One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

I’m more than fifty years old. By human standards, I’m middle aged. By fae standards, I’m little more than a highly precocious child. “I haven’t had the privilege.”


“It’s not a privilege,” said Sylvester. His voice was soft. “It’s the worst thing in our world. Consider yourself fortunate that it’s been so long since the War of Silences. I fought there. Part of my heart has never left that battlefield.”

“Oh, oak and ash,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

The Kingdom of Silences meets the Kingdom of the Mists within a mile of where the state of Oregon meets the state of California. The War of Silences was fought there, shortly after King Gilad died. The Tylwyth Teg who used to rule in Silences didn’t like the proclamations our new Queen was making, and when diplomacy failed, they decided to overthrow her. What they didn’t count on was the Mists having an army of its own.

The war lasted six days.

Hundreds died on both sides: when Faerie goes to war, the night-haunts eat very, very well. When the dust cleared, the ruling family of Silences was broken, their heirs scattered and their army banished by the man who took the throne—a man who, coincidentally, used to be a Baron in the Court of the Mists. We’ve had good relations with the Kingdom of Silences ever since.

Of course, it’s not that hard to have good relations with a puppet government. It’s also easy to let your army fall into disrepair when your nearest neighbors would never dream of raising a hand against you. Silences might get the last laugh after all.

“That fight ended long ago,” said Sylvester. “Now it falls to us to keep the next war from beginning.”

I reached across our small circle to take his hand. “It won’t,” I said. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”





SEVEN


STARLIGHT FROSTED THE BEACH in gilded silver as we stepped from the shelter of the cave and waded through the water to the beach, all of us emerging perfectly dry, courtesy of Connor. Sylvester gave me a fierce hug and turned to walk, hand-in-hand with Luna, toward the parking lot.

April watched them go before turning back to me. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Just get home safely, and tell your people to stay out of danger.” I allowed myself a brief smile. “I don’t have time to save their butts right now.”

“Acknowledged,” she said, and vanished in a haze of static, presumably returning to her escort.

Connor cast a quick don’t-look-here over the both of us, the briny smell of his magic blending into the smell of the waves. He took my free hand once the spell was complete, his eyes going to the water. “Toby . . .”

“I know.” I followed the direction of his gaze. “If it comes to that, I won’t blame you.”

“That’ll make one of us.”

“Connor . . .” The Luidaeg’s shell was getting steadily colder, reaching the point where “freeze” becomes “burn.” I shivered. “I shouldn’t have let April leave without asking if she had a phone. Do you have a phone?”

Connor blinked, apparently thrown. “Uh . . . no? I spend half my time underwater. They make diving watches, but they don’t make diving cell phones yet.”

“Oh, root and branch.” May’s been trying to get me to start carrying a cell phone for ages now. I hate it when she’s right. “Do you mind taking a detour? I think the Luidaeg’s trying to get hold of me.” I didn’t want to pull the shell out while I was standing on a public beach, don’t-look-here or not. It might do anything, from transmitting her voice to exploding, and I didn’t want to deal.

“I . . . guess not.” Connor looked uneasy. I couldn’t exactly blame him for that. If the Luidaeg is a legendary monster to most of Faerie, she’s a well-known, and very real, danger in the Undersea. “If she wants you.”

“Good. Come on.”

The parking lot was empty by the time we reached my car. I passed Connor the arrow, still wrapped in Patrick’s vest, and unlocked the doors. He offered the arrow back once we were in the car. I shook my head.

“Keep it while I drive. Try not to stab yourself.”