A Red-Rose Chain

The King of Silences appeared to take this as a sign of respect. He smiled, a cold expression that did not reach his eyes. “My friends from the South,” he said. “How kind of you to travel hence and see whether our disagreements might be settled like civilized people, instead of clawed from one another’s flesh like animals.” His gaze flicked, ever so briefly, to Tybalt at the end of his statement.

My shoulders tightened. I forced my expression to remain neutral as I said, “Queen Arden Windermere in the Mists, daughter and heir to King Gilad Windermere in the Mists, recognized in her claim to the throne by High King Aethlin Sollys of the Westlands, sends her regards, and hopes we will be able to lay this matter to rest before any further harm is done to her people.”

“No harm has been done to her people, as she has no people to claim,” responded King Rhys, without missing a beat. “The throne she sits is not her own. If she wishes to settle this dispute with no loss of life or damage to property, she will admit her crime, step aside, and allow the true Queen of the Mists to retake what is rightfully hers.”

“See, that’s what we’re here to talk about,” I said, struggling to keep my voice as genial as I could. “We call upon the hospitality of your home.”

“And so you shall have it. We follow the rules set down by Oberon in all his wisdom here in Silences. For three days, you will be honored guests here in my Kingdom. No hands will be raised against you, and we will see to your safety even at the risk of our own. When that time is done, we will part either as friends or as foes, to be determined by your actions while you stand within my walls. Do you agree to comport yourselves as guests, and raise no hands to me or mine?”

“Save in self-defense,” I said.

“Then the bargain is struck.” King Rhys looked from me to my companions. “Who travels with you? I would know whom I welcome into my keep.”

“These are my friends and companions,” I said. “The Daoine Sidhe is my squire, Quentin. He’s kind of slow on the uptake sometimes, but he’s pretty, so we put up with him. The woman next to him is my half-sister, May.” Technically true. She was born of my blood and the flesh of the night-haunt she had been. No one could say that we weren’t blood relatives, just like no one could say that she had been carried or delivered by my mother. Faerie makes everything complicated.

“I see,” said King Rhys. “And the others?”

“Walther Davies of the Mists, my lord,” said Walther. “I am Sir Daye’s alchemist, and travel at her command.”

“King Tybalt of the Court of Dreaming Cats,” said Tybalt. “A war in the Mists would of necessity inconvenience my people. I am here to observe, and, should such a war become inevitable, to return home and prepare the Court of Cats for what has been brought down upon our heads.”

King Rhys narrowed his eyes, studying Tybalt. I had to admire the artistry of the moment, even as it made me squirm. By going last, Tybalt had prevented the King of Silences from spending too much time dwelling on Walther. If Lowri had been able to recognize him as related to the rightful royal family, there was a chance the King who’d replaced them could have done the same . . . if he hadn’t been immediately confronted with a rival monarch that he technically had no power over. It was nicely done. And it was scaring the hell out of me.

King Rhys could deny Tybalt his hospitality, saying that a knight didn’t have the right to claim a King of Cats as a traveling companion. Or he could deny me my hospitality and give it to Tybalt instead, which would mean we had made the entire journey for nothing, since Tybalt didn’t have the authority to negotiate a peace on Arden’s behalf.

Finally, King Rhys said, “I see. We have never hosted a monarch of your Court here; I hope you will not take offense if my people don’t know exactly the right etiquette for treating with you.”