One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“She was a changeling. Brown hair. Blue eyes. I’d never seen her before in my life.” He sneered. “Just another bit of mongrel trash seeking to purchase a place in the Court.”


“I’m going to ignore the part where you’re trying to bait me,” I said. “What else? What breed was she? Did she use magic in your presence?” A nasty suspicion was taking shape at the back of my mind. Brown hair and blue eyes didn’t describe any of the changelings I knew—except, by a very generous definition of “blue,” me. But illusions are wonderful things, and if you keep them subtle, they can make a lot of details difficult to be certain of.

“Some sort of Daoine Sidhe out-breed,” he said, sniffing. “I’m surprised you don’t know her by description, Daye. I’d think you mongrels would have a great deal in common.”

“I’ve been upgraded to mongrel? You flatter me.” Taunting him was keeping me from losing my temper, if only just. “Magic, Harrow. Did she use any?”

“She had some sort of filter around her,” he said dismissively, as if nothing a “mongrel” did could be of any concern.

Idiots like that are why I sometimes despair for the future of Faerie. “What did it smell like?” I asked, from between gritted teeth.

“Wax,” he said, with a wave of one hand. “Wax and some sort of flower.”

That was what I’d expected. It still hurt to hear it said. “Cold wax, or wax from a candle that’s still burning?” Oberon help me, but I had to be sure.

“Hot.”

“I see.” The scent and feel of a person’s magic isn’t one hundred percent unique; I’m not the only one in Faerie who smells like copper when she casts a spell, although I’ve never encountered anyone whose magic incorporates all the elements mine does. Hot wax and flowers only described the magic of one person I’d ever met.

“Do you?”

The smugness on his face was too much for me to bear. I closed the distance between us in three long steps, grabbing his collar and yanking him toward me while the gathered pages gaped in dismay. “Do I see that you took the word of a woman whose magic marked her as being Rayseline Torquill? A woman who was wanted for murder in this Kingdom the last time I checked?”

“You dare!” Dugan flailed, trying to pull away. “Release me at once!”

“Make me,” I snarled, pulling him closer still. “Give me one good reason not to show you what this mongrel can do.”

“October!” Etienne grabbed my arm, trying to haul me off Dugan. “That is quite enough!” Bringing his face to my ear, he hissed, “Do not give the Queen cause to arrest you again. Not now. Not over him. He’s not worth your reputation.”

My anger needed something to focus on, and Dugan was more than suited to the position. But Etienne was right—if I got myself arrested, I wouldn’t be able to find the Lorden boys, and I wouldn’t be able to find my own daughter. The thought of Gillian was all that gave me the strength to relax my fingers. I shook Dugan once, hard, before releasing him. He staggered backward, staring at me, bug-eyed.

“I never thought you were a genius, Harrow, but by Maeve’s bones, before tonight, I never knew that you were such a twice-cursed fool,” I spat.

“You dare—” he choked, clutching his throat with one hand. I hoped like hell it was going to leave a bruise.

I took a step forward, feeling a cold satisfaction when he shied back, away from me. “I outrank you, and I’m pretty sure I can outfight you, so yes, I dare,” I said flatly. Raising my voice, I called to the pages, “Be careful with this man. He’ll give you orders that get you killed, as long as they make him look good. If you have a choice? Don’t listen.”

“Time to go,” said Etienne, taking my elbow.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room, feeling the stares of the pages on my back every inch of the way.