One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Super fun,” I muttered, and opened the doors.

The Queen’s ballroom was big enough to hold an army, and at the moment, that’s exactly what it was doing. I stopped on the threshold and stared, staggered by the scene in front of us. The clang of metal and the buzz of voices filled the air. The scale of it was frightening. I’d seen the ballroom filled with people on occasions ranging from casual court to a formal trial, but I’d never seen it at capacity before. I was seeing it at capacity now.

Throngs of bodies were in motion everywhere, moving things from place to place, clustering in small groups which then scattered like flocks of pigeons, and never holding still. The purpose of the fuss was instantly clear, for all that I didn’t want it to be: they were preparing for war. I knew things were serious—I had no illusions about that—but the scale of it still chilled me. The Undersea was bigger than I ever dreamed. Did all these people realize that? How many people were going to die if I couldn’t stop this?

That was a stupid question. Even one death was too many, and we’d already suffered the first casualty of war: a Selkie whose name I didn’t know, and whose face I might never have seen.

A page rushed past, arms loaded with bundled arrows. I grabbed his elbow, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He staggered, but managed not to drop anything as he turned in our direction, expression bemused.

“What are you doing? I need to get these arrows to—”

“You need to get us to the Queen,” I said flatly. I wasn’t in the mood to argue. My patience has never been legendary, and Raysel stole the last of it when she stole my daughter. “She’s here somewhere. She’s always here somewhere. Tell her Countess Daye is here in the company of Sir Etienne of Shadowed Hills. Tell her we seek an audience. Immediately.” I let him go. Bemusement melting into something close to panic, he clutched the arrows to his chest and scampered away, vanishing into the crowd.

I hate doing that to pages. Most of them have never seen the world outside a court setting, and they’re destined to grow up to be useless fops like Dugan, unless they get lucky and find a knight willing to teach them to be something better. Quentin is the exception where junior courtiers are concerned, not the rule.

“That was unkind,” said Etienne.

“Forgive me if my manners aren’t at their best just now. I have a lot on my mind.” I glared at him, sidelong. “You’re not a parent. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t pretend to understand your pain, October, but there are better ways to express it.”

I sighed. “I guess. I just don’t know what to d—”

The word died as a slender female arm locked around my neck. Its owner brought her other hand up, pressing the edge of a knife to the skin just below my jaw. I froze. The “fight or flight” impulse gets a little muted when either response might leave me with an open jugular. I guess I have some sense of self-preservation after all.

“So you say you’re my dearest, most esteemed Countess Daye,” said the Queen, inches from my ear. “Yet others say the Countess Daye has turned traitor. Others say she’s gone to sea with the enemies of my Kingdom. That she sent her baby-faced death in her place because she couldn’t be bothered to cater to the whims of the woman she’s sworn to serve.”

“Uh, Etienne? A little help here?” I swallowed. The blade she was holding to my neck was very sharp, and I was suddenly intensely reminded of how much she disliked me—and how tempted she might be to “slip.”