A Local Habitation

“You got a reason I shouldn’t ride you hard? You come here with your little pretty boy, sucking up to Jan, acting like it’s going to be okay now that your precious liege is involved—weren’t we good enough to save before he cared?”


“We didn’t know you were in trouble. No one told us what was happening here.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“It’s going to have to be good enough, because it’s the truth. I’m sick of you treating me like crap, and Quentin even worse, just because you’re scared.”

“You should have known something was wrong. Your precious purebloods should have figured it out.” Her eyes were bright with past hurts and anger. “Isn’t that what they’re for?”

“You don’t like the purebloods much, do you?”

“What was your first clue?” She turned her face away. “I’m just returning the favor.”

It’s not unusual for changelings to be resentful. Hell, I’m resentful. Our immortal parents get the best of Faerie and take what they want from the mortal world, and we get the things they let us have. Even so, the level of her resentment was unusual. She almost burned with it. “Mind if I ask why?”

“Yes,” she said, curtly. Then, in a quieter voice, she said, “Mom was pureblooded Coblynau. Dad was a changeling, and I was an accident. I’m just mortal enough that the mines won’t have me, and I’m not mortal enough for the mongrel workshops. You want to spend your life getting screwed? Try mine on for size.”

I winced. “You’re right. That sucks.”

The Coblynau make their homes in deep mines, deeper even than the Dwarves and the Gremlins. Being a changeling made Gordan unsuited for a life lived entirely at those depths. Being more fae than human, on the other hand, would make her too sensitive to iron to deal with the changeling workshops, and get her eyed with suspicion in the border communities. It was a tough break, no matter how you wanted to slice it.

“You have no idea.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I felt sorry for her. That wasn’t stopping me from getting annoyed. “I’m Amandine’s daughter. You knew that, didn’t you?” When she nodded, I continued, “Well, everyone knows that. I’m just a changeling. I’m not even as fae as you are. But her reputation precedes me everywhere I go, and I spend every damn day failing to live up to it. So don’t tell me I don’t know how hard it is to deal with the hand your parents dealt you. My cards may be different, but they’re just as bad.”

Gordan glared at me. I glared back, and she was the first one to look away.

I relaxed marginally. Victories, even small ones, are good things. I’m petty enough that they matter to me, and as long as that’s the case, I’m still human enough to stand a chance. “It’s okay to be mad,” I said, as gently as I could.

She shrugged. “Is it?” she asked. I took that to be her way of getting choked up. The Coblynau have never been very visual with their feelings.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “I’ve been mad since I got here. People don’t help when they say they will, they keep wandering around on their own . . . I’m pissed.”

“So why are you here?”

“Why?” I shrugged, settling on the truth. “Sylvester asked me to come, and you need me.”

“You don’t care if we die,” she said, tone turning bitter. She looked back at me, eyes narrowed. “You’re just here because your liege ordered you to be.”

“He didn’t order, he asked. And you’re wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do care if you all die, because Faerie cares. I care because no one needs to die, and,” I raised one hand in mock melodrama, “Sylvester will kick my ass if I don’t care.”

It worked. She bit back a smile, half-turning to keep me from noticing. Ha; too late. I can be pretentious sometimes, but I know it, and knowing your flaws means you can exploit them. “This would work better if we weren’t fighting,” I said.

She looked back. “You’re right,” she conceded, “it probably would.”

“You don’t have to like me. I mean, April doesn’t.”

Gordan grinned. “April doesn’t like a lot of things.”

“I noticed. Why is that?”