A Red-Rose Chain

It was a small gesture, as such things go: he moved less than a foot, bringing himself even with me. He didn’t even put himself in front of me. But as soon as he moved, the atmosphere in the room changed. King Rhys stiffened, attention going to Tybalt, and everything went very still.

“It may interest you to know that I have been a King of Cats for several hundred years,” said Tybalt. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Everyone in the room was listening. “During that time, I have had cause to learn much about the Divided Courts. Your quaint ideas of how Oberon would have us treat with one another. Your strange rules and aspirations toward power. I have enjoyed the company of your monarchs, even sat for a time at the High King’s table, back when the Westlands were still a novelty. I have seen corruption, and deceit, and all the other lovely ills to which the monarchy is heir. It is remarkable, really, how much effort you put into damaging the positions you create for yourselves. Does it entertain you? Is this how you fritter away the centuries?”

Rhys frowned. “I am sorry, but I don’t take your meaning.”

“My betrothed announced when she arrived here that she traveled with an alchemist. His relation to the family which once ruled here is public knowledge, as is his contented service in the Mists. He is no revolutionary, no redeemer; just a man who has no claim to the throne you hold, and no desire to hold it. She announced him to you, and now you rummage through his things like a common thief because . . . what reason could you possibly have?” Tybalt’s expression hardened, turning cold, until he was looking at Rhys the way he might look at a mouse. I didn’t see that expression much anymore, and every time I did, I was grateful that it wasn’t directed at me. “Given that you have spoken openly of wanting to exsanguinate Sir Daye in order to use her in your own alchemy, you’ll forgive me if I state that this seems less a matter of protecting your Kingdom, and more one of enriching your treasury through the body of the woman I love. If you do not present further evidence of this ‘treason,’ I shall have to assume I am correct in my reading of the situation—and I shall be forced to take that as any King would take such a thing, were it to be aimed at his lady love. I will take it as a declaration of war.”

“The Court of Cats will not go to war against a throne of Oberon’s declaration just because you bid them to, Your Majesty,” said Rhys. There was an oily coating on his words, making it clear that he thought Tybalt had just given him back the upper hand. “That would be foolish in the extreme, and if there’s one thing the Court of Cats has never been, it’s foolish.”

“I recommend you do not test my resolve unless you are sure you know my people more intimately than I do,” said Tybalt quietly.

Rhys paused. The false Queen, still seated on her throne, wasn’t smiling anymore. In that moment, I knew we’d won—the battle, at least. The war was still ongoing, and it wasn’t going to end until we left Silences. “It is . . . possible there was some mistake regarding the possessions of Sir Daye’s alchemist. It’s true that he announced his surname upon arrival; it’s also true that sometimes my people can be overzealous in their desire to please me. They are very loyal, you understand.” Rhys spoke slowly, choosing his words with much more care than he had only a few moments before.

“I understand loyalty well,” said Tybalt. “Many credit the Cu Sidhe as the most loyal souls in Faerie. Those people have never experienced the loyalty of the Cait Sidhe. Once someone is under our protection, they will remain there for the rest of their days.”

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. If we’ve established that I’m not actually under arrest for harboring a traitor, could someone, I don’t know, let my people go? Because if my squire and my assistant are tied up for one more minute, without valid reason, I’m going to have some really interesting things to say about your Kingdom when I get home.”