A Red-Rose Chain

“Are you going to?”


“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “Tybalt gets a vote, when he’s awake and we’re not heading off to prevent a war. It’d definitely make a statement about the validity of our marriage. Sort of hard to say that a changeling and a Cait Sidhe can’t be together when the Queen in the Mists stood witness. At the same time, it feels like she’d be using us to . . . I don’t know, make a statement about her own validity as Queen. She is Queen. The High King already confirmed her. I don’t need to be a political puzzle piece. Especially not on my wedding day.”

“You’re a hero of the realm now, Toby,” said Walther. He sounded almost amused, in a sideways, regretful sort of way. “You’re always going to be a political puzzle piece.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Walther took my silence as an excuse for him to close his eyes and settle back against the seat, not going to sleep, exactly, but definitely checking out of the world around him. I turned the radio back on, and focused on the road.

It’s a good thing I like to drive. Returning to Muir Woods meant retracing our path across the Bay Bridge, and then heading deeper, driving across the Golden Gate and into the misty headlands of Marin. My passengers were quiet the whole time, whether sleeping or sunk in thought, and I was grateful. I needed some time to prepare myself.

Being a hero isn’t something that’s come naturally to me. I became a detective because I was stubborn, and because Faerie doesn’t encourage the sort of relentless curiosity that I’ve always exhibited. That never made me good at it—just determined enough that I could usually shake the world until an answer fell out. I’m best at finding things that have been lost. Knowes. Children. Princesses. That last was what earned me the title of “hero,” once and for all, and secured my reputation as something more than the street rat I’d once been. I just wasn’t sure it was a good idea to approach heroing the way I’d always approached detecting. Can you really shake the world until justice falls out? At this point, did I have a choice one way or the other?

Lowri was standing at the open gate of the Muir Woods parking lot. I stopped about eight feet away from her, looking around for signs of hikers or people who might have come to enjoy the redwoods. Thank Maeve, we were alone. I leaned over and touched Tybalt’s shoulder.

“You can drop the don’t-look-here now,” I said. “We’re at Muir Woods.”

“And no one’s died yet? Truly, it is a day for miracles,” murmured Tybalt. He raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The spell burst around us, smelling of musk and pennyroyal.

It had barely begun to dissipate when Lowri raised her hands, sketching a quick series of gestures in the air, and the scent of Tybalt’s magic was replaced with hers, all warm barley grass and mustard flowers. Whatever spell she was casting, it was finished in short order, and she stepped to the side, motioning us forward.

Tybalt was sitting bolt upright now, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. I put a hand on his arm after I had pulled into the first available parking space.

“We’ll find out what she cast in a moment,” I said. He liked having others use magic on him without his consent about as much as I did—which was to say, not at all. “She’s acting on Arden’s orders, whatever she did. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at the Queen.”

“Believe me, I fully intend to,” he muttered.

“Good plan. Hey!” I twisted in my seat, raising my voice as I addressed the rest of my passengers. “Get up. We’re here.”