One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re not in my debt until they’re home.”


“Still. At least you’re willing to try. That’s more than I can say for anyone else in this benighted Kingdom.”

“The Queen’s not all bad.”

He lifted his eyebrows and looked at me.

“Okay, maybe she is,” I admitted. “But I’m going to bring your sons home.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Patrick said, and smiled. He still looked exhausted and afraid, but there was hope in his expression. I considered him a moment before smiling back. There might be a way out of this madman’s game after all. That was worth smiling over.

Neither of us spoke as we walked down the hall. We both had too much to think about. He was probably dwelling on his missing sons and the impending war, while I thought about my own missing daughter, and the chances that captivity in a shallowing had already driven her insane.

Even more, I thought about who, out of everyone I knew, could have told Rayseline where to find my little girl. There weren’t many options. I was pretty sure I knew which one was the winner.

The delegation from Saltmist was waiting in the throne room. About half of them had chicken-and-strawberry sandwiches and glasses of lemonade. Marcia and May were circulating through the crowd with more refreshments. Quentin and Raj stood guard on either side of the door, watching the crowd with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Connor sat on the edge of the dais, his head in his hands, looking exhausted. The Roane woman was sitting next to him, patting him comfortingly on the back.

Raj straightened when Patrick and I entered, pointing us out to Quentin. Having both of them looking in our direction was enough to tip off the rest of the room, all of whom turned, one by one, to look at us.

I raised one hand in a small wave. “Hi. Miss us?”

“Done more than she thought she would, but not as much as she’ll do, once she’s given cause to eat the fruit of the Judas tree.” The Roane woman stood. Connor started to follow, and she patted his shoulder, motioning for him to stay. “Now, now, my little soldier boy, stay as you are, and rest. Your place in this tale is nearly severed through, and the time for roving’s done. Rest a while, before the end begins.”

Connor sat again, looking as perplexed as I felt. The Roane smiled like she was giving a benediction and walked over to us, seizing Patrick’s free hand in both of her own. “She’s seen him in the halls of stone?”

“She has,” Patrick replied. Pitching his voice to carry to the rest of the courtyard, he said, “Dean is alive.”

The resulting cheer was loud enough to rouse a swarm of pixies from the rafters. They swirled around us in a great wave, buzzing their irritation before zipping out into the hall. A single spider-form bogey dropped from the ceiling and ran after them, drawing startled shrieks from a few of the Undersea fae.

Patrick turned to me. “What can we do?” he asked. “Anything you need, anything you want, the Undersea will gladly provide.”

For a brief, dizzying moment, I wanted to ask for a pony. Except for the part where I’d probably wind up with a Kelpie. “Just let me take care of this for now. My methods, my results. Please.”

“Will you call on us for assistance if needed?” asked Patrick.

“Only if your guards can promise not to shoot anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to be shot,” I said. “If you kill someone . . .”

“This war becomes entirely unavoidable. I know.” Patrick sighed deeply, weariness settling across him like a blanket. “I need to help, October, as does Dianda. They’re our sons.”