A Red-Rose Chain

Arden’s knowe was a redwood wonderland, perfectly suited to the woods outside. The floor and walls in the entry hall were all paneled in the stuff, and the smell of it suffused the air. Elaborate carved panels on the walls sketched out the history of the Kingdom of the Mists all the way up to the present day, and while new panels seemed to have been added every time we came to visit, none of the old panels seemed to have disappeared. I made a mental note to ask Arden whether the hall was getting longer, or whether it just somehow knew which panels it was safe to hide when I was looking. Either option seemed reasonable. The knowes are alive, and while they may not think like people do, they have opinions about things, and will generally do what they feel best.

The hallway let out on the throne room, where Arden was sitting on her throne, wearing the same purple-and-silver velvet gown that I’d seen through her teleport window, playing with her mobile phone. She looked up at the sound of our footsteps. Then she smiled and unfolded herself from her seat, standing. “Hey. Did you have any trouble getting here?”

“None,” I reported.

“Cool,” she said, and tossed her phone onto the cushion on her throne.

Arden Windermere might not sound much like a queen, but she certainly looked the part, especially these days, now that she had a proper staff of handmaids and clothiers to help her present the appropriate image to her people. She was tall, slim, and elegant in her carriage, standing a few inches taller than Tybalt, who was in turn a few inches taller than me. Her purple-black hair was pulled into a high chignon, secured with loops of amethyst, and her jewelry was all silver, accenting the vibrant colors of her mismatched eyes: one vivid blue, the other liquid mercury. She could easily have walked among the kings and queens of our past, as long as she kept her mouth closed. Not that I’m one to criticize the speech of others, but when Arden talked, it was more Haight Street than High Court.

Maybe that was a good thing. A lot of the problems faced by the fae nobility come from the collisions between our world and the human world. Arden had spent most of her life in the human world. While she wasn’t going to broker a lasting peace or anything, she at least understood what I and her other changeling vassals were talking about when we brought human problems to her attention.

Now that she was standing, it was time to observe the niceties. I curtsied, dipping as low as practice and training allowed. Quentin bowed with equal depth and solemnity. Tybalt inclined his head, but otherwise stayed upright. That wasn’t as disrespectful as it looked. As a King of Cats, he was technically Arden’s equal, and it would have been inappropriate for him to bow to her. He was already showing her a great honor by following the rules of her knowe, and not insisting that she treat him as visiting royalty.

Quentin was also visiting royalty, being the Crown Prince of the Westlands and all, but that wasn’t something we talked about much. Arden knew—High King Aethlin and High Queen Maida had been the ones who came and validated her claim to the throne of the Mists—but as Quentin was technically untitled while he was in fosterage, she didn’t let it affect her reactions to him. Quentin’s rank was secret from most of Faerie, and it needed to stay that way if he was going to stay safe.

“You may rise,” said Arden, sounding faintly bemused, like she still didn’t understand the point of all this bowing. At least she wasn’t trying to make us stop anymore. Centuries of training don’t die out that quickly.

“Lowri told us Madden took the Mauthe Doog home,” I said, as I straightened. “Will he be back tonight? I’d like to apologize for not realizing what was going on quicker.”

“He should be,” said Arden. “You did well tonight. The Mists appreciate your service.”

There are some pretty strong taboos in Faerie against saying the words “thank you,” which has made us all incredibly good at talking our way around our gratitude. “It was sort of fun, in a ‘big angry black dogs trying to kill us’ kind of way. I’m just sorry we didn’t figure out that they weren’t hostile sooner. We could have saved the rest of them. As it stands, I don’t know whether any managed to teleport away.”

“Madden will look for them,” said Arden. “How many died?”