Page 7 of Once Broken Faith

ARDEN SCRAMBLED TO EXTRICATE herself from Madden’s embrace, wiping the tears from her cheeks with quick, almost shamed swipes of her hand. She positioned herself so that her body blocked Walther and Madden from the High King. It was a noble gesture. It was also a futile one—she was a slender girl, and Madden alone could have made two of her; there was no way she could shield them from Aethlin’s regard—but the fact that she was willing to try made me feel a little better about the situation. A little. Not nearly enough, especially since she wasn’t shielding me.

“Your herald said we should expect you next week, Your Highness,” said Arden. Her voice was thick with tears and worry. “I apologize that I was not prepared for your arrival.”

“Really? It looks to me as though you were taking advantage of every moment you believed you had before I got here,” said High King Sollys. He raised an eyebrow, looking briefly so much like his son that it hurt. This man, tall and regal and terrifying, was Quentin’s future. This was his birthright. No matter how much I enjoyed having him with me, I was only ever going to be a way station on his path to the throne.

If that was dismaying for me as his knight, how did it feel for Dean as his boyfriend? Had they even talked about it? Dating is hard for the children of the nobility. Maybe that’s why they have formal courtships. Putting all those layers of formality and obligation in the way of casual dating made things easier on the heart.

Arden bit her lip, and didn’t move. “Please. I didn’t mean to defy you. I just . . .”

“Madden was elf-shot by an agent of Silences as part of the declaration of war against the Mists,” I said. High King Sollys looked at me. I forced myself to remain casually seated on the bed, resting the bulk of my weight on my hands. Every etiquette lesson I’d ever been given was screaming for me to stand, but that was exactly why I couldn’t do it. If I kept things informal, maybe he’d do the same. “Everyone else who was elf-shot during the failed attempt at a coup has been woken up. He would’ve been, too, if we hadn’t been so quick about telling you what was going on. It was fair.”

“Sir Daye,” said High King Sollys. “Of course you’re involved. I’m not sure whether you know this, but ‘fair’ and royal decrees are rarely acquainted with one another.”

“Maybe they should be,” I said. “He’s awake now. What are you going to do, ram another arrow into his arm to punish Arden for disobeying you? Maybe it’s just me, but that seems kind of extreme, especially since the only thing he ever did wrong was stand by the woman who rightfully inherited the throne in the Mists, instead of supporting the woman who should never have been confirmed as our Queen.”

It was a small but calculated dig. Aethlin flinched as it hit home. When the 1906 earthquake had left King Gilad dead and Arden and her brother in hiding, Evening Winterrose had been right there to present a “lost heir” who could take the throne and stabilize the region. The High King had been dealing with a lot of things when all that went down. By the time he got to the Mists, it had basically been a done deal, and he’d confirmed a pretender. Arden’s life among the humans, beneficial as it may have been for her in some ways, was entirely his doing. I wasn’t going to let him forget that.

“I asked you not to act before I arrived,” he said, looking back to Arden. “As it seems you woke your seneschal while I was being ushered into your halls, you’ve done as I asked. I’ll be more precise in my requests from now on. No one else is to be awoken until we have discussed the proper use and distribution of the elf-shot cure. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sire,” said Arden. She glanced at her sleeping brother, mouth twisting, before she returned her attention to the High King. “You are very generous.”

“And you’re in a difficult position, Queen Windermere. If I seem generous, it’s because, as Sir Daye says, I understand that your current lack of experience with our politics is partially on me. You’re learning as you go. I won’t punish you this time. Or perhaps your punishment will be hosting this conclave. As for you, Sir Daye . . .” High King Sollys turned to me.

I offered him my best, brightest smile. “I should get ice cream and a pony as my reward for preventing another war.”

“You should be commended for your role in preventing the war between the Mists and Silences; we’ll speak of that later,” he said. “Unlike Queen Windermere, you do not have the excuse of ignorance to shield you from your own actions. You knew what I intended by my instructions, and you allowed it anyway.”

“She’s Queen, I’m not,” I said. “I don’t ‘allow’ Arden to do anything. I just try really hard to minimize its impact on the people around me.”

Arden wasn’t saying anything in my defense. I couldn’t blame her for that. If she spoke, she might attract the High King’s attention again, and worse, he might decide to censure Walther or Madden, neither of whom was at fault here.

“Still, you can’t be allowed to flaunt my decrees just because you don’t feel like arguing with your regent,” he said. The corner of his mouth was turning upward, like he was fighting a smile. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better. “I’m afraid I must order you to attend the conclave, as you need to understand what your actions could have done. Bring your squire. I’m sure it will be educational for him.”

I resisted the urge to glare. This wasn’t about punishing me: this was about getting Quentin to the conclave without blowing his cover. Never mind that anyone who looked at my squire next to the High King was likely to start asking questions about Quentin’s blind fosterage. There was no way a responsible regent could pass up this kind of learning opportunity for a king-to-be.

“I’ll clear my calendar,” I said, standing and bowing deeply. “So this has been fun and everything, but I’m supposed to be hosting a slumber party for a bunch of teenagers right now, and I’d like to get back to it before they burn my house down. May I be excused?”

“Certainly,” said High King Sollys, with a broad wink. He turned to Arden. “I’m assuming you brought Sir Daye here?”

“Yes, sire,” she said. She scribed a wide arch in the air with one hand. Apparently the injunction against magic was no longer in effect if she wasn’t getting ready to wake her brother. A portal appeared at the center of the room, showing a lovely view of my back yard. It was a good call. The yard was sheltered from mortal eyes, which meant I wouldn’t need to embarrass myself by fumbling with my clumsy illusions in front of the High King, and since it wasn’t inside, she didn’t need to worry about freaking out any of my guests.

“Sir Daye?” said Aethlin, looking back to me. “I believe your road home is open.”

“I see that,” I said. “Mind if I take Walther with me? May’s making cookies. He loves her cookies.”

“You may take the alchemist,” said the High King.

Walther put his wine snifter down on the nearest table and all but bounded to my side, clearly as eager to be out of there as I was. I reached for his hand, ready to pull him through with me, and paused as High King Sollys cleared his throat.

“The alchemist—Master Walther Davies, is it not?” He paused long enough for Walther to nod before he continued, “Master Davies will also be required to attend the coming conclave, as it’s his work that will be under discussion. You will make yourself available to us, yes?”

“Yes, sire,” said Walther, with a quick bow. His voice was tight, and I knew he was thinking about his class schedule, what he could move or pawn off on grad students without endangering his students. Teaching chemistry might seem mundane compared to, oh, being a knight errant of a fae kingdom, but he took it very seriously. That was part of what made him so good at his job, and such a skilled alchemist.

“Good,” said the High King. “You are both excused.”

He was turning back to Arden as I yanked Walther through the portal, which slammed closed behind us. She was probably going to get a lecture, and I was fine with that. She’d disrupted my evening and caused me to be compelled to attend a political event. She deserved to be yelled at a little.

The night air was warm and scented with my neighbors’ honeysuckle, which was blooming so violently that it seemed likely to rip down the trellis where it grew. I let go of Walther’s hand, coughing as I inhaled a great lungful of smoggy mortal air.