One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“She’s telling the truth,” said Connor. Raysel’s aim wavered, like she couldn’t decide which of us she should kill first.

“Now!” shouted Tybalt, and leaped for Rayseline.

He wasn’t moving as fast as I knew he was capable of, but he was still moving fast enough to slam into her before she could react. The impact knocked her off-balance, and she released the arrow, sending it flying to embed itself harmlessly in the ceiling. She shrieked, hitting him with her bow. The Goblins lunged for him, their knives out and gleaming wickedly.

I pulled the pixie from my hair, whispering, “Help us, please,” before hurling it toward Raysel and the others. It rang stridently as it tumbled through the air. That must have been the pixie equivalent of sounding a cavalry charge, because more pixies came swarming from their hiding places, biting and scratching as they dove into the fray.

One of the Goblins went for Quentin, and was promptly dissuaded by a baseball bat to the side of the head. Not to be outdone, Connor drew his own bow and shot the Goblin in the arm. It howled and dropped its knife.

I wanted to help them, but more, I wanted to get Gillian away from all this madness. I turned and knelt by her chair. “Just hold on, baby, I’m going to get you out of here,” I said, starting to saw through the rope binding her ankles.

“Mom? What are those things?” She sounded terrified.

“Close your eyes, Gilly,” I ordered. Tybalt was snarling, which meant he’d probably abandoned at least part of his human form in favor of a cat’s claws and fangs. Even my allies probably looked like monsters to her. “This is all going to be over soon, but I need you to close your eyes, because you don’t want to see this.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered—but she turned her face away. Thank Oberon for that. She’d already seen too much.

I’d worry about that later. For now, my biggest concern was getting her out of the shallowing alive.

The rope holding her feet gave way. I moved around to the back of the chair. “Just keep them closed, baby,” I said, keeping my tone soothing, like I was trying to coax the toddler I remembered her being back to sleep after a bad dream. “I’m almost done here, and as soon as I’m done, I’m going to take you home. I’m going to get you out of here, and I’m going to take you home.”

“Promise?” she asked, voice barely audible above the sound of fighting. My hands faltered at the work of sawing through the rope, suddenly realizing what she was asking me—and what Raysel had really done.

Gillian had seen Faerie. Her introduction wasn’t the kind most changelings got, but she’d seen Faerie all the same. When Quentin’s human girlfriend was stolen by Blind Michael, the Luidaeg was able to pull her memories of the fae out of her mind, leaving her whole and undamaged by the experience. Katie was human. Katie had that option.

Gillian wasn’t human. Gillian didn’t.

Changeling children can live human until their powers manifest, or until they know too much. Katie’s mind wanted to reject Faerie, because it wasn’t hers. Gillian, on the other hand, belonged to Faerie, at least a little bit; she would never let the memories of something that big, that integral, go. She’d drive herself crazy trying to figure out what was missing from her mind.

If I got Gillian out of here—when I got her out of here—I was going to have to do the thing I’d thought I had managed to avoid completely. I was going to have to give her the Changeling’s Choice. The one where, if she chose Faerie, she would never see her father again . . . and if she chose human . . . if she chose human . . .