One Salt Sea Read online

  “Luidaeg?”

  The sound of her name seemed to snap her out of it. She shook her head, repeating, “Three. Mixed blood can be unstable, depending on how distant the mix is. If two of Daddy’s descendants hook up, it doesn’t really matter what bloodline they’re from. If one of them decides to get it on with one of Mom’s descendants, well. There’s the potential for a lot of crazy.”

  “Like changeling madness?”

  “Exactly like changeling madness. We just don’t see as much of it in the mixed-bloods, because most of them either learn to hide it or get killed off. Some combinations are stable. Others, not so much. Most people aren’t happy when the nobility decides to risk it.”

  “Right,” I said, feeling slightly numb as I reviewed all the mixed-bloods I could think of. Sylvester’s niece, January O’Leary, had a little bit of Tylwyth Teg blood and had been a little bit crazy. Devin was a changeling, but he was also a mixed-blood. And then there was Oleander, and Rayseline . . . “If Dianda and Patrick got married a hundred years ago, why is it a big deal now?”

  “Someone’s been threatening to kill their children.”

  I nearly dropped my coffee. “What?” The claim was so outrageous that I had trouble giving it credit, but the Luidaeg had never lied to me. She’s alien even among the fae, and too old to think in a way anyone less than a thousand really understands, but she wasn’t a liar.

  Children are precious in Faerie, regardless of their heritage, and we don’t have enough of them to go around making threats. Blind Michael had been protected by the fact that he was Firstborn and scarier than anyone wanted to deal with. Even that wouldn’t have saved him if he’d taken his tithes more often. Offering to kill a noble’s kids is a good way to find out how many armed guards that noble can command—and how many soldiers their friends have.

  “Whoever it is claims to have the Queen’s sanction. I’ve been trying to keep the Lordens from doing anything stupid, but their sons vanished this morning. Dianda and Patrick are scared. Frightened people—frightened parents—can do some incredibly destructive things.” She pulled a slate-colored abalone shell the size of a silver dollar out of the empty air, dropping it on the table between us. “Carry this; if I need you, you’ll know. The wards on my home are set to allow you. Come if you need me. I’ll be there.”

  I’d been so focused on what she was saying that I’d managed to forget why she was saying it. She was calling in my debts. “What do I need to do?” I picked up the shell. It was cold to the touch.

  “You need to help me stop this war.” She stood.

  “Luidaeg, what do you expect me to do? It’s not like I have any experience in war prevention. Why me?”

  “Who else would it be? And all I expect you to do is the best you can. That’s all I ever wanted from your mother, and all I’ve ever asked of you. There’s a gathering tomorrow night at the Queen’s Court. The Lordens are coming to demand their children back; it’s probably going to be their last attempt to prevent the war. The Queen is sending someone to insist you attend as the representative of Goldengreen. Dress nicely. Go armed.”

  “Luidaeg—”

  “People will die if we don’t stop this. You could be one of them. So could I. We still have to do what we can.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen. I stood, shoving the shell into my pocket, and followed her.

  Cagney and Lacey were sitting in front of the door, ears flat and tails lashing. The Luidaeg stopped, looking down at them. “Tell your King he can’t save her this time. My claim comes first, however far that means she has to go.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They know what I mean.” She looked over her shoulder at me as she opened the door and stepped outside. “Be careful. Keep your eyes open. We don’t have time to screw around.”

  “What are you—”

  “Be careful,” she repeated, and closed the door.

  I stared at the door for a moment, and then ran after her, wrenching it open. “Will you stop being obscure for ten seconds and explain yourself?” I demanded.

  Dugan’s hand had been raised to knock. He lowered it. “Er,” he said.

  I sagged, letting go of the doorknob. “Oh,” I said. “It’s you.”

  Dugan Harrow worked for the Queen of the Mists. He was an untitled courtier from Deep Mists, and exactly the sort of prejudiced, arrogant bastard our system of nobility tends to encourage. The last time we “talked,” he was taking a really irritating amount of glee in carting me off to be executed.

  We don’t get along.

  Shaken by my distinctly nonstandard greeting, Dugan cleared his throat and asked, “May I come in?”

  I gave him a weary look. “What time should I be there? Am I supposed to bring an escort?”

  “I, uh . . . seven-thirty. And yes. It’s a formal event, and an escort is recommended.” Sounding unhappy, he added, “I was told to volunteer if—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” I closed the door in his face, snapping the deadbolt into place with a decisive “click.” It was almost dawn; Connor might still be up if I called him soon. That would take care of the escort. As for the rest of it. . .

  Missing children. The Luidaeg calling in my debts. Sometimes I wonder why I ever bother thinking life could be simple. That only happens in fairy tales.

  THREE

  THE PHONE RANG AS I WAS REACHING FOR IT. I grimaced and picked up, mentally making excuses for why I had to hang up immediately. “Hello?”

  “Oh, good. You’re still up.”

  All the tension went out of my shoulders. I slumped against the hallway wall, an involuntary smile tugging at my lips. “Connor, hey. I was just about to call you.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m still up, too.” Connor’s laugh was slightly distracted, like his attention was being pulled in eight directions at once. “Can I see you?”

  “That’s why I was calling. Connor—”

  “Tell me about it when I get there. I’m right down the street.” He hung up before I could object. Not that I’d intended to; I needed a date to the Queen’s Court, and more than that, I needed a friend. I needed Connor.

  Connor O’Dell and I started “dating” when I was a teenager. We broke up because his family said he couldn’t waste his time with a changeling, but we never got over each other, not even when I hooked up with a human man and he wound up in a diplomatic marriage to a crazy woman. I don’t think it surprised anyone when Connor celebrated his annulment by asking me to join him for breakfast. I know it didn’t surprise either of us when I said “yes.”

  Breakfast started at sunset—a perfectly reasonable hour, since fae are primarily nocturnal—and lasted until the restaurant closed. After that, we wandered around the city, holding hands, talking, and remembering why we’d been attracted to each other in the first place. He kissed me good morning on my front porch ten minutes before sunrise, and I pulled him inside so he could kiss me good night. To hell with pleasantries and waiting for people to forget the scandal of his wife’s desertion. We’d waited years, and I wasn’t waiting anymore. Maybe it was a bad idea, but, by Maeve, I’d earned a bad idea or two. We both had.

  I was heading back to the kitchen to get my coffee when there was a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock as I moved to answer it. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were right down the street. That took you what, three minutes?”

  Connor smiled wanly. “I barely remembered to call first.”

  “I would have been happy to see you either way. Come in.”

  I gave him an assessing look as he stepped inside. Connor’s taste in clothes had always run to beachcomber casual, and tonight was no different; he was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, and his feet were bare. The sealskin that kept him tied to his fae nature was tied around his waist with a complicated sailor’s knot. His dappled brown-and-gray hair was fluffed up in that barely-dry way that made me want to comb it down with my fingers until it was tame, or unt
il he distracted me with some tangles of my own.

  Connor caught my appraisal and shook his head. “I got a ride over from a Kelpie. It’s been a long night.”

  If I tried to ride a Kelpie, I’d wind up shredded and devoured before I could blink. “I’m pretty sure this is the calm before the storm.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Connor. He put his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him, and leaned in to kiss me deeply. His lips tasted like kelp and sweetened seawater.

  Connor’s kisses had a way of making even the worst nights seem like they weren’t such a big deal. I melted against him, curling the fingers of one hand through his hair and hooking the fingers of my other hand under the knot on his sealskin belt, effectively pinning him in place. I don’t like the water, but where Connor was concerned, I was willing to make an exception. If he was the sea, I was more than happy to drown.

  I made a dissatisfied whining sound as he broke contact enough to murmur, “You taste like coffee.” His hands had somehow found their way under my shirt, and were tracing delicate lines down my back.

  “There’s a surprise.” I kissed him again before resting my forehead against his, leaving my hands tangled where they were. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “So am I.” His expression turned serious. “Salt and sand, Toby, I don’t know how to say this, but . . .”

  My heart sank. “Saltmist is sending you away, aren’t they?”

  “What?” He pulled away. Heart sinking further, I let him. “Why would you think that?”

  I forced a wry smile, despite the ache in my chest. “You’re wet, and the Luidaeg was here just before you called. Is it really as bad as she thinks? Are you leaving?”

  Connor was quiet for a long moment, dark eyes searching my face. Finally, quietly, he said, “It’s probably worse. I think we’ll be lucky if we don’t go to war. And no, I’m not leaving yet, but . . . I don’t know. I might have to.”

  “Maeve’s teeth.” I pulled my hands free, using them both to rake my hair away from my face. “Are you attending the thing at the Queen’s Court tomorrow night?”

  “I’m still the diplomatic attaché to Shadowed Hills, at least until I’m recalled. I pretty much have to be there,” he said. “Are they summoning the gentry?”

  “Got it in one—you just missed Dugan.”

  Connor’s expression darkened. “That’s probably for the best. I’d rather not cause a diplomatic incident on the eve of war.”

  “I like it when you’re protective,” I said, leaning in close and linking my hands behind his neck. For some reason, my boyfriend didn’t like the man who’d had me carted away in chains. Go figure. “Even if I thought I could get away with playing hooky, the Luidaeg wouldn’t let me. She doesn’t want us to go to war, so apparently, I get to stop it.”

  Connor whistled, long and low. “She doesn’t ask for anything small, does she?”

  “It’s not her style.” I kissed his chin. “What do you say? Be seen in public with me? And maybe vouch for me to the Lordens? This will be easier if they don’t hate me.”

  “I’ll try,” he said, a deep fondness in his voice. “Are you planning to charge out and save the world tonight?”

  “No. I can’t exactly visit the Undersea, and I know where the Lordens will be tomorrow night. I can meet with them then. Besides, it’s late. It’d be nice to start a crisis without a side order of sleep deprivation for once.” Fae society essentially shuts down when the sun comes up. If we were going to go to war, it wouldn’t be until late afternoon at the absolute earliest. Plenty of time for sleep . . . and other things.

  “Can I stay the day?”

  I smiled. “Like I’d let you leave?”

  Connor didn’t answer me in words. Instead, he kissed me hard, lifting my feet off the floor in the process. I responded by kicking off my shoes and locking my legs around his waist, grabbing hold of his sealskin belt again, this time for traction, and kissing him back, trying to grind myself all the way into him. He carried me down the hall like that, kissing me all the while, like he thought I might have forgotten how he felt about me sometime in the last five minutes.

  I barely had the presence of mind to pull one hand free of his hair and slam the bedroom door before any of my pets could follow. I really didn’t care if Cagney and Lacey were spying for Tybalt, but there were some things he just didn’t need reported to him.

  Connor kept backing up until he hit the bed and sat down, leaving me sitting in his lap. I unwound my legs so that I was straddling him, peeling his shirt off over his head at the same time. He was more than willing to help, especially since it meant he could balance the scales by unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it to the floor. I kissed him again while he worked the clasp on my bra with fingers that were surprisingly dexterous, considering that they were webbed all the way to the first knuckle.

  Both of us were naked to the waist when he paused, giving me a sidelong look that made me glad I was already sitting down. I’d waited for a long, long time to see that expression on his face. Now that I saw it on a semi-regular basis, it was one of my favorite things in the world.

  Then his hands were busy with the strap on my knife belt, and I forgot about anything beyond getting both of us as naked as possible, as fast as possible.

  Selkies keep all their magic in the sealskins they carry with them. That meant that no matter what we did, Connor kept his belt somewhere on his body, keeping himself tied to Faerie. I barely even noticed anymore. His jeans joined mine on the floor, and then it was just us, tangled so tightly together that it would have taken an act of Oberon to pull us apart.

  He grunted when he came, the sound a close cousin to a seal’s bark. I just moaned, rocking harder before the movement died. We’d timed things exactly right. The sun was just starting to crest when we pulled apart . . . and then the pressure of sunrise slammed down, burning the magic out of the world.

  I buried my face in Connor’s shoulder, struggling to breathe. Sunrise doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but it still incapacitates me, and it still hurts like a bitch. Connor put his arms around me, holding tight. Skinshifters like the Selkies don’t feel the dawn the way that the rest of us do. It hurts them. It just doesn’t render them completely useless.

  The pressure faded, leaving the air ashy with the taste of dying magic. I coughed, curling against Connor and breathing the reassuring sea-salt scent of his skin as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  The quality of the light filtering through the curtains was dusky when I woke: Lewis Carroll’s classic golden afternoon. The sheets were twisted around my waist, evidence of a restless day’s sleep. Connor stirred beside me. I snuggled against him. “You up?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Good.” I poked him in the shoulder. “It’s already afternoon, sleepyhead.”

  He opened his eyes, smiling drowsily. “Hey,” he said, tugging me closer. This close, his lack of pupils was very evident. His eyes were like a seal’s, dark from side to side. “Did you sleep okay?”

  I answered with a kiss. Connor replied in kind, sliding a webbed hand down my back to cup the swell of my hip. I wasn’t thinking about the coming war, or the fact that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I was only thinking about the sleek line of Connor’s body pressing against me. Selkies have less body hair in their human forms than you’d expect; they’re natural swimmers, streamlined, with the sort of musculature Olympic athletes have to struggle for. He rolled me onto my back, wrapping his fingers around my wrists. The webs between them were as cool as the rest of his skin was hot.

  “How about you?” I asked him sweetly, running the toes of one foot down the side of his leg. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Except for the snoring, sure,” he said, and smiled.

  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at that, resting my head against his shoulder. This time of year, the way the light was coming through the window meant we had two, maybe three hours before we needed to get serious about heading f
or the Queen’s Court. I had too much to do to lie around in bed, the temptations of my Selkie lover aside.

  “Sometimes being responsible sucks,” I grumbled, and rolled out of bed. I grabbed my robe from the floor. “Come on, Connor. Time to face another night in Fairyland.”

  Connor groaned and followed me to the kitchen.

  Conversation died in favor of nutrition, or what passed for it around my place. Connor ate fresh fruit and granola, while I had most of a pot of coffee, pouring the last of it into a bowl of Lucky Charms before starting a new pot.

  “You eat like a six year old,” said Connor, grinning at me as he put his bowl in the sink.

  “A caffeinated six year old,” I corrected.

  “My apologies. You eat like a caffeinated six year old.” He walked back and kissed me lightly. “I need to check in and get changed for tonight. I’ll come back and get you in a few hours?”

  “I should be getting ready myself,” I said regretfully. “Stay safe, okay? I’m not ready to break up with you again.”

  He laughed a little. “I’ll try not to run into any knives.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Open roads.”

  Connor kissed me again. “Open roads, sweet tides, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Liar,” I said, and let him go. That was something I was getting less and less comfortable doing . . . and if we couldn’t stop this war from happening that was something I might have to do forever.

  FOUR

  I FINISHED MY CEREAL after seeing Connor out. The Queen’s Court isn’t the sort of place I go when I want a good meal, and I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be time for takeout afterward. When I was done, I picked up the portable phone and headed toward my room. If I was going to attend a formal affair without embarrassing myself, I was going to need a little help. That’s why I have my friends on speed dial.