One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

We drove in silence for a while longer. I was thinking about turning on the radio when Tybalt said, almost to himself, “I don’t understand why it always comes to this.”


I barely stopped myself from twisting to look at him. That would probably have sent us careening into the nearest tree. “I don’t understand.”

“War. It seems that in Faerie, conflicts such as these must always come to war.”

“But . . . you’re Cait Sidhe. No offense, but your people are some of the most violent I’ve ever seen. You fight constantly.”

“Yes; we fight from the day we’re born—and we learn that fights have consequences. When you cut someone, he bleeds. When someone cuts you, you scar. Nothing is free. Sometimes I think we’re the only ones in Faerie who remember that.”

I slanted a frown toward him. “Everyone knows wars have costs.”

“If they did, they wouldn’t fight them. Watch. The veterans are smart enough to leave for other Kingdoms while they still can; most of the ones who come when the call goes out won’t have ever fought a war before. They’ll come because they think it’s honorable, or because they want to be called heroes. They’ll show up in their pretty armor, and they’ll litter the battlefield like leaves.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’ve been to war. Believe me. What’s coming won’t be anything honorable.”

“I thought Cait Sidhe didn’t have wars.” Bloody, brutal battles for succession, sure, but not wars.

“We don’t.” Tybalt flashed a humorless smile. “What makes you think you’re the first of your kind to befriend me? I’m older than you. I’ve had time to put some skeletons in my closet.”

“It’s the ones you buried in the backyard that worry me.” My attempt at levity sounded flat even to my own ears. If we went to war, people were going to die.

The joke pretty much killed the conversation. He shook his head, turning his gaze back to the window. I sighed and kept driving. Only a few blocks later, we entered the Luidaeg’s neighborhood, and a thick fog that smelled like brine and ashes rose to envelop the car. The buildings that lined the street were dark, the mist blurring them into architectural ghosts. I was willing to bet that the Luidaeg’s mortal neighbors, few as they were, had been gripped with the sudden desire to visit friends or relatives as far from the coast as possible, leaving their homes abandoned.

I caught Tybalt looking out the windows in confusion, like he didn’t remember where we were or what we were doing there. “This is a seriously good misdirection spell,” I said. “It’s a good thing she told it I was coming, huh?”

Tybalt glanced at me, seeming briefly confused that I was there. The moment passed. “You’re an ally,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s wise to remember that.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, pulling up to the curb. Tybalt was out of the car before I turned the engine off. He stopped about five feet away, half-bleached by the fog, and stayed there, shuddering slightly and taking large, shaky breaths. I took my time getting out of the car, giving him a chance to calm down.

He jumped when I closed my door, casting another bewildered glance my way. Acting purely on instinct, I crossed to him and took hold of his elbow. His expression cleared, replaced by embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot . . . briefly, I’m afraid that I forgot you were here.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “I’m forgettable. You okay?”

“No.” He stepped a little closer as he scanned the fog surrounding us. “Perhaps you’d best keep your grip. This enchantment seems somewhat over fond of claiming me.”

“Not a problem.” I started into the fog. “This way.”