I stayed where I was, looking after him.
“Was there a point to that?” asked Mags. She sounded annoyed.
“We pretty much knew from the Luidaeg that they were bound by the same person, but I wanted it confirmed. And I wanted to see whether Simon would tell me the truth.”
“But he didn’t tell you anything,” Mags protested.
“Sure he did,” I said. “If he’d been lying to me, a ‘no’ would have cost him nothing.” I turned back to Tybalt and Quentin. “Put on your studying shoes, boys. We’ve got work to do.”
NINE
IT WAS DIFFICULT TO focus on research with the ghost of Simon Torquill hanging over us, an unwanted presence we could neither dispel nor deny. Worrying about the Luidaeg made it even harder, until focus seemed like a beautiful dream. I sat on the Library’s antique couch with the bulky census open on my knees, running my finger down columns of names and trying to associate them with faces dredged from the dusty recesses of my mind. Quentin was settled next to me, going through a box of dusty sheets of loose-leaf paper that Mags had fetched from wherever it was that historical records went to die. He had refused to split the burden, insisting that his knowledge of the political divides within the Mists would be more useful than Tybalt’s actual observation of the Court. I had refused to get involved, and in the end, Tybalt had ceded the point.
I sort of wished he hadn’t, since in the absence of anything else that needed to be reviewed, Tybalt was pacing around the edges of the room-sized square where we were working. It was getting on my nerves, quite honestly, but my attempts to convince him he should maybe go elsewhere had met with disdain.
“Do you honestly believe that, after you have encountered Count Torquill not once but twice in a single day, I’ll allow you to ask me to leave your side?” he had asked, eyes blazing. “I’m not sure how relationships are commonly conducted in this modern age, but I am absolutely certain that a proper suitor does not leave his lady to be turned into a fish because she would feel more ‘comfortable’ were he elsewhere.”
That had settled the matter. Tybalt only got that formal with me when he was really unhappy. I was a little uncomfortable with his pacing, but as he would clearly have been extremely uncomfortable leaving me—even in the Library, where I was supposed to be safe—I didn’t press the issue.
Mags came and went, mostly to make sure we hadn’t started eating the books while she was taking care of her filing. I was still a little pissed about her not having warned us that Simon was there, so I didn’t have much to say to her. Maybe it was unfair of me, but hey. I’m part of Faerie, and Faerie isn’t fair.
“I’ve never heard of half these people,” said Quentin glumly, picking up another stack of loose pages. The motion dislodged a patch of pixie-sweat, and for a moment, we were both distracted by sneezing.
When the air finally cleared, I wiped my nose and said, “If your records are anything like mine, I’ve got a partial reason for that: like you said, the census doesn’t count changelings, and we’re not that transitory. Devin isn’t in here, and he was in the Kingdom before the 1906 earthquake. I’m not in here either, but Mom is, and she’s listed as ‘bride of Simon, mother of August.’” I shook my head, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice as I said, “All these thrice-cursed years of people withholding information from me, and all I had to do was drop by my local Library and ask for the phone book.”
“Ah, but first you had to find someone with a Library card and earn their trust enough that they would share its graces with you,” said Tybalt, as his pacing brought him close enough for conversation. “Sadly, ‘all those years’ were vital parts of your unintentional master plan. The Court of Cats will not be listed on those rolls either. We do not take part in the petty schemes of the Divided Courts.”
“Like the census?” I shot him a venomous look. “Did I tell you recently just how good you are at not being even remotely helpful?”
“Ah, but you see, I am exceedingly helpful.” He leaned in to kiss the top of my head. “As long as your aggravation has a safe target, you’ll keep focusing on your work, and not become too frustrated to continue. I am the most helpful thing in this room.”
“I resent that,” said Quentin.
“Many men have resented me in their days, young prince,” said Tybalt. “Be proud of the legacy you have joined.”
“Tybalt, don’t taunt my squire,” I said. “Quentin, don’t kill my boyfriend. Both of you, shut up and let me work.”
Tybalt laughed and resumed pacing. I shook my head, sinking deeper into the couch. At least one of us was happy.
I’d managed to make it through the census of Golden Gate and halfway through the census of Dreamer’s Glass before Quentin spoke again. “There are too many names,” he said. “We’re going to be here forever, and since we don’t know for sure who Simon and the Luidaeg both know, we can’t really eliminate anyone.”
“And since there are no changelings on the list, we’re missing a whole swath of potential candidates.” I leaned forward, pinching the bridge of my nose. “We don’t have time for this. We’re not going to be able to figure it out this way, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Do you really think it could be a changeling?” asked Mags. I looked up to find her standing at the edge of the workspace, another pile of books in her arms. “I mean . . . I’m not trying to sound dismissive or anything, but most changelings couldn’t power a geas as strong as the one you described. It would burn their hearts to ashes in their chests.”
“Chelsea Ames,” I said. “She was a changeling strong enough to rip a door to Annwn in the walls of the world. You can’t write changelings off just because most of us aren’t that powerful. Some of us break all the rules, and that means there’s no universally right answer.”
“Maybe Mags is on to something, though,” said Quentin. “We’re looking at the census of the Kingdom’s fae, right? Minus the changelings and the Cait Sidhe and I guess anyone who didn’t feel like being counted.”
“Right,” I said.
“Yes,” Mags said.
“Blind Michael isn’t on here,” Quentin said.
It was enough of a curveball that I paused for a moment, trying to adjust to this new information. It wasn’t happening. Frowning, I said, “That doesn’t surprise me—he didn’t technically live in this Kingdom since he had his own skerry. What are you getting at?”
“I guess just that there are people who have contact with this Kingdom all the time, but manage to stay outside of it. What if Dianda cast the geas? Patrick is listed, but she’s not. It could be almost anyone from the Undersea.”
“No, kidnapping isn’t their style.” I didn’t have to think about the words before I said them. The denizens of the Undersea might slit your throat or invade your lands, but they wouldn’t kidnap your children. That simply wasn’t how business was done down there. “Also, if Simon’s employer had been someone from the Undersea, turning me into a fish wouldn’t have saved me. It would have put me on the menu.”
“It can’t have been Blind Michael,” said Quentin. “He doesn’t fit the ‘living’ part of the description.”
“Well, I don’t think Acacia would have arranged to have her own daughter and grandchild kidnapped and imprisoned,” I said. “She was too happy to see Luna again when we broke Michael’s Ride.”
Mags was staring at us, open-mouthed. I shot her a curious look. She recovered her composure enough to say, “I just—you people talk of the First as if they were commonplace, as if we should all be seeing them on a regular basis and having them over for tea. It’s so strange. Even in my youth, the First were rare creatures, better left to someone else’s story than drawn into your own.”