A Red-Rose Chain

“I assume you refer to your ‘lady’s maid,’ the Fetch,” said King Rhys. His voice was calm, even reasonable, like he was negotiating side dishes for the meal to come. “You did not inform me when you arrived in my lands that you traveled with an oddity never before seen in Faerie. A Fetch with no living tether? It seemed impossible to me. But my lady insisted that this woman who accompanied you was no changeling, no distaff sister; that she was, instead, something entirely different and hence potentially dangerous.”


“May is my sister, named and accepted by the Firstborn of my line,” I said. It was stretching the truth a bit, but not so much as to break it. “The fact that she started out as my Fetch is irrelevant. In what world is an elf-shot arrow to the body a part of proper hospitality? You break the laws that we all live by, and you do it without remorse.”

“I broke no laws,” said Rhys. He waved his hand carelessly, as if he was brushing away my petty, uninformed concerned. “Portland is my city, the crown jewel of my Kingdom, even as San Francisco is under my lady’s right and proper rule. I am allowed—no, I am required—to protect it as I do my own lands, my own halls. When my guard saw a strange woman carrying a mysterious bag in a dark alley, they acted according to their orders, and they subdued her before she could do any damages. Imagine my surprise when they came back to me and reported that they had silenced your maidservant.”

“Oh, I’m imagining it,” I said darkly. “This is an act of aggression during a time when we are supposedly under your protection. As to the bag she carried, I’d like it back, please.”

“Is it really an act of aggression?” He leaned forward. “She walked my streets under a mask that hid her true face, after failing to divulge her nature upon her arrival. She carried such contraband as could fuel an army of alchemists. Is this an act of aggression on my part, or an act of treason on hers? Be glad I am an honorable man, Sir Daye, or I could have the lot of you arrested—and this time, there would be no argument to free you from my chains.” He didn’t mention my laundry.

“Everyone fae wears a mask when they go out into the mortal world,” I said, through gritted teeth. “If you don’t, you run the risk of attracting human aggression. She’s not plotting treason against the crown. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”

“We’ll ask her, when she wakes up,” said Rhys. “If you would like to have her kept here, to prevent the need to set up a room for her slumbers, we would be glad to discuss this with you. We have well-established bedding and care for our sleepers.”

I stiffened, mouth opening as I prepared to rip into him for his treatment of those “sleepers.” Then I stopped.

We only knew about his harvesting alchemical supplies from the sleeping members of the royal family because Marlis had told us. Marlis would never have said anything if Walther hadn’t broken the spell of obedience that had been placed on her. If I said anything to indicate that I knew what he was doing to them, I would be outing Marlis as free of his control, and more, I would be revealing an actual act of treason. If he was willing to interpret carrying my laundry as hostile alchemy, how would he take Walther using alchemy to free his sister from enspellment?

My mouth was already open: I had to say something. “What did you do with my laundry?”

“Oh, is that what the Fetch was carrying? It has been destroyed. We don’t allow dangerous alchemical materials to be left lying around where anyone could get to them.” Rhys looked at me, challenging me to call him a liar.

He was a liar. I knew that, as sure as I knew that I couldn’t prove it. There was no way he’d been handed a bag of my blood and decided that it should just be thrown away—not when he’d been so eager to get his hands on it. Maybe it would be better straight from the source, but that didn’t make my blood-soaked clothing worthless.