Finally, he sighed, and looped one arm around my waist. “Take a breath,” he said, and stepped backward, pulling me with him, into the shadows.
The Shadow Roads were the property of the Cait Sidhe, who used them to move from place to place without being seen. Even changeling Cait Sidhe could access them, which explained how some cats could appear and disappear at will. So far as I knew, I was one of very few non-feline individuals to have spent much time in the freezing dark behind the shadows the Cait Sidhe used for transport. Distance was shortened on the Shadow Roads, but not always in a straight line. We ran through Arden’s knowe, choosing speed to keep ourselves from freezing. It was a brief trip, thankfully; after no more than ten steps Tybalt was pulling us back into the light, emerging into a broad redwood-and-glass hallway, in front of a pair of double doors guarded by Tylwyth Teg in the royal colors of the Westlands.
The guards blinked at us. I hunched forward, hands on my knees, shivering, and put up a hand to signal them to wait. Tybalt, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, looking like he’d just been out for a stroll. I knew better—it didn’t take as much out of him to pull me through the shadows as it had before I learned to run there without resisting, but it was still an effort. He no longer pretended to be untouchable when we were alone. It was probably hurting him to pretend that he was fine, but he would never willingly show weakness among the Divided Courts.
It was a gift that he would show weakness to me.
“Just give us a second,” I said, directing my words toward the floor, since the floor didn’t require me to lift my head. “Are the High King and High Queen up?”
“What is your business here?” demanded one of the guards.
Okay. That required lifting my head. “My name is October Daye, Knight of Lost Words, hero of the realm, tasked by your bosses to find out what the hell is going on at this conclave. We were polite in appearing in the hall, rather than inside the royal quarters, which I’m pretty sure I have permission to do, what with the whole ‘please fix this’ command they gave me. So are they up, or am I going to tell them I couldn’t provide the update they asked for because you weren’t paying attention during the conclave yesterday?”
The guards exchanged an uneasy look, and I realized two things. First, that they didn’t look familiar: they had probably been guarding this door during the conclave, and wouldn’t have seen me speaking to the group. Second, that if they were that much older than Quentin, I would eat my shoe. This was probably their first “real” assignment.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” I said, straightening up. “It’s been a long day, and it’s going to be a longer night. Are they up?”
“Yes,” said one of the guards. “Please wait here.”
The guard who’d spoken opened the door and slipped inside, leaving the other to watch me and Tybalt uneasily. Tybalt pushed away from the wall and moved to stand behind me, putting one hand on the curve of my hip as he fell into position. It was a small, reassuring weight, and I stood a little straighter, knowing that no matter what, he had my back.
The remaining guard watched us for a moment more before asking, in a careful tone, “Pardon me, Sir Daye, but your companion, is he . . . ?”
“Tybalt, King of the Court of Dreaming Cats, and betrothed to Sir Daye,” said Tybalt. He couldn’t have sounded smugger if he’d been trying—and I’d known him long enough to know that sometimes, he tried. He was a cat, after all. “Don’t look so surprised. Cats may have their lapses in judgment, just like everyone else.”
“Maybe don’t say these things when my elbows are so close to your kidneys,” I suggested genially.
Tybalt laughed.
The door opened and the second guard emerged, pulling the door wider in the process. “Her Majesty, High Queen Maida of the Westlands, welcomes you.”
“Excellent,” I said. I walked forward, Tybalt following, and stepped into the largest receiving room I’d ever seen in anything short of a knowe’s main hall. If the Luidaeg’s suite was bigger than my old apartment, this one was bigger than my entire house. The décor matched the redwood-and-stained-glass theme of the rest of the estate. Unlike the Luidaeg’s suite, the walls were solid, preventing the morning light from waking the occupants. The ceiling continued upward into a belled dome; while it was stained glass, it was all shades of dark blue, spangled with colored moons and constellations, like a grander version of the hallway.
“Whoa,” I said.
“That’s what I said,” said Maida, rising from the chaise longue where she’d been eating her breakfast. She was wearing a long silver dressing gown that almost matched her hair, and her brief smile faded as she moved toward me. “What news?”
“First, a question, since I was sort of busy. Did Arden tell you about Duchess Dianda Lorden?”
Maida nodded. “The Duchess Lorden was elf-shot in her quarters yesterday, after the conclave had concluded. We were notified both due to the attack, and due to the request that we open the walls long enough to allow a healer to come inside.”
“Good. Just checking. I was able to enter her dreams, with the assistance of Karen Brown and the Luidaeg, and speak with Dianda—who is not happy, by the way. Like, I recommend whoever wakes her be wearing protective clothing, because she’s likely to wake up swinging.”
“We can’t wake her,” said Maida. Her face smoothed into neutrality, and for the first time, I felt like I was having a private audience with the High Queen. “We must be seen to show no favor for those who are our allies, and while Saltmist is not allied with the Westlands, it has worked in alliance with the Mists. We regret what has happened to the Duchess Lorden, but—”
“But because whoever shot her could stand up and use this to prove it doesn’t matter what the conclave decides, since anyone who’s an ally of the Mists will always have access to the cure, she needs to stay asleep for now,” I said. “I got that part. What I’m getting at is that we know who shot her. Dianda saw them. It was Duke Michel of Starfall.”
“Do you have proof?”
“I do,” I said. “It’s called ‘you’re the High Queen, and your husband is the High King, and either of you can command Duke Michel to give you three drops of blood to verify a claim against him.’ Which, by the way, I am happy to make, and Patrick Lorden will be happy to support.”
“Her husband? Won’t that seem a bit, well, biased?”
“Blood has no bias. Tell Duke Michel you need to clear the charges before the conclave can continue, and he doesn’t get to say that it’s unfair, because you’re in charge of the continent.” I shook my head. “If we don’t do this, we run the risk of it continuing to happen.”
“But why? Duchess Lorden was in favor of sharing the cure, as was Duke Michel.”
I paused. “That’s what he said. People can lie. Blood can’t lie, but people can. Maybe he doesn’t want the cure getting out at all, and so he did this, because he wins either way. If we wake her, he can call the conclave a sham. I’m assuming if there were a mass exodus of offended nobles, the cure would be suppressed?”
Maida nodded slowly. “For at least another year, while it was discussed behind closed doors. We don’t need the support of the people to release it, but it would go easier if we had it. People get funny ideas about democracy these days.”
“So there’s a guaranteed delay. And if we don’t wake her, now Michel knows he can erode the vote by shooting people. Faerie isn’t a democracy, but most of us are used to having our opinions matter at least a little, and I’m betting that goes double for kings and queens.”