A Red-Rose Chain

“Yes, if it please your Majesty,” I said, with a quick dip of my head. “I would also like my alchemist to be housed as near to me as possible. He is . . . useful, in certain regards.” Let him think I was addicted to sleep tonics. Let him think I was sleeping with Walther. I didn’t care, as long as he didn’t try to separate us from each other. I might not have been very good at courtly manners, but I was smart enough to know that winding up in opposite wings would be bad for everyone’s health.

“Indeed,” said Rhys. “As for the King of Cats, we will have to arrange a room suitable for such a luminary, as I would not want to give accidental offense—”

“Then I am not rude in interjecting to tell you that no such arrangement will be necessary, nor would it be welcome if undertaken,” said Tybalt, cutting smoothly into the rhythm of the King’s speech. Rhys looked nonplussed, but not as angry as he would have been if I had tried the same trick. Tybalt reached out and set a hand gently upon my wrist, so that his fingers traced the line of my pulse. It was nothing as blatant as putting an arm around me or as crass as kissing me in front of a rival monarch, but it was more than enough to get the point across.

Rhys’ eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said, giving me another assessing look. My lack of cosmetics and clearly unstyled hair was being put into a new light: among the nobility of the Divided Courts, Cait Sidhe have a reputation for being bestial and little better than changelings. If I was screwing the King of Cats, it made sense that I’d be a little unkempt—never mind that Tybalt looked like he could appear on the cover of a magazine without changing anything but the shape of his pupils.

“Sir Daye is my betrothed, and as such, I choose to cleave to her as much as I may,” said Tybalt, a dangerous note coming into his voice. It was clear he knew how King Rhys was judging me, and just as clear that he didn’t approve. “I’ll understand if you cannot place us in the same room, as we are yet unwed, but I will be close to her, or know the reasons why.”

“I see.” Rhys sat up straighter. “I’ll instruct my seneschal appropriately. I’m sorry we didn’t have rooms ready for you. My counterpart to the South did not tell me she was sending an emissary to argue on her behalf, perhaps because she knows she has no authority to do so. But no matter.” He waved the hand that wasn’t supporting his head before any of us could object to his continual characterization of Arden as the usurper in this equation. “You’ll be shown to your rooms. My court slumbers, in the main—I was woken to receive you—and you will be summoned again when it’s time for our first formal meal of the night.”

“I thought you had to tell your seneschal about our rooming arrangement?” I said, slowly.

“His Majesty has just informed me,” said one of the courtiers. She stepped forward, offering a shallow bow in our direction. She had the golden hair and blue eyes characteristic of the Tylwyth Teg, and her expression was so composed as to be virtually blank, a perfect mask betraying nothing of her feelings. “My name is Marlis. I am standing seneschal to this court. Please allow me to escort you.”

“Sure thing.” I turned back to Rhys, bowing one more time in his direction. “We appreciate your hospitality, and will not abuse it.”

“See that you don’t,” he said. “Marlis, you will return here when you have them settled. I must speak to you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Marlis. She gestured toward a doorway on the other side of the hall. “You will follow me.”

It wasn’t a request. She walked, and after the rest of our group had made their quick, final bows, we followed.

Marlis’ entire stride changed as soon as we were in the hall, going from tight and reserved to open, wide, with a heel-first way of striking the floor that made it clear she’d been trained in some pretty serious kick-your-ass techniques. She didn’t say a word until we reached the first stairway. A basket of yarrow twigs was hung over the newel post. She began grabbing out handfuls and tying them into quick wreaths, which she tossed to May and Quentin.