A Red-Rose Chain

“Won’t the King be offended when we start adding things to our food?” asked Quentin. “I mean, the chefs in Quebec get angry if you ask for salt. I can’t imagine a royal kitchen ranks below a French restaurant for snootiness.”


“He might be, but he won’t say anything,” said Walther. “Silences has declared war. It’s perfectly reasonable for a diplomat from Mists to bring along an alchemist to guarantee there’s no poison in the food, since even if the King is perfectly respectable, polite, and law-abiding—”

Tybalt snorted.

“—there could still be loyalists in the Court who wanted to curry favor by being the first to kill a citizen of an enemy kingdom,” continued Walther, without missing a beat. “As long as we don’t actually say that I’m protecting you from mind control, my presence will continue to seem like a sadly necessary evil.”

“I hate politics.” I sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Seriously, this stuff was easier when I was living with Devin. If you were our enemy, we just came over and beat the shit out of you. No declarations of war, no pretending everything was normal while we plotted your death, just a bunch of street kids with knives and brass knuckles handing you your own teeth.”

“You are truly a charming example of what the Divided Courts can produce when given sufficient motivation,” said Tybalt, the fondness in his voice sapping the sting from his words.

I shrugged. “I’m one of a kind.”

“Thank Oberon for that,” muttered Quentin, while May just laughed.

The mood in the room seemed lighter now that we knew we had at least one spot where we could talk with reasonably little fear of being overheard. “Any thoughts on when Rhys is likely to want us to come for breakfast?”

“It’s a royal court, which means most people probably went to bed sometime shortly after dawn,” said Quentin. “If you figure sleeping for eight hours, and then taking an hour or so to become presentable, I’d guess they’re having breakfast right around now.”

“We’re clearly not being summoned for that, so I guess it’s not an ‘official’ meal,” I said. “When do you guess they’ll have lunch? Go nuts. Make a prediction.”

“Um, probably in like four or five hours? That gives Rhys time to figure out what he’s going to do with us.”

“Great. That means we can go out and get the lay of the land before we need to be properly formal.” Part of me wanted to crawl into that big bed and have a nap, since I rarely got to sleep once things really started moving. The rest of me knew that it was a bad idea. For me, anyway. “Quentin, why don’t you grab a few more hours of sleep. I need you fresh.”

“No nap for me,” said Walther. “I need to finish that potion before we go anywhere near the table. Don’t worry—I mix my own energy drinks.” His smile was tight but confident. He was an excellent alchemist. He wasn’t going to poison himself by mistake.

Well. Probably not.

“I have an idea,” said May. The rest of us turned to look at her. She shrugged. “I’m officially here as a lady’s maid, and the servants never get to sleep in as long as the nobles. That’s just not how things are done. So I figure if I can skip on the sleeping, I can go and get some gossip about the shape of this place before we have to discover it on our own. But, Toby, you should sleep.”

“May’s right,” said Walther. “Right now, there’s nothing you can do, and my magic isn’t a substitute for real sleep. It doesn’t restore the body the way actual unconsciousness would. We need you at your best.”

“My best still isn’t equipped for this situation,” I said.

“And yet here we are,” said May. “I’m going to get the lay of the land. Walther’s going to do alchemy. The three of you, nap, and I’ll be back in two hours to help you get ready for dinner.”

“Look at it this way,” said Walther. “You’re going to be working harder than anyone once things really get moving, so we’re not doing you any favors. We’re just equipping you to run a little bit faster when the monsters come.”