Page 32 of The Unkindest Tide

Maybe if the Luidaeg had gone out and gotten pregnant again as soon as Evening instigated the slaughter of her children, the Roane would have been with us all along. Or maybe she would have created something entirely new. I didn’t know, and something about that lack of knowledge worried me. There was a piece I didn’t have yet. I’ve learned, to my regret, that missing pieces now almost always mean pain later.

This wasn’t the time to dwell on it. The doors on several of the Cape Cod houses opened and a line of Selkies appeared, walking across the sand toward us. The scattered people who’d still been wandering the sands vanished into other houses, pausing only long enough to snatch up any children who happened to be out in the open. I took a deep breath and braced myself.

That was a wise decision. The Luidaeg raised her head as the Selkies approached, and her eyes were dark as the depths of the ocean, and her skin was underscored with a faint bluish tint, like she’d somehow managed to drown on dry land while I’d been standing right next to her. Even her bones had shifted, rising too close to the surface of the skin. She was unspeakable, a deepwater dream of drowning and despair, and her skin radiated cold.

I didn’t know her with this face. But I recognized my friend in the downturned corners of her mouth and the tension of her shoulders, and I didn’t pull away.

Three women and two men walked at the head of the group of approaching Selkies. I recognized Elizabeth Ryan and Mathias Lefebvre. The other three were strangers. All five stopped some distance away, forming a loosely curved half-circle, like they feared to come any closer, but feared stopping out of hearing range even more.

“I am Antigone of Albany, mother of the Roane, creator and keeper of the Selkie clans,” said the Luidaeg. She sounded almost bored. Only the pulsing cold rolling off her skin betrayed how tense she was. “These are my companions, Sir October Daye, Knight of Lost Words and daughter of Amandine, and King Tybalt of the Court of Dreaming Cats. They stand here under my protection, and are not to be challenged. Who comes to represent the Selkies?”

“Elizabeth Ryan, of Roan Rathad,” said Liz.

“Mathias Lefebvre, of Beacon’s Home,” said Mathias.

“Isla Chase, of Belle Fleuve,” said a striking woman with long brown hair and piercing gray eyes that had somehow managed to dodge the usual Selkie deepness. She had a faint French accent, and a strand of glass beads braided behind her left ear.

“Joan O’Connell, of Tremont,” said a redheaded woman in a brown broomstick dress that looked like it had come directly out of the nineteen seventies.

“Claude Anthony, of Sweet Water,” said a black-haired, brown-skinned man in jeans and a simple button-down polo shirt. He looked even more anachronistic than the others, like he’d just wandered out of some hot new show about attractive people and their sexy problems.

All five of them fell silent after their introductions, looking to the Luidaeg, waiting to see what she was going to say. She took a step forward. Mathias and Joan flinched, but didn’t move. None of them moved.

“The Convocation of Consequences is begun,” said the Luidaeg, voice clear and calm and carrying. “You represent the five dominant clans of North America. Through you, the word has been passed to all who know these waters. Through you, the Selkies of the world have been called. Are they called?”

I blinked at the phrase “North America,” exchanging a quick, anxious glance with Tybalt. Were we going to have to travel outside the continent? Because I didn’t exactly have a passport, and if I was worried about my reputation for treason when on lands controlled by Quentin’s father, I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I went to, say, Europe. They probably didn’t like treason very much there. Although, to be fair, no one liked treason very much anywhere.

“They have been,” said Liz. Her voice was soft, and more resigned than I had ever heard her sound. “Word has been passed already. The Selkies and their chosen and potential heirs come to the Duchy of Ships from all over the human world, to receive your judgment. The gates will be running all through the night and day, bringing them to port.”

Oh, good. We weren’t going to need to travel internationally after all.

“We beg your indulgence, Lady,” said Isla. “We can send word, but we have no control over the Selkies who swim in other waters, the ones who make their homes on other shores. Some may refuse to come at this summons.”

The Luidaeg smiled at that. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. “They’re coming,” she said. “They’re all coming.”

“Lady?” Isla’s voice quavered, like she was afraid of the consequences of contradicting the Luidaeg. Which was pretty smart of her, under the circumstances.

“Each of you wears a skin cut from the body of one of my descendants, powered across the centuries by my own magic, imbued into skin and fur and sacrifice,” said the Luidaeg calmly. “Did you really think you had the power to refuse me? That you could run, that you could hide when I came to call you home? They come because I called them. As soon as they hear that the summons has been sent, they’ll leave their lives and come to us. Some will bring their families and have the opportunity to pass their skins along, if that’s what they choose; others will come alone, and have no choices left. Once you sent the word to your people, you sent it to the world.”

All five of the clan leaders looked suddenly, profoundly uncomfortable. I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t have looked too thrilled, either, if I’d suddenly been informed that my role in the destruction of an entire fae culture had been larger than I’d originally believed it was going to be.

The Luidaeg took another step forward.

“All of you were content to lead when you thought there’d be no costs, as there had been no costs for hundreds of years. You took up the mantle of your families knowing this day might fall within your lifetimes, and when it did, you regretted it. Your regret measures not even a fragment of my own. Mourn your lost peace of mind as I mourn my lost children, and know that we are not even. We will never be even.”

“Yes, Lady,” murmured the five, in ragged unison.

“One among your number came to me with a complaint. An accusation, even, of favoritism to one clan above the others.”

Mathias stiffened. So did Liz.

“I will not claim to be fair. Fairness is neither my blessing nor my burden. But I do listen. Do any others among you feel I showed favoritism to the Ryan clan when I granted them the Lost Skins in exchange for doing me a direly needed service?”

Silence fell, and lasted long enough that I started to hope this was over. Then Joan cleared her throat, and said, “Any of us would have been glad to do whatever you asked. You didn’t ask. You approached the Ryans and granted them a gift the rest of us could never hope to achieve. Yes, it was unfair.”

“I needed the girl to be taught, and the girl needed to remain near her mortal family. None of you are near her mortal family,” said the Luidaeg implacably. “How is this unfair?”

“None of us had any say in where you settled, Lady,” said Mathias. “We would all have been honored to have you near us, ready to ask us for favors as you do the Ryans.”