One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Sylvester, it was Rayseline,” I said, pulling away from him. I needed to see his eyes while I was telling him this. “There were traces of her magic in Gillian’s room.”


Sylvester froze. It was like watching him transform from a living man into a statue carved from ice. “Ah,” he said, very softly.

“She took the Lorden boys, too. Someone’s helping her—I don’t know who, but they’ve been brewing her charms that let her do these things. She’s already killed at least one person.” A single tear escaped, running down my cheek. I couldn’t let myself break down. Not yet. “That’s how she got into Saltmist. She killed a Selkie. The skin let her get inside.”

“You’re sure the Selkie is dead?” It was a small question. It was the biggest question in the world.

I nodded. “Yes. I am. She had to knock the Selkie out before she could take the skin, and she’s been using elf-shot. A Selkie without a skin is essentially human.”

“Oberon’s Law is broken, then. There’s nothing else I can do.” Sylvester stepped back. “Tell us what to do, and we’ll do it. Anything you need from me, or from my holdings, is yours.” He paused, and added, again, “I am so sorry.”

“So am I.” We’d both lost a daughter today—mine to kidnapping, his to the cold reality of Faerie justice. Rayseline had taken a life. There was nothing he could do to save her, not after that.

Tybalt cleared his throat. “If I may make a suggestion?”

“Please,” said Sylvester.

“Send the Lady Candela,” a nod toward Grianne, “out to search your lands, and the bounding lands as well. Her Merry Dancers see better than the majority of us, and she’s quite familiar with the magical traces left by the individual in question. Should she find anything, she can report back, and your Tuatha can easily investigate further.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” said Sylvester.

“I’m not quite done, if you would humor me.” Tybalt’s smile was anything but humorous. “October has an unpleasant tendency to leave herself without means of contacting those who might come to her aid. Is it possible she might be provided with one of the phones modified for use in the Summerlands? It would doubtless be useful in what’s to come.”

“Of course. Etienne!”

“Sire?” Etienne was abruptly next to Sylvester, despite not seeming to transverse the space between us and the dais. He probably hadn’t. Tuatha de Dannan are teleporters, and they’re way too casual about it for my taste.

“Please fetch Sir Daye a phone from the supply closet. Make sure it has one of those—what are they called again?”

“Chargers,” supplied Etienne.

“Yes. One of those.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Etienne was just as abruptly gone, leaving the scent of limes and cedar smoke hanging in the air.

Sylvester turned his attention back to the pair of us. “Is there anything else?”

The ghosts of a thousand conversations we couldn’t have hung between us as I met his eyes, going back all the way to the day he begged me to bring his little girl home. I failed Rayseline, and now that failure was poised to destroy the one part of my life I’d foolishly assumed was safe from Faerie. “I need to get to the Queen’s Court,” I said. “I said I’d be there at dusk. Do you have a car I can borrow?”

“I’ll take you.” Etienne again, behind me this time. I whirled, staring at him. He held out a slim flip-phone and a car charger, offering them to me like they were the greatest weapons in the world. “I can take you both, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Tybalt. I shot him a wounded look, and he continued, “I’m going to notify October’s friends and family of the situation, and tell her squire where she can be located. After that, well . . .” A small smile creased his lips. “One Candela can search a great many shadows. My cats can search more.”