One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

The crowd was continuing to shrink. Many of them were already gone, pouring out the doors in a panic. I just hoped the Queen’s guard would be smart enough not to let them leave the knowe.

Speaking of the Queen’s guard . . . “Where the hell are the guards?” I asked. “They should be here by now.”

“Better question: who the hell are you?” The questioner shoved herself between us, expression challenging me to give her something to get pissed off about. I didn’t have to know who she was to know that wouldn’t be a good idea. It’s not a good idea to bait anyone who looks that ready to take your head off.

She was black-haired and dark-eyed, with skin the color of clean sand and delicately pointed ears that weren’t shaped quite right for her to be Daoine Sidhe. Narrow slits that I recognized as closed gills ran along the sides of her neck. Her dress was deep blue velvet over white samite, trimmed with pearls and bits of polished shell, and she wasn’t wearing shoes. That, as much as the way she reached for Patrick’s hand, told me who she had to be.

“Duchess Lorden.” I bowed, holding it just long enough to be polite. The Merrow are one of the few purely Undersea races that can take a bipedal form, even if it’s difficult for them to maintain it for long. It made sense that she’d want to meet the Queen on equal footing, so to speak. “I’m Toby Daye.”

“What she’s failing to mention is that she’s the new Countess of Goldengreen, and that I’d be sleeping for a hundred years if not for her,” said Patrick, letting Dianda take his hand. “Please keep that in mind, Di.”

“I thought you’d prefer him unventilated,” I said. Perhaps ill-advisedly, but I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut.

Dianda’s eyes narrowed. “How did you become Countess of Goldengreen? I thought that knowe was sealed upon the Winterrose’s death.”

So the Undersea didn’t share the aversion to admitting death existed? That was a nice change. If it weren’t for the water part, I might have been tempted to start attending their ice cream socials. Or whatever it was they did down there.

“It was a royal appointment. I killed Blind Michael, and they couldn’t give me a medal for murder, so they slapped me with a County instead.” I started to fold my arms, and stopped, remembering the arrow.

Dianda kept glowering as she looked from my face to the arrow in my hand and back again. “How did you know?”

“The reflections in my wine were wrong.” She looked at me blankly. I explained, “Personal invisibility spells can be tailored to work on specific surfaces, but that won’t stop them from throwing reflections on things the spellcaster didn’t think to block, like liquid. I noticed something out of place, and I’m a little paranoid about that sort of thing. Connor, you okay over there?”

“I think so.” He bowed to Dianda. “Your Grace.”

“Connor,” she said frostily.

I cleared my throat. “Your Grace, I’m sorry I had to tackle your husband, but I’m glad to have been of service. I was . . . hoping to . . .” My voice trailed off. The Queen of the Mists was storming up behind Dianda, moonstruckmad eyes bright with fury. She had the skirt of her white silk gown clenched firmly in her hands, creating a sea-foam froth of fabric around her feet. I swallowed and tried my statement again, hoping to finish it before the Queen reached us. “Your Grace, not everyone here is against you.”

Dianda never had a chance to answer. The Queen stepped between us, turning her back on Dianda and Patrick. “Countess Daye, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded, ignoring the Undersea nobles.

I’ve never been one of the Queen’s favorite people, but I try not to piss her off. True anger lends her voice a dulcet shriek that can’t help reminding me of her part-Banshee heritage—or of the damage she could do if she ever got really mad.

“There was an archer under a personal invisibility spell, Your Highness,” I said, holding up the arrow. “I saw him—or her—reflected in my wine and acted to protect your guests.”