A Red-Rose Chain

The doors slammed shut behind us. May and Walther both jumped. I didn’t. Neither did Quentin or Tybalt. That said something sort of sad about the situations we tended to find ourselves in.

“Nice fountain,” I said, still speaking louder than was my norm. “I know that if I had a fountain this great, I’d totally set up a whole courtyard just to show it off. Look, the way I see it, one of two things is happening right now. Either you’re getting ready to ambush us, in which case you’d better do it fast, or you’re not going to like the results. Or you’ve got a really messed-up way of showing hospitality. One more time: I am Sir October Daye, I am here on behalf of Queen Windermere in the Mists, and you are beginning to piss me off.”

The scent of meadowsweet and wine vinegar tinted the air, and a portal opened in the wall on the other side of the fountain. The room on the other side was all polished hardwood and velvet, and I only saw it for an instant before bodies began pouring through the opening.

First came the guards. Eight of them, all wearing the deep pine green and silver livery of Silences. They split, four taking each side as they placed themselves between us and the portal. Then came the courtiers, three this time, two women and a man, a Tylwyth Teg and two Daoine Sidhe, and again, all wearing the colors of Silences, although their tunics were finer and their outfits were accessorized by incredibly silly looking floppy hats.

One of the courtiers produced a scroll from inside her doublet, unrolled it, and read, “By the grace of Oberon, His Majesty, King Rhys of Silences.”

Years of courtly etiquette drilled into me by Etienne, and even more years of silently following my mother through the Courts of the Mists, kept me from rolling my eyes or otherwise doing something to offend the king we had come to visit. Instead, I dropped into a deep and proper bow, bent double at the waist, knees bent, one leg extended so that my thigh muscles began almost immediately to ache. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Walther and Tybalt matching the gesture, their own bows only slightly modified by the variances in custom and region. Tybalt’s bow was shallower than mine, since it would have been inappropriate for him to show too much obeisance to a ruler of the Divided Courts. Walther’s bow included an elaborate hand gesture that I had never seen before.

I couldn’t see Quentin and May from my position, but I had faith that they would be demonstrating the appropriate amount of humility. I had to trust them. If I didn’t, we were already lost.

“You may rise,” said an unfamiliar male voice, tenor and calm, like its owner had never encountered anything that needed to disturb him.

I straightened up, and got my first look at the King of Silences.

He was taller than I expected, with the glossy black hair and olive skin common among the Tuatha de Dannan. He wore that hair cropped short in a style that was almost disconcertingly modern, given his current surroundings, and which did nothing to conceal the sharp points of his ears. His eyes were the color of slightly tarnished pennies, with bolts of molten-looking copper surrounded by streaky verdigris. He was handsome, I had to give him that, but he looked more like a businessman playing dress up than he did a king, even wearing a fur-lined cloak that reached all the way to the floor. Even with a crown resting on his head.

Spike rattled its thorns and hissed, too quietly for anyone to hear it but me. I took the sound for the warning it was, and I said nothing at all.