One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

I sighed. “It never is, is it?”


I could hear voices up ahead; some people were already awake and moving around. I picked up my pace, and was rewarded with the sight of two pages in the hall just around the corner, both of them sagging in that “up way too early” way. I vaguely recognized them as Quentin’s contemporaries and members of his general social circle within the knowe. Somehow, they looked like they were at most half his age. He’d been doing a lot of growing up lately, and doing it fast.

The Glastig spotted us first. His eyes went huge, and he poked his Cornish Pixie companion in the side, fast, before jerking his head in our direction. Her eyes got even bigger. By the time we reached their position, both of them were standing at attention, spines locked like they’d been replaced with iron bars.

“Countess Daye—” began one, in perfect synch with the “Sir Daye—” from the other.

I smiled a little. “You should really get your titles straight before you try that again,” I said. “Is Sylvester available?”

The Cornish Pixie swallowed hard. “He’s waiting for you,” she said. “In the throne room. He said to say if we saw you.”

Sylvester had to know I’d go looking for Tybalt as soon as I woke up, and there are dozens of routes we could have taken from there. I raised an eyebrow. “How many of you does he have stationed around the knowe, waiting for me?”

“All of us, sir,” said the Glastig.

“That’s my liege.” I sighed. “Do me a favor? If you see any of the other pages, let them know that I’ve been found, and they should get some sleep already.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Cornish Pixie.

Neither of them moved. They couldn’t. Until Tybalt and I passed them, propriety demanded they stay exactly where they were. I offered them a shallow bow and started walking again, Tybalt walking along with me.

He waited until they were out of earshot before murmuring, “You do seem to enjoy making things difficult for yourselves in the Divided Courts. A Cait Sidhe page would have tracked us down, delivered the message, and gone off to chase rats until his mother called him home.”

“Yeah, well, we get to skip the rat-chasing part, so I’m going to call us even.”

Tybalt smirked. We walked on.

The throne room doors were standing open. I expected to find Sylvester and Luna alone, since everyone sane would be getting some sleep while they still could. Instead, we walked in on an earnest conference of knights, all of them assembled around the dais while Sylvester talked to them in a hushed voice. Luna was absent. Maybe that was for the best, given what I was about to tell her husband.

Grianne’s Merry Dancers were the first to spot us. They abandoned their position near the ceiling to swoop down and weave a quick pattern around our heads before sailing onward to circle Grianne. She turned. The other two knights in attendance—Etienne and Garm—did the same. Sylvester straightened, a look of naked relief sweeping across his face. The others stepped aside as he moved from the dais to the floor, and started toward us.

Tybalt and I kept walking. We were halfway across the floor when Sylvester reached us. He swept me into a fierce hug, whispering against my hair, “Tybalt told us. Oberon’s bones, October, I’m so sorry. All my resources are at your disposal.”

That was the best thing he could possibly have said. It was also the worst. Up until that moment, it was like I’d been moving in some sort of protective bubble, a thin layer of numbness that kept me from really thinking about the horror of what had happened. I’ve dealt with a lot of missing children—more than I care to think about. This was the first time the missing child had been my own.