One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

I gave him a sidelong look. “Why do you know how you’re supposed to take care of leather?”


“Lots of knights wear leather armor.” He shrugged. “You do. I never see you without your jacket.”

I decided not to argue. He was right, in a sideways sort of way. “Normally, you keep leather dry. In this case, I’m going to trust that Walther knows what he’s doing.”

At the moment, what he was doing involved chanting to himself in Welsh. The air in the kitchen chilled, the smell of frozen yarrow wafting around us. Everyone quieted, looking toward Walther with varying degrees of interest.

He chuckled, pulling my clean, dry jacket from the sink and giving it a final shake before lobbing it in my direction. I caught it easily, and blinked at him. “Hearth magic?”

“It’s a form of alchemy,” he said, looking unconscionably pleased with himself. “I’ve learned a few tricks. Anyway, can I keep the arrow a little longer? I want to run some further tests, and see if I can get you a more precise origin.”

“Please do,” I replied, slipping the jacket on over my bathrobe. The leather smelled like yarrow and salt and, very faintly, vinegar. “What did you learn about the other things we found? The needles, and whatever was in that vial?”

“The needles are just needles. As for the contents of the vial—it’s a sleeping charm, with enough of a memory eraser worked in that if you drank it, you’d probably forget the last hour or so of your life. Not fatal, but not friendly.” He shook his head, expression turning almost admiring. “Whoever mixed it knew their stuff. This would put a person out for about a day.”

“Oleander?” I asked—almost hopefully. Oleander was dead. At least if this were her work, we didn’t have to worry about Rayseline having any more of it.

“I don’t think so. It’s herbal, not floral.”

Damn. “Okay.”

“I’m going to get an hour or so of sleep, and then get back to work. You should consider doing the same.” Walther flashed me a tired smile. “I’ll call when I know anything. Please, I know you’re not good at it, but can you try to be careful? Just until I can let you know what it is you’re up against?”

“It’s a little late, but I can give it a try,” I said. I wasn’t willing to let myself hope yet—the odds were stacked too strongly against us for that—but maybe we were making headway. I had my jacket back. That was a start.

My jacket . . . and the contents of its pockets. “Wait here a second,” I said, and turned to run for my room, not waiting for his response.

Walther was standing there, looking confused, when I returned. “What is it?”

“Here.” I held out the vial containing the needle from Dean’s room. “I found this in Saltmist. Can you check it out?”

“I’ll add it to the list.” He plucked the vial from my hand. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

“You do that,” I said. “Open roads, Walther.”

“Open roads,” he echoed. “May, I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Kind fires, Walther,” she said, and hugged him. “Now you get out of here, and take care of yourself, okay?”

He smiled. “I’ll do my best. Good-bye, Raj.”

“Good-bye,” Raj replied. Then Walther was out the door, leaving the rest of us in the kitchen, not sure what to say.

As usual, May broke the silence. “Toby needs pants. Raj, go wake Quentin up.”

“Why?” he asked blankly.

She smiled. “It’s time for pancakes.”

I laughed all the way to my room.





EIGHTEEN


I EMERGED FROM MY ROOM wearing dry jeans, a black cotton shirt, and a gray wool sweater. The smell of pancakes greeted me, awakening my appetite. Dianda’s bottles and the Luidaeg’s shell were in my pocket, and the pin was in the lining of my jacket. Maybe its magic was spent and maybe not; I couldn’t afford to throw it away if there was still a chance it might be useful.