One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“How did they react?”


“As well as could be expected.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I need to find Etienne. He’s going to accompany us for the search of Rayseline’s rooms.”

Tybalt blinked. “Really? Why?”

“Because otherwise, the Queen could question any evidence you produced,” replied Etienne, stepping through a doorway that hadn’t been there a moment before—a glittering hole in the air that vanished as soon as he was through it. “A changeling with reason to have a grudge against the accused, and a King of Cats with his own agendas? Best not to give her the opening.”

“I hate politics,” I sighed. “Hi, Etienne.”

“Countess Daye,” he replied. Tybalt received a nod, which he returned without visible annoyance. It can be hard for the more traditionalist members of the nobility to know how they should address a King of Cats—“Your Majesty” gives them too much credit, but anything else verges on insult.

Most days, watching Etienne talk to Tybalt would be high comedy, and I’d be the first to break out the popcorn. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time. “You know the way?”

Etienne nodded. “Sir Grianne will be meeting us there.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Etienne waved his hand, filling the air with the smell of limes and cedar smoke. A glittering hole opened in the wall next to Tybalt. I could see the arched windows of the Torquills’ private hall through the portal. Grianne, another of Sylvester’s knights, was waiting for us there.

“I love the Tuatha Express,” I said.

All breeds of fae have their own strange skills. The Tuatha de Dannan are teleporters, capable of opening temporary doors between places. They used to manage the gates between the realms of Faerie, before Oberon sealed them and left the Tuatha looking for something else to do with their time. Most have chosen Etienne’s career path. The rest have Courts of their own, and make pretty decent regents. Some people say they’re just killing time until Oberon returns and puts them all back to work. Stranger things have happened.

Tybalt and Etienne entered the gate close behind me. There was a moment’s blinding light, like I was stepping between the levels of a knowe—

—and I was standing in a different hall. Grianne turned in our direction, the glowing spheres of her Merry Dancers spinning in wide circles around her. She didn’t say anything. That wasn’t unusual; I’ve never met a chatty Candela, and Grianne makes most of her race seem positively loquacious.

“What will you need from us?” asked Etienne. He closed the portal with another wave of his hand.

I resisted the urge to answer “More coffee.” Instead, I asked, “Has either of you been in Raysel’s rooms before?”

“I have,” said Grianne grudgingly, like even that much communication hadn’t been in her plans for the day.

“Good. I’m going to need you to tell me if anything’s out of place.” The lintel above the nearest door was marked with a circlet of pale pink roses, identifying the rooms beyond as Rayseline’s. I started to step forward, and paused, a feeling of undeniable wrongness washing over me. After squinting at the doorframe for a long moment, I realized what it was.

There were no wards, either active or inactive. There weren’t even signs that there had been wards set in the past. “Etienne?” I said uncertainly.

He followed my gaze, and sighed. “The young Mistress Torquill never made much use of her magical gifts. Her quarters have never been warded.”