Page 19 of Once Broken Faith

Both of them were frowning as Walther spoke, and their questions were sharp-edged, like they were trying to trip him up. I didn’t get the feeling they were on the side of distributing the cure. I just couldn’t figure out why.

King Antonio, on the other hand, was definitely opposed to distributing the cure, and I knew exactly why. Angels has a reputation as a place where you could do what you wanted without fear of noble intervention, because the nobility of Angels don’t care. As long as they can party the nights away, the riff-raff in the streets doesn’t matter to them. Elf-shot was the monarchy’s primary method of enforcing the few rules they did have. I’d always thought it was sort of like Shakespeare’s Verona: gleefully lawless, with brawls breaking out every time two warring factions tripped over each other in the grocery store. Take away elf-shot as a threat and a pacifying tool, and Antonio and his court might actually start needing to work.

Queen Siwan of Silences was obviously in favor of distributing the cure, for a lot of reasons. Walther was her nephew. Even if he was currently residing in and serving the Mists, having him be the one to discover a way to break one of the oldest enchantments in our world reflected well on his family and the Kingdom that they held. Aspiring alchemists from all over the world would want to go and train in Silences, the Kingdom that had created the finest alchemist of our age. Also, I was pretty sure the Yates family had already used the cure to wake everyone in their Kingdom, and that would be easier to explain if the cure didn’t wind up illegal.

It was hard to say which side of the argument Dianda came down on. She was glaring at the stage with such intensity that it was almost surprising when no one burst spontaneously into flames. Patrick looked thoughtful. Patrick usually looks thoughtful. Patrick is the leavening influence that keeps Dianda from killing us all because she’s bored, or hungry, or doesn’t like the way someone’s looking at her. I’m very fond of Patrick.

High Queen Maida leaned over and murmured something to her husband who, in turn, leaned over and murmured something to Arden. She nodded, rising gracefully from her throne and clasping her hands together as a signal for silence. The room quieted.

“We’re agreed, then, that this is no small topic: whatever we decide will change the course of Faerie for however long remains before Oberon returns to us. In light of this, no decisions will be made rashly, or without consideration of all perspectives. Many of you have traveled far to be here. The hospitality of my home is open to you for the duration of this conclave, plus the traditional three days, should you wish to remain and enjoy the courtesies of my Kingdom when our business here is done. For now, we’ll stop to enjoy a meal, and to consider what we have heard so far. The conclave will resume after we have all eaten.”

She waited for Siwan to rise and join her before the pair turned and walked off the stage, followed by the High King and High Queen. I stayed where I was. If I could avoid being trampled by royalty, that would be swell.

I wasn’t the only one: basically everyone in my row was holding still, as if that would somehow keep them from being noticed by the outgoing kings and queens. Having the Luidaeg with us probably helped a lot, since no one wanted to poke the Firstborn if they could help it.

Sylvester cast a look in our direction as he walked up the aisle, like he wanted to come over and speak to me, but didn’t quite have the nerve. I turned my face to the side, not waving him over, and eventually, he just left.

Tybalt didn’t look at us at all.

Politics were politics, and I could worry about them later. For now, I had bigger things to focus on. Twisting in my seat, I leaned forward until I could see Karen. “Honey, are you okay?”

Her face crumpled, like she’d been holding herself together by the thinnest of lines. “Auntie Birdie!” she wailed, flinging herself across Quentin to get to me. She wound up mostly in my lap, arms around my neck, legs slung over his lap. Quentin looked nonplussed but didn’t say anything. He knew she wasn’t trying to invade his personal space, no matter how much she was succeeding.

“Oh, honey.” I put my arms around her and held her as tightly as I could, feeling the warm wetness of her tears against my neck. She was crying too hard to talk. I stroked her back with one hand, turning to look at the Luidaeg.

“Karen appeared on my doorstep at sundown,” she said. “I was already planning to come to this shit-storm circus, so she’s lucky she didn’t miss me. Said my scumbag sister had appeared in her dreams and threatened her family if she didn’t come and represent her interests.”

There was a lot of “she” and “her” in that sentence, but I followed it well enough, especially because I knew where the Luidaeg’s restrictions were. She couldn’t say Eira’s name, or any of her aliases. For her, Evening Winterrose was a pronoun and a problem, a looming disaster that had already killed her once and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

I also knew that whatever Evening had said to threaten Karen, she could follow through on those threats. We’d learned that Karen was an oneiromancer after she was taken captive by Blind Michael, who had been a Firstborn son of Oberon and Maeve, and hence the Luidaeg’s younger brother. He’d stolen Karen while she was sleeping, leaving her body behind while he prisoned her dreaming form in a glass ball. If one of the Firstborn could hurt her that way, I had no doubt that another Firstborn—especially one as powerful as Evening—could do the same.

“You know, I was worried when we started working on this cure,” I said bitterly. “I thought ‘well, hell, we just got Evening out of the way for a hundred years, and now we have to worry about somebody waking her up like the villain from a bad slasher movie.’ Only now even elf-shot can’t keep her from hurting my family. Why didn’t we kill her, again?”

“Because if you were in violation of Oberon’s Law, you’d be imprisoned or executed, and either way, you wouldn’t be able to finish my training,” said Quentin. His voice shook. He was as unhappy as I was about this; he just didn’t know what to do about it. It didn’t help that Evening was his Firstborn. Everything he was told him he should obey and honor her, not side against her. Carefully, he reached over and patted Karen’s shoulder. “Hey. It’ll be okay. Toby’s not going to let her hurt you.”

Sometimes I was so proud of that kid that it hurt. I stroked Karen’s hair with one hand, and asked, “Anybody got any bright ideas about how to keep Evening from using Karen as her catspaw forever once she gets woken up?”

“What?” Karen pulled back, letting me see her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were wide, glossy, and filled with tears. “What do you mean?”

I frowned at her, confused. “I meant that after the cure is approved, and Evening is woken up, what’s going to make her leave you alone?”

“She didn’t send me here because she wants the cure to be used, Auntie Birdie,” said Karen. “She sent me here because she wants it to be buried.”

I stared at her. So did Quentin. The Luidaeg, who had presumably heard this before, sighed and pushed herself to her feet.

“Okay, kids,” she said. “Let’s go eat.”

Karen climbed out of my lap. Walther, Quentin, and I stood, and together, the five of us walked toward the door. When we were halfway there, Karen took my hand. I didn’t pull away.

SEVEN

MOST OF THE LOCAL NOBLES had loaned Arden members of their household for the duration of the conclave, making up for the shortcomings in staffing at the kingdom level. Arden was still getting established, and had a lot of hiring to do before she’d be operating at full capacity. Besides, this guaranteed those nobles a steady source of gossip, even if they weren’t attending the conclave themselves.

It also meant that when we stepped into the ballroom, Karen and I were no longer the only changelings in the place. The fact that we were the only changelings not holding serving trays wasn’t exactly reassuring, but that’s life in Faerie. Sometimes the reminders that we’ll always be a feudal society are impossible to ignore.

Tables were set up around the room. There were no assigned seats, but people tended to stick to what they knew. One table was on a raised dais, reserved for the leaders of the conclave. It held Arden, the High King and High Queen, Queen Siwan of Silences . . . and Tybalt. I stopped dead when I saw him sitting there, talking with High King Sollys, an expression of deep solemnity on his face.

The Luidaeg touched my elbow. “Muir Woods is technically within the bounds of the Court of Dreaming Cats,” she murmured, voice low enough that she probably wouldn’t be overheard. “That gives your kitty-boy equal claim to the land, if he wanted to get cranky about it. By attending this conclave, he said, ‘Hey, treat me as an equal,’ and so they are. I bet he’s on the stage when we resume. They just didn’t know he was coming in time to avoid putting him in the audience when he first showed up.”