A Killing Frost Page 36

Arden blinked before glancing to the Luidaeg, who was, I supposed, the closest thing we had to an arbiter of the custom’s intent available to us. She was older than Amandine, enough so that she would presumably know. She was also, technically, a neutral party in this endeavor.

  The murmurs that had spread through the room when Mom was declared as Firstborn were starting to die down. The Luidaeg nodded. “The girl is allowed to face her father,” she said.

  The crowd to her left parted, and Simon Torquill stepped to the front.

  He was looking better than he had been. His clothes were still shabby, the cuffs carefully mended; given that he’d been a guest in Saltmist for the past week, I had to assume that was by choice, rather than by necessity. The hollows of his cheeks had filled out somewhat, and the dark circles under his eyes were virtually gone. He’d been sleeping and eating for once, and he looked more like his brother than ever.

  “I’m here,” he said.

  August turned to him. “Daddy?” she said, in a hopeful tone.

  “Yes, pigeon, it’s me,” he said.

  “But the Luidaeg . . .” August frowned, brow furrowing. “The terms of my debt—how can you be here?”

  “It was your sister,” he said, sidestepping the actual question. “She found a way to settle my accounts with the Luidaeg and bring me home.”

  August moved then, running across the floor and throwing herself into his arms, locking her own arms around his chest in an embrace more than a hundred years in the making. “I missed you,” she wailed. “The tower is so cold without you. Come home. Don’t do this. Come home.”

  “Oh, pigeon.” He ran his thumb down the slope of her cheek, pulling her attention to his face. “You know I can’t do that. Your mother doesn’t want me there, or she would have been the one to bring me home. She would at least have tried. I’m tired. I want to be away from all this fuss and bother. I’m finished with Firstborn.”

  “Well, then I—”

  “Will declare for your mother, as we both know you must,” he said firmly. “She’d follow you forever if you tried to go with me. She’d never leave either of us in peace. And if you want to learn everything your bloodline is capable of, you need to stay with your First. The beginning of a line has always remained with its First. Be her daughter, my dearest, as you’ve always been, and let me love you from afar.”

  “Is this normal?” asked Arden, sotto voce.

  “What?” I murmured back.

  “A parent trying to convince one of the kids not to choose them.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a pureblood divorce before.” I paused. “Wait, haven’t you done this before?”

  “No.” Arden shook her head. “They’re rare, and I was a child. I don’t even remember my father conducting a divorce.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  August was still clinging to Simon. “I know enough, and you’ve taught me more about blood magic than she ever bothered,” she said. “I don’t think she understands everything I can do. I don’t think she cares. Daddy, I’m lonely. She doesn’t know how to be a mother. She only knows how to be an owner. I can’t do this. I can’t lose you.”

  Simon closed his eyes, looking pained. “Are you asking me to stay with your mother?”

  “Well, he can’t,” said Dianda, not bothering to keep her voice low. Heads turned toward her. She glared at them all, the expression unfettered and all-encompassing. Dianda had plenty of irritation to share with the world, and she didn’t care who claimed a portion. “He’s made promises, and he’s going to keep them, or he’s going to have to answer to me.”

  Simon opened his eyes, looking briefly, miserably amused, which was a neat trick. “Yes, dear,” he said, not letting go of August. “I can’t stay with your mother, dearest. Duchess Lorden is correct: I have made promises. Even if I hadn’t, your mother would never forgive me for embarrassing her here today. She’d make me miserable forever if I tried to come back. What’s done is done. I’ve made my choice.”

  “Well, so have I,” said August, and pulled away from her father. She kept her eyes on him as she straightened, and said loudly, “I declare my line for Simon Torquill. I shall only ever be of his descent, and Oberon’s, for I cannot set my blood aside.”

  Amandine made an unspeakable screeching noise, starting to rush forward. She stopped as a pair of strong arms closed around her from behind, leaving her unable to move forward.

  The man who had stepped out of the crowd behind her was nondescript, ordinary-looking to the point of becoming extraordinary. When I glanced away from him, his face immediately slipped my mind, so that he seemed to be someone new when I looked back. Only the antlers on his brow kept him from being entirely forgettable. That, and the fact that hard as Amandine fought against him, she couldn’t break away.

  “Peace,” he said, and his voice was a command none of us could resist. All around the room, people calmed. Even Dianda lost her glare. The Luidaeg smiled at him beatifically and walked toward Amandine.

  “This is yours,” she said. “You planted it and nurtured it, and now it’s come to harvest. Your daughters reject you because you never learned to love anyone who wasn’t yourself, and maybe that’s partially on us, your siblings, for trusting you to find your own way, but that’s how our parents raised us, and we didn’t make the same choices you did. The rituals of divorce were laid out long ago, and August has the right to make her own decision.”

  August was clinging to Simon again, sobbing like her heart was broken as he stroked her hair. The Luidaeg made a small gesture with her hand. The man, who I had to assume was Oberon, let Mom go and melted back into the crowd, vanishing without a ripple. Mom snarled but didn’t try to lunge again, just stood where she’d been left and glared at her older sister.

  “I won’t forget this,” she spat. “She’s my daughter. Mine.”

  “Not anymore she’s not,” said the Luidaeg. “The children have chosen; the divorce is done. This marriage is no longer recognized in the eyes of Oberon and will not be reestablished without full consent of all parties involved. Even if it were to be, the lines now sundered will not be restored. Done is done. The lines stand as drawn. Amy, you’re free to go. We’re finished with you, and what comes next is not for your eyes.”

  Mom straightened and stomped her foot. “I have not forsaken my heritage,” she said. “I am Oberon’s own daughter, and I will not be expelled from this place against my will.”

  “Funny,” said the Luidaeg. “I’m also Oberon’s own daughter, and I say you should go. You’re not wanted, Amy. You have no descendant line to stand for you, and my power is in transformation—your blood’s weakness. Unless you want to be a fern for a while, which might improve your disposition, but probably wouldn’t be great for your mental stability. Go home, Amy. Lick your wounds and try to figure out why this happened to you. Something’s wrong when all your children choose their father, even the ones who aren’t actually related to him.”

  Mom looked at her for a long moment, squeezing her hands into fists, looking mulish and angry. Then she spun on her heel and marched away, the crowd opening before her to let her pass. I glimpsed the man with the antlers watching sadly as she walked away. Then he faded into the background, and she was gone.

  The Luidaeg clapped her hands, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. Not that she could lose it for long. All these people might know that Mom was a Firstborn now, but they weren’t used to it, not the way they were used to fearing and respecting the sea witch. She beamed, showing teeth that were closer to a barracuda’s than a human woman’s.

  “As for the rest of you, please remain where you are,” she said brightly. “I am Antigone of Albany, better known as the sea witch, or the Luidaeg, and it is my honor to stand before you now and conduct a wedding that has been a very long time in the coming.”

  I shot an alarmed glance at Tybalt. He shook hi
s head. This hadn’t been his doing.

  “Will Patrick Twycross-Lorden, late of Tremont, currently of Saltmist, please step forward?”

  Patrick did so, his simple tunic and trousers melting into something more formal as he moved. It wasn’t quite a tuxedo—that’s a tradition that hasn’t caught on with the purebloods, sadly—but it was a well-fitted suit that was probably an ancestor of the modern formal option. The arms of Saltmist were stitched above his heart, the only splash of real color against the burgundy and brown.

  “Will Dianda Lorden, Duchess of Saltmist, please step forward?”

  Dianda moved to stand beside her husband, taking his hand, and together, they walked to stand in front of the Luidaeg. Both were smiling, both utterly relaxed.

  The Luidaeg smiled at them. “Will Simon Torquill, once of Londinium, once of Shadowed Hills, please step forward?”

  Simon extricated himself from August, who watched with confusion as he approached the Luidaeg. His own clothing shifted to match Patrick’s, minus the arms of Saltmist. He stopped on Patrick’s free side, and the two of them joined hands.

  Dean moved closer to Quentin, leaning his head on the other teen’s shoulder. I guess that answered the question of whether he was okay with this.

  “Land and sea are not often joined,” said the Luidaeg, addressing the three people in front of her. “Shipwrecks are more common than survivors. Why should Faerie honor your request to expand your bridal bed?”

  “Simon Torquill is the only person in this world I’ve loved longer than I’ve loved my wife. She has never had the whole of my heart, nor has she pursued it,” said Patrick. “We would have included him when we were first wed, had he not been married to a woman who didn’t share.”

  “I knew when I allowed Patrick to court me that he came as a package deal with the man he called ‘brother’ only because Amandine forbade him to use the word ‘lover,’” said Dianda. “I’ve survived a century in the Undersea with a Daoine Sidhe by my side. I can handle a few centuries more with two of them.”

  “I don’t have a good argument for you,” said Simon. “I can only tell you that I’ve loved Patrick Lorden longer than I’ve loved anyone else, except for Amy and August, and I can’t be with Amy anymore. I need a place to rest. I need peace. Dianda and I may not love each other yet, but I have faith that we will. Just give us the time we need.”

  “Are your sons in attendance today?” asked the Luidaeg.

  Dianda nodded. “They are.”

  Dean lifted his head from Quentin’s shoulder, and called, “I’m here.”

  From the crowd behind me, another voice called, “I’m here as well.” Peter Lorden stepped forward.

  “Do you think I should allow your parents to wed another?”

  “I do,” said Dean. “As the one with a right to claim offense against the man, I think the punishment he deserves is my mother.”

  “If they want to, I don’t see why it’s up to me,” said Peter.

  The Luidaeg nodded. “Very well.” She turned to Simon. “Your daughters are here. Do you think they’ll agree to your remarriage when your divorce still hangs in the air?”

  “I already agreed,” I called.

  “I . . . I can’t,” said August. “But I can’t say no, either. I just want my father to be happy.”

  “This will be a harder one to end,” said the Luidaeg warningly. “Divorce is complicated when there are three lines to choose between. The children you each already have will be bound only to the parents they’ve known; the children yet to come will have hard decisions to make.”

  “This marriage isn’t ending,” said Dianda. “Now will you marry us or not?”

  While the idea of Dianda Lorden deciding to assault the Luidaeg was an entertaining one, it wasn’t anything I wanted to watch today. Tybalt slid his arms around my waist. I folded my hands over his, holding him in place as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

  “I will,” said the Luidaeg, and smiled. “The three of you have presented a compelling case for why this should be permitted, and love is rare enough in Faerie that I trust you to nurture and care for it. Dianda, if you’d lied and claimed to already love him, I would have denied you, but you want to tend a garden as yet fallow, and I respect your ambition. Patrick, you have been faithful to two people for over a hundred years. Simon, beloved failure . . . you deserve the chance to rest. By the power once granted to me by my father and never yet rescinded, I now declare you husbands and wife.”

  Patrick actually cheered before turning to kiss first Dianda and then Simon. All three of them seemed to stand a little straighter.

  Amandine was furious. Oberon was back, and no one knew it yet but a handful of people who understood the scope of the secret we were keeping. Evening was too powerful asleep and too powerful awake and not as isolated as we wanted her to be. Dianda and Patrick were going to have to contend with an unexpected stepdaughter now that August had chosen the Torquill line over the Carter one.

  But those were all problems for tomorrow. Right now, we watched and clapped as Cassandra oversaw the wheeling out of a massive six-tiered wedding cake, and while things were still terribly broken, they were a little bit better than they had been before I’d gone looking for the man who was now, in the eyes of Faerie, my only legal parent.

  Tybalt slipped his hands into mine, pulling me onto the dance floor, and I smiled at him. Sometimes you just have to take the win.

  Sometimes a little bit better is enough.

  Read on for a brand-new novella by Seanan McGuire:

  SHINE IN PEARL

  I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold.

  —William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus

  PATRICK

  October 23, 1901

  SIXTY YEARS IS NOT such a long time, as measured by the immortal, but it can be the better part of forever, as measured by the human world. Since my courtship of Dianda had properly begun, the city of San Francisco had exploded around me in a riot of new growth, buildings springing up virtually overnight, streets established where anyone reasonable would have been loath to cut a channel. The humans seemed to have no sense of restraint when it came to stacking their homes, one atop the next, or slicing their thoroughfares into the sides of hills steep enough to stop the stoutest heart.

  When an architect warned against their choices—which was surprisingly rarely; the boldness of human planners was only exceeded by the brazen bravery of their builders—they were as like to be dismissed from their position and replaced by someone with less of a sense of the possible. There was no advantage to speaking against the plans of someone with the money to support their wild notions.

  I am the son of a land where clouds, water, notes of music, and airy shadows are considered reasonable building materials, and even I was quite sure that these people were teetering on the verge of madness.

  Sixty years had transformed the city into something vaster and crueler and more tamed, forcing many of the nobility to relocate the entrances to their knowes to less accessible places. The maturing park at the city’s center had been declared neutral ground, allowing the common people and changelings to have a place they could call their own, while the nobility agreed to keep their distance. Rumor was that an Undine who had been close to Amandine during her misguided youth—if she could ever be said to have had a “misguided youth,” having met and married Simon far too young to be seemly—was intending to root a knowe there to offer them additional safety and succor.

  My own reputation was in tatters already, thanks to my “inappropriate” choices and habits, or I would have offered her any aid she desired. I might do so anyway, assuming she was able to negotiate the land grant required. Before she had the King’s approval, my intervention would do naught but harm her chances, and I preferred not to be a millstone around another’s throat. I had been enough of a millstone around my own.


  At least I knew my lady’s chances and choices had been in no way hampered by my presence. I had spent too many nights on the edge of the dock, the wind tying knots in the unfashionably short strands of my hair, with my eyes fixed on the horizon, which once seemed so fair and aspirational, and now seemed so utterly inescapable.

  It always came back to the sea.

  It has always, for me, come back to the sea. All the days that I can remember, even down to my childhood in the gilded halls of distant Tremont, have been haunted by the rushing of the water and the crashing of the waves. My mother used to take me to the shore to play among the driftwood and spindrift debris of the tide, laughing at the sight of me chasing after the waves as if I could catch them and keep them captive in my hands.

  I had been disabused of such childish habits as I grew, taught to better behave myself and sit properly decorous among the halls of my social superiors—which was almost all of my own kind, as most Daoine Sidhe pursue power at the expense of all other things, making my status as a landless Baron barely better than common in their eyes. I had taken little of value from my time in those halls. Only a stiffened spine, a tendency to begin twitching when someone mentioned the proper pairing of wine and cheese, and Simon.

  His value was enough to balance the rest of it. I had suffered in those horrible halls solely to put myself into the path of the best friend I would ever be fortunate enough to have. Simon Torquill was the finest of men and the closest of companions, and like me, had been born into a family with less power to grant than he deserved, although unlike me, he had desired more than he was given.

  While I had always been more than happy to be a quiet afterthought, shadowed by my parents until my presence became a burden and then removing myself to a Kingdom as far from their halls as the geography of the continent allowed, Simon yearned to shine. His brother, the hero, cast a long shadow, and his sister, who I had gleaned offered him some light during their childhood, had remained in Europe with her husband when her brothers immigrated to the new world. He never spoke of his parents. Whoever they were, or perhaps had been, they were but a mystery to me.