I blinked at him for the second time in almost as many minutes, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. Finally, I asked, “What, do you mean we shouldn’t listen to changelings because they’re mortal?”
“Precisely so.” Rhys beamed at me like I was a child who had just managed to solve a particularly difficult math problem. “Changelings are temporary creatures, here to go. Fae are permanent. We live forever, and we should plan accordingly.”
“So where do the prohibitions against crossbreeding come from?” My stomach was a solid knot, which solved my worries about the food nicely. I didn’t think I could eat if I wanted to. “If fae are permanent, shouldn’t you just be happy that they’re choosing to have children at all?”
“My lady, beautiful as she is, should answer that question for you,” said Rhys. “Had her mother been Tuatha de Dannan, there would have been no way to steal her heritage from her. Anyone who looked upon her face should have known her for Gilad’s daughter, and known her claim to the throne for the valid thing that it was. Instead, her blood was such a jumble that a deceitful soul was able to pretend she had no claim to her own throne. Can you imagine how much easier Faerie would be if we didn’t blend and blur the forms we were intended to have? It would be the shining beacon it was meant to be, and not this . . . hodge-podge.”
“Is that why there are no fae here with animal parts? Humans are animals, too, you know, and a lot of us sure do look human.” I pulled the pouch of powder Walther had given me out of the bodice of my dress and began sprinkling it over the contents of my plate. Maybe I wasn’t going to be able to choke anything down, but again, it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Humanity is a mask that we are particularly well-suited to wearing,” said Rhys. “Wings and hooves and tails are untidy. They mark their owners as bestial, and while they may find a place in some Courts, they have no place in mine. It’s our duty to stay within the lines drawn by our lost lord and ladies.”
“Really? Because it was good enough for Oberon, you know. He had Cait Sidhe in his Court.” And Roane, and Swanmays. “Pretty sure he banged a cat, even, since that’s where the Cait Sidhe came from.”
Rhys made an expression of distaste. “There’s no need to be vulgar.”
I glanced to the table where Quentin and Tybalt sat. They were pushing food around their half-empty plates in a way that I recognized from my time with Gillian. She’d been a toddler when we lived together, and she had been an expert at moving food around her plate without letting it get anywhere near her mouth. I looked back to Rhys.
“Do you think Tybalt is bestial?”
The King of Silences paused, pursing his lips. He clearly knew that whatever answer he gave me, I was going to relay it to my fiancé; he just as clearly didn’t want to start a second war, this one between his Kingdom and the Court of Cats. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer. Come on, I thought. Show me how much of a bigot you really are. Hating changelings affected me personally, but it was almost accepted within Faerie: it was the sort of bigotry that no one would question, especially not when it was coming from a King. Even looking down on the Cait Sidhe was generally accepted.
But there are limits.
“I think he is a fine monarch for his own Court,” said Rhys finally. “I have heard little of the Cait Sidhe of San Francisco that would lead me to think them anything other than the very best and brightest among their own kind. Do I think their kind should mix with the rest of the fae? No. I’ve never made any secret of my desire to keep Faerie pure. Please don’t take this as my attempting to discourage your marriage—”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.
“—but the mere fact that you are part human means I can’t be as against it as I normally would be. Your blood is already tainted. It doesn’t need any help from me.”
I stared at him. “Are you real?”
Now it was Rhys’ turn to blink at me. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you a real person? I thought no one really talked like this. My blood isn’t ‘tainted.’ I got it from my parents. My father loved me. Why shouldn’t he have helped make me? And if Tybalt and I have kids, they won’t be tainted either. They’ll be our children, and we’ll love them no matter what their heritage looks like.”
“Really.” The false Queen leaned forward, fixing me with her pale gaze. “Can you truly look at me and say that you won’t pick the humanity out of your babies like a bad line of embroidery, leaving them to grow up immortal and slow, heir to all the glories Faerie has to offer? Overly mixed blood can lead to complications of its own. Will you hold your babies in your arms and condemn them to in-between lives, neither Cait Sidhe nor . . . whatever you are? Tell me lies, October. I promise to pretend that I believe them.”
For a moment, I didn’t say anything at all. Finally, I said, “I am not here to discuss my future children with either one of you. If Tybalt and I decide that we’re going to have kids, we’ll have these conversations the right way: with each other, in private, as a family.”
“You can’t even lie to me.” The false Queen leaned back again, radiating smugness. “You’ll save your children from growing up the way you did, the way I did, and you’ll continue to pretend that Faerie is healthy. But we’ll know the truth, won’t we? You and I, we’ve always known the truth.”
I looked at her for a moment before turning my attention to my plate. I picked up a fork and speared a chunk of potato, the thin gleam of Walther’s counterspell covering the hot fat and rosemary that the potato had been cooked in. I’m sure it was delicious; Rhys wouldn’t have employed any cook who couldn’t handle something as simple as a potato. I didn’t taste anything at all. I was a sea of rage and disorientation, and I didn’t know how to make it stop.
Arden should never have sent me to negotiate for her. Sweet Oberon, I hoped this was part of some incredibly clever plan on her part, that while I was away she was bolstering her defenses and finding ways to stop Rhys’ army at the border, because more and more, I was sure that nothing I did was going to make a difference. I was going to tie myself into knots, and nothing was going to change. This war was going to happen no matter what I did.
“Is my hospitality not to your liking, Sir Daye?” Rhys’ question was mild, but it had teeth, and they were poised to bite. “I’ve promised not to try to change your mind magically. Why does it look as if you aren’t enjoying your food?”
“Sitting with people who think I’m inferior just because my father was human tends to spoil my appetite,” I said. I forced myself to lift my head and meet Rhys’ eyes. “How can you be this cold? We’re all part of Faerie.”
“Ah, but you see, some of us were born to this great and ageless land, and others stumbled into their places by mistake.” He leaned over and speared a piece of pale white melon from the edge of my plate, looking at it contemplatively before he popped it into his mouth. He swallowed, and continued, “Some of us don’t understand how to honor hospitality or show the proper respect, even when we’re treated better than we deserve. You are an inferior creature in a world full of superior beings, and you can’t even seem to acknowledge that the rest of us are making an effort with every day that we allow you to draw breath.”
“I don’t think Oberon would agree with you.” It was a small, almost pitiable statement, but it was all I had left. Oberon had given us the Law, and the hope chests. Out of all the Three, he was the one who had looked at Faerie and realized that we needed heroes. If anyone would have understood that Faerie needed to be what it was, and not some sterile, perfect mockery of itself, it would have been him.