Page 31 of Once Broken Faith

“Egil won’t thank you for stopping the goblin fruit. His memories of being Devin are too strong, and he blames you for letting the stuff into his streets in the first place, after he died. I’ve talked to the changelings who died because they got hooked, and they wanted me to tell you that they’re grateful, and they don’t share his anger. The flock is not your friend. The flock will never be your friend, not until you join us, and fly with us, and belong to us. But the flock isn’t your enemy, either.” He paused. Then he smiled, that old, familiar smile, the one that used to greet me when I woke up. My heart clenched. I loved Tybalt more than I would have believed possible, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss Connor. He’d been my friend before he was my lover. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to losing friends.

“I’ll see you soon,” said the night-haunt with Connor’s face, and launched himself into the air, and left me alone with the living.

TEN

WHEN THE NIGHT-HAUNTS TAKE a body from the mortal world, they leave a mannequin behind, one that mimics the mortal disguise of the deceased. Those mannequins rot, bloat, and decay, just like a human corpse. There’s no need for that sort of subterfuge in the Summerlands. All the night-haunts had left of King Antonio were a few scraps of clothing and the shattered husks of his Merry Dancers, which were already dissolving into sand.

“What would have happened if Toby hadn’t found the body?” asked Quentin, after a long silence. “Would the night-haunts just have come, and not left anything to let us know that somebody was actually dead?”

“Historically, if there was no one to witness the feeding, they would leave dried leaves and rose petals, love-lies-bleeding and sprigs of marigold,” said the Luidaeg. “It’s a very specific bouquet. Anyone who found it right after someone had gone missing would know what it meant. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“We haven’t reached ‘mysterious deaths’ in my lessons,” said Quentin uncomfortably.

“Also, I didn’t know the answer to that,” I said. “Mom never taught me. Neither did Etienne.”

“Deaths in Faerie are rare enough that they probably thought you’d never need to know.” The Luidaeg snorted. “They never did understand you very well.”

“I guess not.” I turned to Karen. “You okay?”

She was pale, even for her, but she wasn’t shaking, and her eyes were clear. “I didn’t know it was like that,” she said. “How long will that night-haunt look like him?”

“A year for every year he lived,” said the Luidaeg. “Anything more would be unfair; anything less would kill them all, and we’d be right back where we started. You’ll have two lives, when your time comes. The one you lead among the living, and the one you lead among the dead.”

“Wow,” I said. “If that’s meant to be reassuring, you need to redefine how you think about the word. Any ideas on that whole ‘I heard tearing metal and then the shadows moved’ thing?”

“Not yet,” said the Luidaeg. She put a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “You ready to go back to the conclave, kiddo?”

Karen looked startled. “What? Why would we go back? Isn’t it over now?”

“If you think a murder is enough to disrupt a collection of kings and queens, it’s a good thing you’ll never be asked to be a part of the monarchy,” said the Luidaeg. “If anything, this is going to make them more determined to come to a consensus. Their honor has been threatened. How dare the world intrude?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “How dare it.”

We left the dissolving fragments of Merry Dancer where they were. I didn’t have anything to carry them in, and I didn’t know what the protocols were for handling something that was, in its way, evidence of the existence of Faerie. Maybe once they’d finished dissolving, the sand would be returned to Antonio’s widow, or maybe it would just be scattered to the wind. Either way, that was something to worry about later. Now, I had bigger problems.

I saw the Luidaeg palm one of the larger shards, slipping it into the endlessly cascading waves of her gown. I didn’t say anything. If the sea witch had a use for a piece of Merry Dancer, I didn’t want to know what it was, and I’ve learned to trust her over the years. I’ve also learned that sometimes, I have to be able to put my life in her hands—and that’s usually easier for me when I have no idea what she’s planning to do.

The hall outside the dining room seemed almost obscenely bright after spending so much time in darkness. Arden’s staff had been through, lowering the lights and hanging wreaths of black roses and blood-orange poppies below the windows as a gesture of respect for the departed. The air smelled too sweet, like they were trying frantically to stave off any hints of death.

Quentin walked beside me, his shoulders squared, his chin lifted, and his eyes fixed on the door to the gallery like he was being led to his execution. I understood the feeling. Karen and the Luidaeg trailed behind us, and somehow it seemed less like we were being followed and more like we were their appointed heralds, leading the way and attracting any dangers onto ourselves. Which nicely summed up the relationship between the monarchs of Faerie and its heroes, all things considered.

Lowri and another guard stood to either side of the gallery door. She nodded when she saw us, acknowledging our presence, but she didn’t say anything. She just stepped aside, and the doors swung open, allowing us to enter.

We were at the back of the gallery—naturally—forcing us to walk down the long aisle past the gathered nobles and vassals who’d come to participate. The room went silent as we moved toward our seats. Walther was already there, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt.

No one spoke until Quentin, Karen, and the Luidaeg were settled. I was sinking into my own seat when High King Sollys said, “Sir Daye, if you would come before us.”

Well, crap. “Of course, Your Highness,” I said, and straightened, heading for the stage.

I couldn’t resist glancing at the audience as I climbed the stairs. Tybalt was back in his seat, and while his lips were pressed into a neutral expression, I could read the worry in his eyes. That made me feel better. At least I wasn’t the only one who was miserable and scared. Maybe that was cruel of me. Honestly, it didn’t change anything, and so I didn’t feel the need to care.

“If you would tell the conclave what you have learned, we would be most grateful,” said High King Sollys. His voice was level. If he was upset about the death of one of his vassals, he wasn’t letting it show. I couldn’t decide whether that was impressive or chilling.

And it wasn’t like it mattered. “Of course, Your Highness,” I said. Stopping at my mark, I turned to face the audience. “You have been informed that King Antonio Robertson of Angels has stopped his dancing. I remained behind, along with the Luidaeg, better known to many as the sea witch, to ride his blood and determine what had happened.”

“Why do we trust you?” demanded a voice from the back of the gallery. It was unfamiliar. I squinted in its direction.

“Well, for one thing, you can see my face,” I said. “Who are you?”