One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s nice to hear a little honesty around here. I don’t think we’ve met, although you do look familiar.”


“This is my first major diplomatic event.” Connor had recovered from his coughing fit and was tugging on my elbow, trying to get my attention. I couldn’t think of a way to stop the introduction without being rude, so I barreled on, saying, “That was Countess April O’Leary of Tamed Lightning. I’m Countess October Daye, from Goldengreen. You can call me Toby. This is my escort—”

“Connor O’Dell,” said the stranger. Connor let go of my elbow. “We’ve met. But you . . . you’re Amandine’s daughter, aren’t you? The one who killed Blind Michael.”

Sometimes I think I’ll never live either of those things down. “That’s me.”

The stranger nodded. “They say you’re a hero.”

“They say a lot of things.” I looked at him blandly. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Patrick.” He smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I shot Connor an apologetic glance. Well, that explained why he’d been trying to get my attention. “Patrick Lorden?”

“The very same.”

“You’re married to the Duchess of Saltmist, aren’t you?” Leave it to me to strike up an informal conversation with one of the people we were gathered to pacify.

“That would be me.” Patrick didn’t sound offended. That was something. “Dianda’s yelling at the Queen, and I’m staying as far away as I can. My wife can be . . . forceful . . . when she gets going. Hello, Connor. Cute date.”

“Your Grace,” said Connor. He sounded mortified. I guess this wasn’t how he’d pictured introducing his girlfriend to his liege.

“Forgive me for saying so, Your Grace, but you seem more relaxed than I expected,” I said carefully. “I’d heard there were some issues.”

“By ‘issues,’ you mean the kidnapping and threatened murder of my sons?” His smile held neither warmth nor humor. “My current calm is a facade, I assure you, but as I can’t do anything to help Dianda negotiate their return, I’m staying out of the way.”

“That’s very reasonable of you,” I said. “If something happened to my daughter, I’d be a lot less capable of being sensible.” And a lot more powerless—but in the end, that wouldn’t matter. If something happened to Gillian, I’d rip the world down to save her, even if she spat in my face when I did. That’s what parenthood means.

Patrick tilted his head. “You’re a parent?”

I used to be, I thought. Aloud, I said, “Yes. Her name is Gillian. She recently turned eighteen.”

Something in my voice must have told him not to push the point. Patrick nodded instead, and said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Silence fell between the three of us, no one quite sure what to say or how to say it. I tried to cover my awkwardness by raising my glass for another drink, and stopped cold.

The candles were throwing hundreds of tiny, flickering shadows across the surface of my wine . . . everywhere but one small section at the rim of the glass, where the reflection of the room was crisp and perfectly clear. Everything but that one spot was distorted, like . . . like . . .

Like the loophole in a personal invisibility spell.

“Patrick?” I said casually, tilting my glass to get a better fix on the reflection. Now that I was really looking, I could make out the outline of a human-sized person on the balcony behind me, raising something that was either a gun or a small crossbow. The loophole wasn’t quite good enough to let me make out any details, like what kind of weapon was being aimed in our direction. If it was a gun, there was no way to guess whether the bullets would be iron. If it was a crossbow, it was probably loaded with elf-shot. Not a call I wanted to make from the other side of a ballroom.

“Yes?”