Nicole’s lips parted, and her eyes misted with tears. Something was beginning to break within her, the barrier across a natural knowing, the mental and emotional homecoming that all changelings eventually experienced when they finally came to Faerie. But she ducked her head before her emotions could visibly develop any more.
I took her to my quarters, a sparse, tiny, little-used suite that was assigned to me. Everyone who was sworn to the Stone Order had a room in the fortress, even if they lived on the other side of the hedge like I did. It was partly for a sense of community, but also for emergencies. If the sovereignty of the Order or the fortress itself were threatened, Marisol could call in every New Gargoyle and not have to worry about where to house all of us. I suppose many people would have seen my fortress quarters as a great safety net in case my life on the other side of the hedge ran aground. But to me, living in the studio apartment would be worse than moving back into your parents’ basement. My fortress quarters represented the most serious failure I could imagine--breaking promises I’d made to dedicate my life to honoring my mother by getting criminal vamps off the street. My fortress quarters also represented confinement. It was a cell in a literal jail of a building, and with it came full-time obligations to Marisol and the Order.
I told Nicole to make herself comfortable and use any of the things she found in the apartment, and she headed straight back to the bedroom. I quietly let myself out and returned to Oliver’s apartment. He was waiting for me, as I knew he would be. This time, we both sat down—him on the one easy chair and me sprawled on the floor.
As I took off my scabbard and laid it down next to me, weariness began to settle deep in my bones. Oliver sat with one ankle crossed over the other knee, and his hands clasped across his stomach. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes were sunken and lines had settled around them. He looked every bit as tired as I felt.
“I’m still wrapping my head around all of this. Are you absolutely sure she’s my sister?” I asked. “We don’t look much alike, and as you said, she doesn’t have New Garg features.”
His face tightened slightly. “She is certainly your sister. I was there when the two of you were born. Did you have any trouble from the Duergar?”
“Technically, I was kicked out of the realm before I got a chance to grab Nicole,” I said. I knew from a lifetime with my father that Oliver didn’t want to hear about heroics, and he couldn’t stand braggarts, so I kept it as brief as possible. “I got back in, found Nicole, and long story short, we escaped.”
I licked my lips, my eyes flicking to Oliver and then away, as I remembered a little detail I’d thus far left out. The part about how Jasper had helped us escape, and as a result, there was a binding oath between us.
My father immediately recognized the look on my face. “What?” he demanded.
“One of Periclase’s sons helped us get out,” I said. “I owe him, now.”
He’d gone tense at my confession but then relaxed slightly.
“You did what you had to do, and the oath can’t be undone,” he said. “You’ll have to worry about that when the time comes.”
He sounded annoyed, but not as pissed as I’d expected.
I was just about to change the subject and tell him about the servitor attack in the Duergar palace when there was a series of sharp, loud knocks at the door that seemed to pierce through the quiet of the apartment.
Oliver stood and strode to see who was there.
Sensing something was amiss, I rose to my feet. A page stood at the door, and his eyes were wide.
“An urgent message for you, my lord,” the page said. He squinted at me, shooting me a snippy look, as if he were irritated to find me there. “I was instructed to wait while you read it.”
He handed my father an envelope sealed with magic-imbued wax that would only give way under the hand of the intended recipient. If anyone else tried to open it, the whole thing would immediately incinerate. I recognized the color of the wax—Marisol’s seal.
Oliver tore into the message and quickly read it. “Tell Lady Lothlorien I’ll be right there.”
With his back to me, I couldn’t read his face, but his voice was as strained as I’d ever heard it.
He shut the door and turned to me. “King Periclase has made a formal appeal to the High Seelie King Oberon, demanding that we return Nicole to him. He’s claiming that Nicole is his daughter.”
Chapter 20
I BLINKED TWO or three times, unable to form a proper response, just watching Oliver as he swiftly walked into his bedroom and then emerged half a minute later wearing trousers and one of his official fortress military jackets.
“What are we going to do?” I asked finally.
“I’m not sure yet,” my father said grimly. He flipped his hand. “Come with me.”
I scooped up my scabbard and slung it over my head, positioning it as we hurried out of Oliver’s quarters and toward the wing that housed the offices of high-ranking New Gargoyle administrators.
An official appeal to Oberon was serious. It meant Periclase wasn’t bluffing. He truly thought he was Nicole’s father . . . and, by extension, my father.
My feet stuttered as my mind reeled. I didn’t realize I’d stopped until I felt Oliver’s hand on my elbow.
“Periclase knows I’m Nicole’s sister,” I said faintly as I tried to catch my breath. “He believes he’s my father.”
“Shh,” Oliver hissed at me. He pulled me close to speak in my ear. “He does not know you’re Nicole’s sister. And if he thinks he’s Nicole’s father, that means he believes he knows who her mother is. No one knows who your mother is. You’ve still got two layers of protection here.”
He waited with surprising patience as the seconds ticked by, watching my face.
I swallowed. “Okay. Yes. He doesn’t know I’m Nicole’s sister. And no one knows my parentage on my mother’s side.”
Including me.
“Right,” Oliver said. “That means Periclase can’t make the connection between you and Nicole. You, Nicole, and I are the only ones who know the two of you are sisters.”
“Lochlyn, too,” I said. “But you know I trust her. She even insisted on swearing an oath not to tell.”
The tangled web of secrets and accusations was enough to make my brain freeze up. But I understood the logic of what my father said, and that brought me some ease.
Still, as we continued to Marisol’s office, my thoughts went back to Periclase’s appeal and the fact that he was confident enough to tender such a request to the High King of Faerie. I couldn’t quite fathom a world where the Duergar king was my father. It was just . . . absurd. And awful. Because if by some stroke of insanity he was my father, that meant Oliver wasn’t. I stopped that train of thought right there.