Page 18 of Once Broken Faith

Sylvester moved like he was going to stand. I made a quick motion with my hand, hoping he’d understand that I was waving him off. Luna gave me a hard look as he settled back in his seat. I did my best to ignore them both, focusing instead on the greater threat: King Antonio, who didn’t know me and had no reason to trust me. I had too many allies who didn’t let my human blood call my words into question. I needed to remember that it didn’t work that way for everyone in Faerie.

“The High King is Daoine Sidhe,” I said. “I’m willing to let him ride my blood, if that will reassure you.”

“Better plan: I can do it,” said the Luidaeg. She rose. King Antonio shrank back. I might be used to people trusting me, but I was also used to dealing with the Firstborn. That, too, was not common in Faerie.

Smirking, the Luidaeg climbed the stairs and came to stand beside me on the stage. Walther—who, like most people, viewed avoiding the Firstborn as a good, reliable life choice that was unlikely to get him brutally murdered—shifted to the side, cheeks coloring red even as the rest of his face got paler. Poor guy really hadn’t signed up for this when he’d agreed to help me out.

“Does anyone here question my ability to read the blood of a changeling, or the integrity of my word?” the Luidaeg asked, in a voice as mild as milk and laced with sugary sweetness. She was at her most dangerous when she was talking like that, if only because there was the potential that someone might forget. Forget that she was the oldest of us, the most dangerous of us; the one who could slaughter everyone around her without any real effort.

No one spoke.

“That’s good. Especially since I can only tell the truth, so anyone who calls me a liar is out to lose a head.” She turned to High King Aethlin. “I grant you no power over me, child of a child thrice-removed of my father, but I grant that you have power over this gathering. If I sample her blood and tell you its secrets, will that be acceptable to you, and hence, to your vassals?”

Sometimes pureblood protocol makes me want to scream and tear my hair out. I forced myself to remain silent and still, waiting for the High King’s verdict.

“It will, but only if Sir Daye consents,” said the High King. “I will not command any among my subjects to tithe their blood or body to the sea witch without their understanding what it means for them.”

“Oh, Toby’s given me her blood before, haven’t you, Toby?” The Luidaeg smiled at me. Her teeth, which had seemed so blunt and human only a few moments before, were sharp as knives. That sort of swift, mercurial change was almost reassuring, coming from her. If she was changing, she was still herself. No masks. No lies. Just the ever-shifting, ever-faithless sea given demihuman form and a siren’s subtle grace.

“Not normally for something like this,” I said. I looked past her to the High King and nodded. “I consent. There’s no point in having this meeting if we can’t all agree that the cure works.”

“We could always shoot someone and see if they can be awakened,” said Antonio. There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. Apparently, he didn’t like being interrupted by a changeling and one of the Firstborn—someone below him and someone so far above him that he might as well have been mortal himself. I could see where that might be jarring, but I didn’t feel too bad for him. This was all part of the business of being King.

Tybalt still wasn’t saying or doing anything. That stung. Every other time I’d been questioned in his presence, he’d been there to rise and take my side. Even before we’d been officially together, he’d been willing to stand up for me before the pretender Queen. Now he was silent, not speaking, not raising a hand to challenge a man who’d challenged my honor. I’d always known he was a King, and that sometimes he’d need to do things that put his people ahead of me. But this . . . this sort of silence stung, even if it was necessary. I’d never realized how much silence could hurt.

“No, we can’t,” I said flatly, focusing on Antonio and trying not to let my frustration with Tybalt color my tone. “Elf-shot is a poison. Maybe it’s one we can counter now, if this conclave finds in favor of distributing the cure, but it’s still poisonous, and it still hurts. No one needs to suffer that when we have another way.”

Antonio raised both eyebrows. “I’m sorry, little miss. I was unaware that you were a queen in your own right. Tell me, what demesne do you claim, that you can contradict my words so forcefully, and with so little hesitation? What fiefdom is yours by blood, or conquest, or appointment?”

Dianda made a gagging motion. Oddly, that helped. It broke the back of my anger, allowing me to take a deep breath and look to Arden for the support Tybalt couldn’t give me.

“She is no queen, as well you know, but she speaks from a position of authority that none of us have,” said Arden coolly. “If you like, we can elf-shoot you, and awaken you, and let you testify as to your experience. In fact, I would have to insist. Sir Daye is sworn to one of my most trusted vassals, and by questioning her, you question me. The only way to avoid that becoming dire insult would be to allow honor to cause you to feel the poison for yourself.”

King Antonio stood perfectly still for a moment, weighing his options. Finally, he said, “I yield to the sea witch and her interpretation of the changeling’s blood,” and sat.

“Now that that’s over,” said the Luidaeg. She turned back to me, holding out her hand. “Arm.”

I grimaced as I laid my forearm across her palm. “Please try not to open an artery. I don’t want to have this whole stage bathed in blood.”

“You have so little faith in me,” she said, and bent forward, and bit down.

Her teeth were as sharp as they’d appeared. That didn’t make it hurt any less. The smell of my blood filled the air, mixing with the bitter-cold sea-smell of her magic, which stung like salt when it touched my skin. She drank deeply, and the feel of her pulling the blood from my veins was disorienting enough to make me close my eyes for a moment, centering myself.

I opened them when she pulled away. The wound in my forearm was already healing, leaving only a smear of blood and saliva behind. I wiped it away with my free hand, then scrubbed my palm against the leg of my pants.

The Luidaeg, eyes now black from side to side like the depths of an angry sea, turned to the gallery, and said, “I, the Luidaeg, sea witch and undying daughter of Maeve, tell you that the woman beside me, Sir October Christine Daye of Shadowed Hills, was elf-shot twice, and lived each time through the intervention of outside forces. The first shot was delivered by an assassin’s bow, and was countered by the magic of my sister, who changed the blood in Sir Daye’s body such as to sunder her from her own death. The second shot was delivered by the hand of the deposed King Rhys of Silences, and was countered by a tincture brewed by Master Walther Davies, alchemist. In both cases, the elf-shot was true: her sleep, and death, should have followed. It did not. The cure works.”

“So it is said,” said High King Aethlin. “Let it be accepted within these chambers that the cure works.”

Some of the people in the gallery muttered, but no one objected. That was a relief.

“You may be excused, Sir Daye,” said the High King.

I turned to him, bowed, and walked back to my seat as quickly as I dared. The Luidaeg followed me, leaving Walther to face the ensuing inquisition alone.

It felt like everyone in the room had a question for him. What was in the tincture? How was it made? Could anyone make it, assuming it wasn’t banned as a result of this conclave? Was he holding anything back? Had there been earlier versions that hadn’t worked? How had he tested them? How had he been sure that using the cure wouldn’t kill us, and result in a violation of the Law? It went on and on, and frankly, I wasn’t listening. I was too busy sinking into my seat, rubbing the place on my arm where the ghosts of the Luidaeg’s teeth still lingered, continuing to try and get a feel for the room.

Most of these people had previously been only names on paper to me, if that. The monarchs of Golden Shore, for example. Their Kingdom is known for being a safe haven for changelings, as long as those changelings are willing to work. Everyone works in Golden Shore. It’s an agrarian community, responsible for providing most of the noble houses on the West Coast with fae produce and livestock. Yes, there are fae cows, called Crodh Sith by people who want to be pretentious about it, and their milk and butter are supposed to be some of the finest in this world or any other. Golden apples, silver grapes, sheep with fleece finer than silk . . . if you want any of those things, you get them from Golden Shore. Golden Hinds are rare, as they breed even more slowly than most fae and don’t like to live in human cities. Seeing a married couple was fascinating.