A Red-Rose Chain

“Is my hospitality not to your liking, Sir Daye?” Rhys’ question was mild, but it had teeth, and they were poised to bite. “I’ve promised not to try to change your mind magically. Why does it look as if you aren’t enjoying your food?”


“Sitting with people who think I’m inferior just because my father was human tends to spoil my appetite,” I said. I forced myself to lift my head and meet Rhys’ eyes. “How can you be this cold? We’re all part of Faerie.”

“Ah, but you see, some of us were born to this great and ageless land, and others stumbled into their places by mistake.” He leaned over and speared a piece of pale white melon from the edge of my plate, looking at it contemplatively before he popped it into his mouth. He swallowed, and continued, “Some of us don’t understand how to honor hospitality or show the proper respect, even when we’re treated better than we deserve. You are an inferior creature in a world full of superior beings, and you can’t even seem to acknowledge that the rest of us are making an effort with every day that we allow you to draw breath.”

“I don’t think Oberon would agree with you.” It was a small, almost pitiable statement, but it was all I had left. Oberon had given us the Law, and the hope chests. Out of all the Three, he was the one who had looked at Faerie and realized that we needed heroes. If anyone would have understood that Faerie needed to be what it was, and not some sterile, perfect mockery of itself, it would have been him.

Rhys smiled indulgently. “But, you see, that’s the difference between myself and our missing Father. He believed Faerie could be balanced, that there was a place for everyone. I believe he was wrong—and since it seems I remain while he is gone, I must assume that I was right.”

I stared at him. For once, I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

The problem with arrogant assholes is that all too often, they’ll take silence as agreement. “You understand, then,” said Rhys, his smile widening. “I’m so very glad. It’s going to make the rest of this process ever so much easier.”

I frowned. “Process?”

“Yes. You see, my lady was indulgent with the Mists, and look where it got her. Deposed and dishonored and treated as a traitor to a land which she only ever strove to improve upon. It will not do. It will not stand. I know you have come here to plead the case of the Mists, and while you have done poorly, you have navigated these waters better than I expected you to.”

“See, I know you think you’re complimenting me, and yet somehow I still feel insulted,” I said.

“That’s because you are smarter than your breeding justifies,” said Rhys. “Please understand, I do not harbor you any specific ill-will. Changelings have their place in Faerie. Someone should remain belowstairs, otherwise, what value will it have to be above them? But you represent the decay and dissolution of the Mists, and I am afraid I’ll be sending you home as a failure. The war is going to happen, Sir Daye. Unless you are prepared to negotiate the surrender of your regent and her people, your work here is done.”

I stared at him again. I hadn’t been expecting to change his mind—not once I’d seen Silences, and the way that changelings were treated in his Kingdom—but this casual dismissal didn’t seem to fit with his earlier demand that I bleed for him. “I thought . . .” I began, and stopped, unsure how I could continue that sentence without locking myself into a promise I didn’t want to keep.

His smile widened still further, until I began to worry that his head would come unzipped and split in two. “Oh, you mean you actually want to prevent the war? I told you how you could do that. How you could call it all off with a single word. All you need to do is tell me ‘yes,’ and all of this can go away forever. It will be a bad dream that threatened your precious Arden briefly in the night before wisping away into nothingness.”