“One of my maidservants stopped off at your quarters to clean and remove the laundry, as is only proper within a noble household. She was sparing you the effort of performing such menial chores yourself. But in her attempts to gather the washing, she found this.” Rhys unfolded his arms and gestured at one of the guards. The woman—whose face didn’t betray a flicker of emotion—moved to pick up a small chest from the edge of the dais. She turned back to us, holding up the chest like it was supposed to mean something.
Apparently it did, to at least one member of my little posse: Walther groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with one hand as he said, “That’s mine. It’s not treasonous for an alchemist to carry his supplies with him.”
“But it is treasonous for an alchemist to serve the deposed rulers of this land.” Rhys leaned over, opened the chest, and pulled out an amethyst bottle. It looked like it had been carved from a single impossibly large stone, with gold filigree around the top and bottom. Rhys held it up like it was proof of a crime. “Or do you deny that this is yours as well?”
“I am a cousin of the Yates family,” said Walther. “I never claimed I wasn’t. I never changed my last name—the only line of Tylwyth Teg to go by ‘Davies’ has long been known as related to the Yates line. But I don’t serve them. I didn’t come here to overthrow you. My service is to the Kingdom of the Mists, and I am here as Sir Daye’s private alchemist, to supply whatever potions or posies she requires.”
“I need a lot of potions and posies,” I said. “My complexion isn’t great—human blood, you know—and my hair gets frizzy when people use too much magic around me. And hoo, boy, you do not want to know about my digestion problems.” I gestured to Quentin. “And my squire over there—you do know that’s my squire, right? That you have detained and restrained my squire, without my permission, despite him being underage and hence my responsibility, rather than someone who’s capable of plotting treason on his own? I’m just checking, I don’t mean to imply that you don’t understand your own rules—anyway, he’s a teenage boy. Acne, weird rashes, chafing, they’re all on the table. You’d travel with your own alchemist, too, if you didn’t own a whole Kingdom full of them.”
Rhys blinked. Whatever response he’d been expecting, it apparently hadn’t been a bucket of refutations and denials.
Then Tybalt stepped forward.
It was a small gesture, as such things go: he moved less than a foot, bringing himself even with me. He didn’t even put himself in front of me. But as soon as he moved, the atmosphere in the room changed. King Rhys stiffened, attention going to Tybalt, and everything went very still.
“It may interest you to know that I have been a King of Cats for several hundred years,” said Tybalt. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Everyone in the room was listening. “During that time, I have had cause to learn much about the Divided Courts. Your quaint ideas of how Oberon would have us treat with one another. Your strange rules and aspirations toward power. I have enjoyed the company of your monarchs, even sat for a time at the High King’s table, back when the Westlands were still a novelty. I have seen corruption, and deceit, and all the other lovely ills to which the monarchy is heir. It is remarkable, really, how much effort you put into damaging the positions you create for yourselves. Does it entertain you? Is this how you fritter away the centuries?”
Rhys frowned. “I am sorry, but I don’t take your meaning.”
“My betrothed announced when she arrived here that she traveled with an alchemist. His relation to the family which once ruled here is public knowledge, as is his contented service in the Mists. He is no revolutionary, no redeemer; just a man who has no claim to the throne you hold, and no desire to hold it. She announced him to you, and now you rummage through his things like a common thief because . . . what reason could you possibly have?” Tybalt’s expression hardened, turning cold, until he was looking at Rhys the way he might look at a mouse. I didn’t see that expression much anymore, and every time I did, I was grateful that it wasn’t directed at me. “Given that you have spoken openly of wanting to exsanguinate Sir Daye in order to use her in your own alchemy, you’ll forgive me if I state that this seems less a matter of protecting your Kingdom, and more one of enriching your treasury through the body of the woman I love. If you do not present further evidence of this ‘treason,’ I shall have to assume I am correct in my reading of the situation—and I shall be forced to take that as any King would take such a thing, were it to be aimed at his lady love. I will take it as a declaration of war.”
“The Court of Cats will not go to war against a throne of Oberon’s declaration just because you bid them to, Your Majesty,” said Rhys. There was an oily coating on his words, making it clear that he thought Tybalt had just given him back the upper hand. “That would be foolish in the extreme, and if there’s one thing the Court of Cats has never been, it’s foolish.”
“I recommend you do not test my resolve unless you are sure you know my people more intimately than I do,” said Tybalt quietly.
Rhys paused. The false Queen, still seated on her throne, wasn’t smiling anymore. In that moment, I knew we’d won—the battle, at least. The war was still ongoing, and it wasn’t going to end until we left Silences. “It is . . . possible there was some mistake regarding the possessions of Sir Daye’s alchemist. It’s true that he announced his surname upon arrival; it’s also true that sometimes my people can be overzealous in their desire to please me. They are very loyal, you understand.” Rhys spoke slowly, choosing his words with much more care than he had only a few moments before.
“I understand loyalty well,” said Tybalt. “Many credit the Cu Sidhe as the most loyal souls in Faerie. Those people have never experienced the loyalty of the Cait Sidhe. Once someone is under our protection, they will remain there for the rest of their days.”
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. If we’ve established that I’m not actually under arrest for harboring a traitor, could someone, I don’t know, let my people go? Because if my squire and my assistant are tied up for one more minute, without valid reason, I’m going to have some really interesting things to say about your Kingdom when I get home.”
Rhys glared at me. I glared back.
Silences might have the bigger army—would definitely have the bigger army, since Rhys wasn’t above using loyalty potions to get people to do what he wanted, while Arden actually had a moral core, however warped it had been by her slapdash upbringing—but it didn’t have bigger allies. If I went back to the Mists with stories of false allegations and abuses against purebloods, stories I could back up by giving blood memories to the Daoine Sidhe attached to the various Courts, we could join their armies to ours. Dianda would never stand for this sort of thing. I was willing to bet that whatever Undersea Duchy bordered on this part of Oregon wouldn’t be too happy about it either. And that didn’t even account for Angels and Golden Shore to the south, or Evergreens to the north, or Falls to the east. There were half a dozen Kingdoms and free Duchies that could become involved with this, if Rhys pushed me into it. Now the only question was . . . was he really that stupid?
Rhys might have gotten his Kingdom through politicking and appointment, but there was a reason he’d been able to hold it for a hundred years. He wasn’t a foolish man. A little hasty, maybe, with the false Queen spitting poison in his ear and making him feel invincible, but not foolish. He looked away, and I knew that we had won.