Page 28 of A Divided Duty

Luna bowed her head in acknowledgement, then looked up, making direct eye contact with Arden. “While we were enchanted, my daughter was thrown into the skerry once controlled by Blind Michael.”

A gasp ran through the room, coming most loudly from the newcomers. For them, Blind Michael was still a children’s story, not a threat that had been defeated by their local hero. Some might not even know that he was gone.

That might seem ridiculous, but the majority of Faerie doesn’t have portable phones, much less the internet. Easy access to those things was absolutely a result of April O’Leary in Tamed Lightning being a living bridge between fae magic and human technology. She could “upgrade” mortal machinery so that it worked reliably in the Summerlands. Before her, we hadn’t had those things either, and without them, information had been much slower to spread. People would hear rumors, but not confirmations, and no one could say for sure whether they were hearing truths or just another story.

Technically we still couldn’t be sure of that, but when six people are calling you with the same version of something they insist just happened, it’s a little harder to argue with it.

Luna didn’t seem to notice the shock she’d engendered, although I knew she was paying attention to the crowd: part of speaking at court is convincing the reigning monarch, but part of it is getting enough of the room on your side as possible. “The monster is, of course, long gone,” she continued. “But his wife remains. Acacia, the Mother of the Trees, keeps the skerry and its inhabitants in safety. She is the Firstborn daughter of Oberon and Titania, a shining beacon of fae propriety and position.”

That might have been Luna’s first mistake. All the newcomers were here because of the disruption Titania had caused in our society, driving them from their homes and uprooting them from their loves. Even the ones who’d come here of their own free will, looking for something better, were unlikely to be very well inclined toward the Lady of the Flowers. Reminding them that Acacia was her daughter was very close to calling Blind Michael a monster. There was a reason Cassandra had emphasized her mortal surname, and not the fact that she was Titania’s child in her own right.

Luna wasn’t choosing her words very well. We could use that, if we were careful about it. “Under the enchantment, Acacia believed her husband to have returned, and her power in her own lands to be limited. Rayseline was unable to convince her that she needed to be released—but she was able to offer aid, in the form of reclaiming the gardens belonging to Acacia’s absent children. She may not have spent those four months in service to Sir Daye, but she spent them in service to one among the First. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

Arden looked momentarily nonplussed. Then, recovering her composure, she said, “Of course it does. It counts for the favor of a Firstborn. But the terms of Rayseline’s service were not ‘one year in service to whomever comes along.’ They were ‘one year in service to the household of Sir October Daye,’ and even then, the passage of time was never the deciding factor. Until both parties agree that she has served sufficiently to clear her debts, her service is not completed.”

Rage flickered across Luna’s face, bright and blazing. She was smart enough not to voice it, however, only turn toward me and Raysel and ask, in a syrupy voice, “Well, Rayseline? Are you ready to come home?”

“No,” said Raysel. Her voice cracked on that single syllable, unsteady and unable to hold its tone. She paused, swallowing heavily, and moved a little closer to me as she repeated, “No. No, Mother, I’m not ready. I already said I wanted to finish my term of service. That I need to finish my term of service. Until I do, I’m not going to feel like I really tried to get better. I did so many things wrong. Some of them were … I don’t see how anybody forgives me for some of the things I did. And if I’m not done paying for what I did, I have to finish getting better before I can leave and be anyone on my own. Please, Mother. Please don’t try to make me.”

Sylvester still didn’t look at Luna. But he did lift his head and look at Raysel, eyes pleading, expression otherwise defeated. Unfortunately, with Raysel and Luna arguing opposing sides of the same issue, I couldn’t tell what he was pleading for.

“Regardless of what the Duchess Torquill might desire, she has no authority to make you do anything, not while I’m conducting this court,” said Arden firmly. “I truly hate that this matter has caused your family so much pain, Duke Torquill, and regret more that it was your daughter’s own actions which required my intervention. But that intervention was required, and her actions did cause valid offense to those outside your court—and even outside my own.” She nodded toward the Lordens, face grave. “We are fortunate that our allies to the west are willing to resolve this matter through a simple term of offense, rather than openly declaring war for the crimes of the land. Duchess Lorden, you have said that you won’t be satisfied until Rayseline Torquill has completed her full term of service.”

“Yes,” said Dianda.

“Does that mean you will be satisfied, once the full year has passed?”

“Once she and October are able to agree that she’s done all that she can do to discharge her debts, yes. Saltmist will be satisfied. We won’t bring any challenge against your kingdom over her past actions. But we won’t be so kind again. If she transgresses against us in the future, we’ll be as unforgiving as the depths.”

“Understood,” said Arden, and turned back to face the front. “Rayseline Torquill, we commend you for accepting your punishment without resistance, not trying to escape from the debts which are rightly yours to pay. You can be proud of yourself for your acquiescence to the inevitable. But you’re not done yet. Even if you wished to argue that your debts should be considered paid, for another four months, you will have no right to do so. You owe the household of Sir October Daye another four full months before we will be willing to hear you argue on your own behalf, even should you choose to.”

Raysel sagged with visible relief, while Luna’s eyes lit up with equally visible fury. I did my best to ignore them both, focusing on the man who stood between them through no intention of his own: Sylvester looked saddened, but also relieved, like some sort of great burden had just been lifted away from his shoulders. Interesting.

“You cannot truly mean to deprive me of my daughter because some wet warlord claims to have been offended when Rayseline moved to secure the future of her family!” Luna’s words were crisply broken off, each one of them flung like a stone.

“She cut off my son’s finger,” snapped Dianda, her attention now on Luna. “I don’t care about your family’s future. I care about my kid’s hand.”

Dean didn’t say anything, only held up his hand to show the gap where one of his fingers should have been. Unlike everyone else around him, his face was perfectly composed, showing no hint of whatever he might be feeling. I knew enough to recognize that as a bad sign. Dean was a generally calm person, but when he got upset enough to start shutting down, he could rage on a level with his mother.

Luna scoffed. I momentarily closed my eyes, waiting for the scream of rage that I felt was sure to follow.

“Doesn’t the Undersea prize physical strength and martial readiness?” she asked. “What does it say for your demesne that one of your heirs was so easily overcome by a traumatized child of the land? You preen and posture like the threat of war is something worth fearing, but it seems to me that you’re a paper tiger at best.”

“Luna,” said Sylvester, his voice gone low and cautioning.

“No,” she replied. “We act like we have to live in fear of the Undersea, and we’re making my child play the sacrifice to keep their wrath at bay. She’s no Andromeda, and I refuse to leave her chained out for a sea serpent’s pleasure! I am not afraid of Saltmist or its supposed dangers.”

“You should be,” said Patrick. Hearing him speak at all was shocking enough that what felt like every head in the room turned toward him, mine included. He had stepped forward to stand next to Dean, one hand resting on his son’s shoulder, and was looking at Luna like she was something unpleasant that had washed up on a beach somewhere.

“What did you say to me?” she asked.

“I said, you should be afraid. We don’t want war. We’ve done everything in our power to avoid it. I’m from the land, originally, as is our husband; our son and my stepdaughter both live in Queen Windermere’s demesne. But our bonds don’t make us harmless. If anything, they make us more dangerous, since we’d have to be truly antagonized before we were willing to attack. And you’re treading very close to that line, Duchess Torquill. You’re standing on the shore, looking at the sea, and saying, ‘I don’t see the depths, so they must not exist.’ They exist. We don’t want war because we don’t want to wash you all away.”

Luna spluttered. Sylvester put a hand on her shoulder, tugging her back toward him, and she turned to shoot him an offended look.

“No,” he said. “That is enough. No one is challenging the fact that Raysel did the things she’s been accused of: no one can, because there was too much proof. There is still too much proof, including her own admission. She committed the offense she’s being held to, and more than that besides. We know Raysel comported herself without honor or respect for our allies. The punishment she’s being asked to shoulder is very minor compared to what it could easily have been. Stop fighting it, before you elevate your unhappiness into a declaration of war.”

“Please, Mother,” said Raysel.