One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Yes, but do you have a can opener?”


“I’ll get right on that.” I led Tybalt out of the parking lot and toward a rusty-looking old shed. Its doors looked like they were barely holding on. Appearances can be deceiving. Inserting my key into a crack in the metal eight inches away from the visible keyhole, I turned it to the left, and chanted, “Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run. You’d run too, if a hungry Cait Sidhe was on your ass.” My magic rose around us in a veil of cut grass and copper, and the door to Goldengreen—the real door, the one that had nothing to do with keys or sheds—swung open.

Tybalt gave me an amused look. “I assume that was for my benefit?”

“Assume away.” I swept a hand toward the entrance. “After you.”

Chuckling, he stepped through the open door. I pulled it shut behind me as I followed.

There’s a moment of transition when you move between the mortal world and the interior of a knowe, a brief second where you aren’t sure where you are or how you got there. The disorientation faded as quickly as it came, and I turned to Tybalt, who was looking around the hall with undisguised curiosity.

“Come on,” I said. “We need to find Marcia.”

“I do adore a scavenger hunt,” he said dryly.

Nobles are supposed to be innately connected to their knowes, able to sense the moods and states of their hollow hills. My connection is tenuous at best, thanks to the part where the knowe really regards the pixies and bogeys as its owners. I have to rely on more mundane means, like following the sound of voices down the hall and into the courtyard.

If there was a goal in mind when Goldengreen’s courtyard was constructed, I don’t know what it was. The circular room looks like it should be outside, part of a large ornamental garden or something. The door opens onto the front level, which is small for a courtyard, since it’s only about sixty feet across. That’s because the walls are arranged in six shallow concentric tiers, each planted with a variety of flowers, herbs, and grasses. The top tier holds willows transplanted from Lily’s knowe before it sealed itself completely. Her former handmaids spend a lot of time with those trees, curling up among their roots and not saying anything to anyone. I think it helps them cope with the pain of losing her. I’m not going to be the one who stops them.

Marcia was sitting on the edge of the polished brass fountain at the center of the room, chatting amiably with a pair of Satyrs. She looked up at the sound of our footsteps, and stood as soon as she realized who we were. “Toby! Is it true?”

There was only one thing she could be asking me about. I nodded. “It’s true. The Undersea has declared war.”

“Oh, oak and ash.” Marcia went pale. “What are we going to do?”

“First? We’re going to let the Cait Sidhe in.” I gestured toward Tybalt. “The King of Cats has graciously extended his protection to us in these trying times.”

Marcia turned to him, blinking. “Really?”

If I’d asked that, he would have been offended that I was questioning his word. Because it was Marcia, he simply nodded, trying his best to look encouraging as he said, “Yes, really. It will be our honor.”

“Tha—” She caught herself, and curtsied instead, suffusing the motion with every ounce of her gratitude. Most of the nobles in this Kingdom could take lessons from her on what a curtsy’s supposed to be.

“It really is my pleasure,” Tybalt said.

One of the Satyrs raised his hand, like a schoolchild requesting permission to speak, and said, “Your Excellency? Do you—I mean, do we—can we leave?”