend the coming conclave, as it's his work that will be under discussion. You will make yourself available to us, yes?”

“Yes, sire,” said Walther, with a quick bow. His voice was tight, and I knew he was thinking about his class schedule, what he could move or pawn off on grad students without endangering his students. Teaching chemistry might seem mundane compared to, oh, being a knight errant of a fae kingdom, but he took it very seriously. That was part of what made him so good at his job, and such a skilled alchemist.

“Good,” said the High King. “You are both excused.”

He was turning back to Arden as I yanked Walther through the portal, which slammed closed behind us. She was probably going to get a lecture, and I was fine with that. She'd disrupted my evening and caused me to be compelled to attend a political event. She deserved to be yelled at a little.

The night air was warm and scented with my neighbors' honeysuckle, which was blooming so violently that
it seemed likely to rip down the trellis where it grew. I let go of Walther's hand, coughing as I inhaled a great lungful of smoggy mortal air.

“I appreciate the save,” he said, pulling his glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. They were nonprescription, intended to blunt the unnatural blue of his eyes. The color bled through his human disguises, making him seem inhuman no matter how hard he tried. “I had no idea how I was going to get out of that room.”

“I sort of figured,” I said. “Do we need to give you a ride home? May and Jazz don't know that I'm back yet. I could probably sneak away.”

“I have my own transportation.” Walther reached into his coat and pulled out a bundle of yarrow twigs, holding them up with a wry smile. “It's a nice offer, but I'd like some time to think about what just happened.”

“Sure,” I said. “Come by any time, and I guess I'll see you at the conclave, whenever that is.”

He nodded. “See you there.” Then he positioned the bundle of twigs so that it was basically under his butt, kicked off from the ground, and flew away.

Sometimes life in Faerie is deeply, deeply weird. I unlocked the back door and let myself inside.

The kitchen was a disaster zone. Empty pizza boxes were piled on the counter, someone had spilled nacho cheese on the table, and May was in the process of mixing a batch of Rice Krispie treats, if the smell of hot marshmallow was anything to go by. She blinked when she saw me. I blinked back.

“I was gone for less than an hour,” I said. “How did you make this big of a mess? And where's Jazz?”

“At the store; we ran out of ice cream,” said May. “As for ‘how did we make this big of a mess,' there are five—count them,
five
—teenagers in the other room who were told that for tonight, they got to be normal. Not in charge of anything, not afraid of anything, not learning how to exist in a strange new world, just normal. So they tore
through the kitchen like a buzz saw, made nachos when they realized that we'd foolishly failed to order enough pizza for an army, and now they're in the living room watching Disney movies.”

Her voice rose a bit on the last two words, breaking like she was struggling not to laugh. My eyes widened. “Oh, sweet Maeve, you're not serious.”

“I am.” She nodded solemnly. “I am serious. They are enjoying the animated stylings of the Walt Disney Corporation. Dean has never seen a cartoon before.”

“He had Internet in the Undersea.”

“Sure, but he lacked the cultural context to tell him why he should want to waste his time watching movies about things that weren't real.” May glanced to the kitchen door as she lost her battle against her grin. It spread across her face like she was in the process of becoming a Cheshire cat, until it seemed like she was nothing but the smile. “That poor, unfortunate soul.”

“Yeah, his mother's going to kill us.” I walked over and stole a finger-scoop of Rice Krispie treat.

Dean's mother, Dianda Lorden, was the Duchess of Saltmist, the neighboring Undersea demesne. She was also a Merrow, which meant that in human terms, she was a mermaid—just like humans would lump me, Arden, and Walther all under the banner of “elf,” if they knew that we existed. Dianda was amiably violent, as seemed to be the norm among Undersea nobles. She was either going to find us showing her son
The Little Mermaid
hysterically funny or incredibly offensive and, sadly, I didn't know which way she was likely to go.

“What happened with Arden?” May sounded concerned. I couldn't blame her.

“Good job waiting to ask that until I'd been home for five minutes,” I said. I took a breath. “Remember how she said the High King was coming next week, so she needed to wake Madden and her brother up now if she wanted to be certain she'd be able to give them the cure?”

May nodded. “It was less than an hour ago, so yes.”

“She woke Madden up. That was all we had time for before the High King walked in.”

May audibly gasped. “He's already here?”

“Yeah,” I said grimly. “He's not going to punish her for waking Madden, but he's forbidden her to wake Nolan. As for me, my punishment for helping her go against his wishes is attending the conclave—
with
Quentin. I'm guessing he was planning to convince-slash-command me to do that anyway, since this is the sort of thing Quentin really ought to see. Doesn't mean I'm thrilled. What's the dress code for a conclave?”

“Since you're unlanded and attending as a witness and observer, you should be fine with whatever you'd normally wear to a court function,” said May. “Bring your knife, but be prepared to surrender it at the door.”