SEANAN MCGUIRE

A Quentin Sollys Story

DAW BOOKS, INC.

www.dawbooks.com

Also by Seanan McGuire

October Daye Novels:

ROSEMARY AND RUE

A LOCAL HABITATION

AN ARTIFICIAL NIGHT

LATE ECLIPSES

ONE SALT SEA

ASHES OF HONOR

CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT

THE WINTER LONG

A RED-ROSE CHAIN

ONCE BROKEN FAITH

InCryptid Novels:

DISCOUNT ARMAGEDDON

MIDNIGHT BLUE-LIGHT SPECIAL

HALF-OFF RAGNAROK

POCKET APOCALYPSE

CHAOS CHOREOGRAPHY

MAGIC FOR NOTHING*

SPARROW HILL ROAD

*Coming in 2017 from DAW Books

Copyright © 2016 by Seanan McGuire.

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art and design by Tara O’Shea.

Chapter dingbat created by Tara O’Shea.

Published by DAW Books, Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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ISBN: 978-0-7564-1222-7

First Publication, August 2016

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HECHO EN U.S.A.

Version_1

Contents

Title Page

Also by Seanan McGuire

Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

One

September 2nd, 2012

No, some of it is for my child’s father.

O, how Full of briars is this working-day world!

—William Shakespeare, As You Like It

“Okay, it’s official: I am definitely going to throw up,” announced Toby. She was pacing back and forth like she thought she could somehow find a way to escape from Arden’s study if she just tried hard enough.

“Please don’t,” said Tybalt laconically.

She glared at him and kept pacing, the skirt of her black spider-silk gown flaring every time she turned. The light drew gold-and-silver highlights from the fabric. It wasn’t anything like what she normally wore; it was too elegant, and not bloodstained enough by half. Maybe it was small and petty of me, but I was grateful for that. Toby is awesome and everything, but most of the time she dresses like she’s not sure what clothes are, and I wanted her to make a good impression on my parents.

Oh, sweet Oberon, she was not going to make a good first impression on my parents.

“I’ll throw up if I want to,” she muttered.

“Please don’t throw up,” I said, doing my best not to whine. “I don’t think Mom likes it when people say hello by puking on her.”

Tybalt was lounging on the couch, looking like he did this kind of thing all the time. The urge to kick him in the shins just to take the smirk off his face was distressingly strong. I’m mostly okay with the fact that Toby’s dating a smug jerk who thinks the rest of us exist for his amusement—mostly. No matter how much I trust him, he’s always going to be a cat and she’s always going to be able to do better.

Or maybe that’s just my inner snob talking again. He’s been quieter since I went and got squired to the only person who’s ever been willing to put me in mortal danger for fun, but he’s still there. I was born Crown Prince of the Westlands, destined to follow my father onto the throne when he and Mom decide to take their well-deserved retirement. My every wish had been someone’s command and my every whim had been immediately catered to, right up until the day I’d been placed in blind fosterage and sent away.

I had had the best of everything, just for existing. That was part of why my parents had chosen to send me and my sister away. It was ostensibly for our protection—it’s hard to assassinate an heir you can’t find—but really, it was to make sure we didn’t grow up to be total jerks.

Fosterage of one sort or another is pretty standard among noble houses. It keeps us all indebted to each other. But Crown Princes and Princesses are usually sent only to other High Courts, and I’d been sent to the middle of nowhere, put into the care of a half-mad Duke who didn’t even seem to care about the status I would eventually convey upon his Court. I was being punished, clearly. I just couldn’t figure out why. Worse yet, I’d been separated from Penthea—my sister—and from the nursemaids and courtiers who had been our companions virtually from birth. My parents had never had the bulk of raising me, and then they’d been the ones to decide I needed to go away. It didn’t make sense.

I’d been angry at my parents for a long time. Then I’d been determined to be the best blind foster the world had ever known, following every rule, obeying every protocol, the very model of royal fae youth. Maybe that way, they would send for me. I could go home.

And then I’d met October, and everything had gone sort of topsy-turvy and weird. She had a way of doing that.

The doorknob turned. Toby stopped pacing. I straightened, trying to make sure everyone could tell how much I’d grown, both in stature and in bearing. Even Tybalt sat up a little, his attention going to the door. If he had been in cat form, his ears would have pricked up.

The door swung open. May stepped inside, still wearing her rainbow taffeta gown and black velvet choker. She blinked at the three of us while we looked at her like she was the last thing we’d expected. Then she burst out laughing and waved her hands in the air like a horror movie ghost.

“Boo!” she crowed, and laughed some more, stepping fully into the room. She let the door swing shut behind her. “Man, you guys should see your faces. I wish I had a camera right now.”

“No cameras,” I said hurriedly. “My parents aren’t human celebrities. And they can’t be photographed with me.” Anyone with time to kill would be able to compare my face to theirs and see too many similarities to explain by us all being Daoine Sidhe.

May rolled her eyes. “Uh, duh, I know, Quentin, okay? Not my first rodeo. Not even my first time meeting the High Monarchs. I almost was a High Queen once, only my brother needed the first bite more than I did, so he wound up with her face and memories for six hundred years.”

“Right,” I said, trying to cover my awkwardness. May had been created as Toby’s Fetch, combining Toby’s memories with the memories of a changeling girl named Dare . . . and with the memories of the night-haunt that May had originally been. She looked half-human, with rounder ears and softer features than even October had, but she was pure fae, and she was older than any of us knew for sure. “Uh, just. Okay. Do you know what’s holding them up?”

“The usual. Arden’s showing off the knowe while her staffers try to impress the High Monarchs and it’s all blah politics and etiquette out there, which is why I had to escape.” May walked over and flopped down on the couch next to Tybalt. He turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. She beamed at him. “Hello, kitty. Anyway, everyone knows they’re going to finish by giving some kind of official thanks to Toby for finding the missing princess. Probably not with actual ‘thank you’s involved. That would just be weird.”

“Yes,” said Toby firmly. “That would be very weird, and we do not want that. The last thing I need right now is for the High King and Queen of the Westlands to feel like they’re indebted to me for something.”

“That’s a pity,” said my father, from the other side of the room. “Here we were planning to buy you a nice dinette set.”

“Dad!” I turned and started toward him while everyone else was still staring at the trio who’d appeared through one of Arden’s portals on the far side of the study. Mom and Dad were standing in front of the new Queen in the Mists, both still wearing their Court garb, down to the heavy, overly ornate circlets that they always used to complain about when they stopped to check on my sister and me after taking audiences. Arden looked uncomfortable. My parents looked exhausted. That was familiar, too. They always looked tired after they’d been doing their jobs.

They’d been working since they’d left Toronto. The trip would have required multiple portals opened by their Tuatha de Dannan escorts, which meant passing through multiple regional Courts. Even if they weren’t stopping to hold audience in each of them, it still meant at least six pauses to show their appreciation for the nobles who’d agreed to host the processional. And that was the short route, which meant it was also the more dangerous one. They’d probably made nine or more jumps on the way here. They’d been working for hours. The last thing they were going to want was an overly enthusiastic teenage boy jumping all over them.

I stopped before the point of impact, pulling myself back and trying to salvage a sense of respectability from the situation. It didn’t help that I was still getting used to my height after my latest growth spurt. My limbs felt like they were twice as long as they needed to be. Quentin Sollys: the Once and Future King of Spiders.

“Mother, Father,” I said, folding my hands behind my back and offering a shallow but respectful bow. “I’m so pleased to see that you’ve made it here safely.” I turned, offering a slightly deeper bow to the newly confirmed Queen. “Queen Windermere in the Mists. Congratulations on the moment of your ascension.”

Mom and Dad blinked at me, nonplussed. Arden looked baffled. Toby, who had stopped pacing when my parents appeared, burst out laughing.

I turned to glare at her, momentarily forgetting myself in my annoyance. Unfortunately, moving meant getting a look at May and Tybalt. May had her hands pressed over her mouth, keeping her laughter contained, although she couldn’t keep her nostrils from flaring. Tybalt wasn’t laughing, but wore a look of such deep, profound amusement that it was clear he would have been, if it hadn’t been an undignified way to say hello to a group of monarchs.

Toby stopped laughing. “Oh, Oberon’s ass, I just laughed in front of the High King. Oh, crap, I just swore in front of the High King. Oh—”

“Loath as I am to disrupt this comedic treasure, I do not want my beloved to give herself an aneurysm over proper behavior,” said Tybalt. He flowed to his feet like liquid, offering my parents and Arden the shallowest of bows. “Milady Windermere, allow me to be among the first to formally congratulate you on your assumption of the throne. May it grow comfortable beneath you, and may you never have cause to regret your choice of seating.”

“I think you’re supposed to call me ‘Highness’ now,” said Arden.

Tybalt smirked. “No. Everyone else is meant to call you ‘Highness’ now. I’m to call you whatever strikes my fancy, and you’re to feel fortunate that I speak to you at all. Not every monarch of the Divided Courts is so blessed.”

“Case in point,” said Dad. “Our local King of Cats hasn’t come to see us in over a decade. There could have been a coup for all we know.”

“That is not necessarily something to be proud of,” said Tybalt.

Dad shrugged. “Maybe not. Still, we don’t make trouble for him, and he doesn’t make trouble for us, and it all works out. Sir Daye, if you’re done looking horrified, would you like to introduce us to the rest of the room?”

“Oh! Uh. I.” Toby looked even more flustered. She pointed to Tybalt. “King Tybalt of the Court of Dreaming Cats.”

Tybalt nodded regally.

“That’s, uh, May over there. May Daye. She’s sort of my sister.” Toby glanced to May. “I mean, technically, we’re related.”

May lowered her hands and beamed at my parents. “You ever watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer? It’s like when the monk dudes made Dawn out of Buffy to hide the fact that she’s the Key, only no one was hiding anything when I was made. I’m just her Fetch. Nowhere near as complicated.”

Mom looked nonplussed. “Her . . . Fetch?”

“This happened before you let Quentin become my squire,” said Toby, and shot me a sharp look. “I thought you’d know.”

I did my best to look innocent. “I told them the broad strokes.”

“But he’s been your squire for more than a year, Sir Daye,” said Mom, focusing on Toby. “How can you have had a Fetch for so long without dying? It seems odd.”

“It is,” said Toby. “May’s still my Fetch—she looks like me, or like I used to look, she has my memories, all the usual stuff—but she’s not my death omen anymore. It’s complicated.”

For the first time, the corner of Mom’s mouth twitched. “Funny. That’s how Quentin describes things when he bothers to write home.”

“I can’t blame him for that,” said Toby. “I mean, I can’t imagine trying to explain some of the things that go on around here, much less explain them to my parents. Uh. Everyone in here knows about that, you know. That he’s . . .” She waved a hand vaguely in my direction. “You know.”

“He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” said Dad, shooting a mock glare at me. Then he yielded, and smiled. “But we’re glad he did. I will admit, I wasn’t looking forward to not being allowed to contact my eldest child until he reached his majority.”

“Dad,” I hissed.

“You should’ve been there for his last birthday,” said May. “We had six cakes. It was awesome.”

I said nothing, just hunched my shoulders and glowered as my face flamed red.

Being sent into blind fosterage meant unless I was called home for some reason—and there were no good reasons to be called home, only reasons that began and ended with funeral processions and the beating of the night-haunts’ wings—I was expected to remain incognito and keep denying my identity until I turned thirty and went back to Toronto to fulfill my duties as Crown Prince. I’d done it for a long time, even when it hurt more than I could have believed possible. I knew how much Toby hated people lying to her.

But then there had been Arden, and her denial of her throne, of her birthright, of the idea that she could ever be a queen. I should have stayed silent. I’d known it then, and I knew it now. I just couldn’t. She’d needed a voice that she would listen to, and somehow, that voice had been mine. Silence would have condemned the people of the Mists to lose their rightful queen and continue to labor under a usurper. And I couldn’t allow that to happen.

Sometimes I felt like my time with Toby was turning me into an excellent knight and a terrible king, and the worst part was that I liked myself better this way.

“Your hair changed,” said Mom. I glanced up. She was smiling, the corners of her mouth stretched so tight that I could tell she was on the verge of crying. The cosmetic illusions she wore in public were hiding her tears along with her scars, but they couldn’t keep me from reading her face. I was her son, after all. “I told you it would.”

“I know.” I managed to resist the urge to reach up and touch the back of my head. My hair had been white when I was a little boy, slowly darkening to a pale gold, like the fluff of a seeding dandelion. I used to dream that it would go silver, like hers, even as it had started to darken at the roots. Now, it was the color of hammered bronze, just like my father’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to start dyeing it before people could notice.”

Toby’s eyes went from my hair to Dad’s, understanding flaring in their depths. “It’s not too late, you know,” she said. “We can buy bleach.”

“I don’t think it’s much of a concern,” said Dad. “We’ll be gone soon, and anyone who might form a theory about the location of the missing Crown Prince will already have seen us in the same room.”

“No one’s going to believe you would let a changeling anywhere near the boy who’s going to be the boss of us all,” said May.

“That’s what we’re counting on,” said Mom. “Quentin? Were you going to introduce us to all your friends?”

Toby had already made introductions, and Mom knew who everyone was. She would never have entered the room without being fully informed as to who she was about to meet, their relationships with one another, and who might be potentially dangerous. That didn’t mean I could be excused from my duties. They needed to see that I still understood what it was to be a prince, to be the spoke around which the entire social wheel turned. I stood straighter, feeling my shoulders tighten with every second that passed, and cleared my throat.

“Mother, Father, may I introduce you to my knight, Sir October Daye of Shadowed Hills, Knight of Lost Words?”

Toby curtsied. As always, her form was surprisingly good. She might not like pureblood etiquette, but she understood some aspects of it better than she thought she did. “Your Highnesses,” she said, chin tucked down toward her breastbone, eyes on the floor. “I am grateful for the trust you’ve placed in me. I’ve managed not to get him killed so far.”

Mom chuckled. “Oh, I like her.”

“And here I thought I was alone in that,” said Tybalt. He didn’t bow, but he did incline his head respectfully, which was more than he was willing to give most monarchs. “My name is Tybalt; my rank is King, and hence all but equal to yours.”

“I have a continent,” said Dad mildly.

“Ah, but I have cats, and they are so much more trouble that each of my subjects counts as ten of yours. Truly, you should bow before me, out of gratitude that my throne keeps the Cait Sidhe from your door.” Tybalt sounded almost bored. That was a lie. His eyes were sharp, and his body was angled, ever so slightly, toward Toby; he was ready to move to her defense in an instant, if he needed to.

Even if he wasn’t good enough for her, it was nice to finally have the two of them together. It made her a little more likely to live long enough to see me crowned.

“You were supposed to let me introduce you,” I said.

Tybalt looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because you’re a prince? Ask your father how much credit a cat gives to a prince of your Court. I like you better as a squire, stripling. Remember that, and ask not for what you have not earned.”

I swallowed my smile. It wouldn’t have been appropriate. “I will,” I said gravely, and turned to May, saying, “May Daye, Fetch and housemate.”

“I do the dishes a lot of the time,” said May amiably. “Toby would throw them away and buy new ones if I let her, and Quentin’s seventeen. He thinks the dishwasher is purely decorative.”

“He’s a prince,” said Dad. “He doesn’t need to know how to wash dishes.”

“No treason intended, Highness, but he lives with me, and he needs to know how not to create a biohazard every time he eats something,” said May.

Toby finally came up from her curtsy, sending a glance in my direction before she focused on my parents. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I always wondered what kind of people would let me have responsibility for their child, and you’re exactly as terrifying as I figured you’d be. So I guess the question is, are you just here to meet the woman who makes sure your son goes to bed before noon every day, or are you here because you want to decide whether or not he gets to stay with me?”

The room went still. Even Tybalt froze, the tightness in his shoulders telling me he’d known the question was coming, even as he’d expected it to be asked with slightly more delicacy. It was sort of funny sometimes, watching him discover the places where his expectations of Toby collided with the reality of her. She was both more and less delicate than he thought she was.

This wasn’t one of the funny times. Arden looked like she was holding her breath. May just looked sad. She’d also known what Toby was going to ask. Maybe she’d known before Toby did, even.

My father turned to look at me, and I knew. My parents had never been cruel to me—the opposite, in fact; even giving the bulk of my care over to my nursemaids had been a form of kindness—but everyone in our household had learned to read them as a form of self-defense, even me and Penthea. It had been years since I’d seen that expression, and that didn’t matter, because I was never going to forget that mixture of regret and determination. He’d worn it when he’d agreed to send me away, even though I’d been crying and begging him not to do it. It was a look that had never, in my lifetime, been welcome.

“The latter, I’m afraid,” he said. “Enough of you know his secret that his fosterage can no longer be considered properly blind, and without that protection, we have to question the wisdom of leaving our son and heir a continent’s width away from his parents. We came to recognize a rightful queen. We’ve stayed because it’s time to discuss the necessity and importance of bringing our son home.”

Two

The room went silent, and even more profoundly still. Toby looked like she’d just been punched in the gut—and I’ve seen that happen enough times to know what it looks like. Even though she was the one who’d asked the question, she was the only one who seemed surprised by the answer.

Mom stepped forward. Not much, barely a half step, but enough to set her skirts rustling. In the stillness and silence of the room, that was like clapping her hands for attention. All eyes went to her. “Please understand, Sir Daye, we are incredibly grateful for what you’ve done for our son. The change in his letters since he met you has been day and night. He’s blossomed. You’ve given him challenges to meet and quests to accomplish, and he’ll be a better king one day because of his time with you.”

I found my voice. “Imagine what kind of king I’d be if you let me stay,” I said. My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. It didn’t help. “I’m not ready for my knighthood yet.”

“You don’t have to be knighted to become High King,” said Dad. “When we step aside and the crown is set on your brow, no one will care if you knelt and swore before the rose and the thorn.”

“I’ll care,” I mumbled, glancing at my feet.

“What was that?”

“I said, I’ll care.” I lifted my head again, taking the risk and meeting his eyes. “I didn’t have to be a squire. I asked. I asked if I could take my training in that direction, because I wanted to. I made commitments. I made promises. Please don’t make me break them. Please don’t make me go.”

“Your first promise was to us, and you broke that willingly enough,” said my father. The warning in his voice was impossible to miss—the warning, and the confusion. When he’d sent me away, I would never have dreamed of arguing with him in front of people outside of the family.

What he didn’t understand was that these people, with the exception of Arden, were my family. Even Tybalt. Even if he did watch Toby’s ass when he thought I wasn’t looking.

“I didn’t break any promises to you,” I said.

“Didn’t you?” he asked. “When we sent you into blind fosterage, we told you the rules. They were very clear. You were to reveal your identity only if your life hung in the balance, and even then, you were to stay silent if there was any chance whatsoever that breaking your own silence would endanger your sister.”

It wasn’t as heartless as it sounded. Penthea had the same instructions. Losing one of us would be devastating. Losing both of us would have repercussions that could shatter the Westlands. There was a reason High Kings and Queens sent their children into anonymous exile, and it wasn’t because they wanted a little alone time.

“I know,” I said. I couldn’t stop my voice from dropping on the second word, withering until it was almost a whisper.

“Yet you revealed yourself anyway.”

“To his credit, he was showing forethought and wisdom when he did.” Tybalt sounded as smoothly unconcerned as ever, like he was commenting on something that was happening on television. His pupils, though, had narrowed to slits, and while his face hadn’t changed outwardly, his posture was less relaxed and more predatory.

Dad turned to frown at him. “This is none of your concern.”

“Ah, but you see, it is my concern, and more, I seem to be one of only two people in this room who may speak freely to you if I so wish—with the other being your lovely lady wife. A pity, milady, that your son did not inherit your coloring. Such beautiful hair you have, and such a charming manner.” Mom looked nonplussed again. Tybalt focused his attention back on Dad. “Your son is a credit to your house and name. All the more because, had I known his lineage, I would have refused to speak with him at all. A rose by any other name would still have thorns, and the relations between Kings and Queens of Cats and those who claim your High Thrones have never been smooth. Your boy is close friends with my nephew, who will be King in my stead one day. He is clearly a born diplomat, meant to join our disparate Kingdoms after centuries of dissent.”

Mom glanced to me. I shrugged. “He always talks like this. You sort of learn to put up with it or turn the volume up on the TV.”

“As you can see, his disrespect for me, a King of Cats, is also a credit to your house,” said Tybalt, not missing a beat. “When he revealed himself—when he broke, as you say, his word—he was not in immediate danger. No blades were held to his throat, no curses aimed at his heart. But he had something you do not, because he paid attention to what surrounded him.”

“And what is that?” asked Dad.

“Context,” said Tybalt. “Your son watched the world around him, and saw that should Queen Windermere refuse her throne, the nameless usurper who had stolen it from the Windermere line would not cease her efforts to destroy Sir Daye—and all who stood with her. The woman’s hatred of milady has never been explained to my satisfaction. That does not make it any less real. She had banished Sir Daye shortly before the missing heir was found. As October’s squire, Quentin would have been expected to go with her, or explain his reasons why. As the false queen was both Banshee and Siren, he would not have been able to lie to her. Allowing October’s banishment to be carried out would have made him either exile or target—and lest you think ‘exile’ would have been the kinder option, I knew this lying regent of old. She would have placed a price upon milady’s head before the border closed, that Sir Daye might never return. Your son saved his life when he spilled his secrets. Be sure of that.”

“Do you think he sits around coming up with lists of things to call each of us, in case he needs to make a speech, so he never has to use the same one twice?” asked May, leaning toward Toby. “Like, ‘lying regent’? Who thinks like that?”

“Tybalt does,” said Toby fondly. Those words seemed to break the seal on her tongue, because she took a step toward my parents, burying her hands in her skirt, and said, “And he’s right. I don’t think we’d be alive right now, either of us, if we hadn’t managed to convince Arden—I mean, Queen Windermere—to take the throne. The false Queen was running out of options by the end, and she’d hated me for years. She was going to take me down no matter what.”

“So our son is in danger when he’s with you.” Dad made the comment sound mild and absolutely damning at the same time, like it resolved the whole matter. The conversation was over: Toby had condemned herself.

She laughed.

Mom blinked, taken aback. So did Dad, although he looked more angry than confused. Toby stopped laughing.

“Are you going to try to play that card now?” she asked. “When I was asked to be his knight, I’d already escorted him on a field trip through Blind Michael’s lands and gotten him shot. Like, with a bullet that came out of a gun and put a hole in his shoulder and everything. He’s not in more danger now than he was when I agreed to take him on, and Duke Sylvester Torquill told me, in so many words, that his parents approved of me standing as his knight. So either my liege lied to me or you’re ignoring the part where he’s always been in danger because he’s in my company. I’ve never pretended otherwise.”

“She hasn’t gotten me killed yet either,” I piped up, earning myself a glare from Dad and a concerned look from Mom. It was like they’d just realized I wasn’t kidding when I wrote home about the dangerous stuff Toby and I did together—and that Toby had been serious when she’d said basically the same thing.

I decided it was better to be hanged for something I’d actually done than something they were assuming, and pressed on. “When I came to the Mists, I thought I was better than everybody. Changelings weren’t as good as purebloods, Cait Sidhe were beasts pretending at having a monarchy, and I was going to be the best king ever, because I knew what the hierarchy was. And now I know it’s not what you are, it’s what you do. Changelings are just as good as anybody. Cait Sidhe are loyal and smart and will die for the people they care about. Raj and I met in Blind Michael’s lands, and he’s my brother now. What we saw there, what we went through together? He’s my brother. Even if you take me home right now, you can’t change that. I would have been a terrible High King. I thought most of the people who are going to be my subjects were less than I was. That’s not how you lead. That’s how you start a revolution.”

Dad started to speak, and stopped as Mom reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“He’s right,” she said gently. “You know he’s right, so don’t embarrass us both by arguing with him. When we agreed to send them into blind fosterage, it was to protect them, but it was also to show them a world outside the castle. We wanted them to mature enough to be good leaders someday. He’s doing exactly what we sent him here to do.”

“He’s revealing himself,” Dad said.

“I’m not twelve anymore,” I said. They both looked toward me again. “I know five years doesn’t seem like much when you’ve been alive for centuries—”

“Tell me about it,” muttered May.

“—but for me, five years is more than a quarter of my life. I’ve been here for a quarter of my life. I’ve learned a lot. I’m still a kid, but I’m not a little boy. When I told them who I was, I knew it was going to change things.” Those words couldn’t encompass how much I hated the way Toby sometimes looked at me now, like she was afraid of saying something that could be construed as treason. How much I hated knowing that Arden would never see me as anything but the Crown Prince. Sometimes, things have costs. “No one forced me. No one knew what I was going to say. I made my own choices.”

Raj had known, of course; Raj had known who I really was for years. A cat may look at a king, and it turns out a prince will recognize his own kind, no matter how hard that second prince is trying to hide.

I took a steadying breath. “I’d be in danger at home, too. Maybe more, because I’m not old enough to be an adult. I still need training. Duke Torquill says my blood magic and illusions are improving, but they’re not good enough to keep me alive. Sir Etienne has been helping with my fencing lessons. I’m not good enough there, either. I’m doing really well for a seventeen-year-old boy, but for a prince on home ground with all the rest of the nobility in the Westlands gunning for me? I’m not ready.”

“And there’s one thing everyone is leaving out here, which is that we love him,” said May. We all turned to look at her. She looked back, unrepentant. “He’s our Quentin. We don’t care that he’s a prince. He’s just the kid who hogs the TV on Saturday mornings, and argues with Toby about who ate the last of the Pop-Tarts. He’s your son, and please believe me when I say we would never belittle that connection, but we love him, too. We care about him, too. We only want what’s best for him, and right now, what’s best for him is staying exactly where he is.”

“It’s rare for a prince to be among those who love him for who he is, and not for who he may one day become,” said Tybalt, and there was an old sorrow in his words, almost buried in the haughty tone he always assumed among strangers. “Please believe me when I say that your son is blessed beyond words to be who he is, where he is, surrounded by people who met his revelation with shrugs and an absolute lack of concern.”

I snorted. Toby’s response to finding out I was the Crown Prince had been anything but unconcerned. But that wasn’t the point now, was it?

“I’ll probably get him shot again before his training’s over,” said Toby. “That’s sort of what I do. I’m a knight errant. It’s not even that I’m a magnet for trouble; it’s that when there’s trouble, it’s my job to go and hit it until it goes away, and right now, it’s Quentin’s job to follow me and see how not to die. If you want to know that he’ll be absolutely safe and protected and never get bruised or scarred, I’m not your girl. But I think . . . I think you knew that when you trusted him to me in the first place. And at this point, there’s no one in the world who’ll fight harder to keep him safe, except for maybe the two of you.”

“Maybe?” said Mom, raising her eyebrows.

Toby shrugged. She seemed to have gotten over her fear of insulting my parents and moved into her usual “treason is just another word for Tuesday” mode of interacting with the nobility. That was a relief, even though it meant her greatest fear had already come to pass. They were talking about taking me away from her. After that, very little held any terror in her eyes.

“I don’t quite get pureblood childrearing techniques, Your Highness,” said Toby. “I think this is one of those cultural differences you can’t talk your way around. If Quentin were my son, I would never have been able to bring myself to send him away, not even for his own protection. It would have killed me.”

“It nearly did,” said Mom softly. She glanced at me, and her eyes were bright. Her cosmetic spells meant I couldn’t see if she was crying. She always said that was good. Gave her an edge when she was facing lesser nobles who didn’t want to do as they were told. “Sending my children away was harder than I ever thought it would be, but it was something I knew I was risking when I married the man who would be king. I love my boy, Sir Daye. You and I are alike in that. We both want what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for me is right here,” I said. “This is where my friends are. Raj, he’s a Prince of Cats, but he’s really cool. We have movie nights. And there’s Chelsea, we just found her, she was a changeling and now she’s not—”

“What?” Mom whipped around to stare at me. Dad did the same, but more sedately, like he was afraid of making a sudden motion and attracting her attention. “What did you just say?”

“Um. Chelsea? She’s a friend of mine?” I glanced helplessly at Toby, who shook her head, looking as lost as I felt. It occurred to me that maybe Mom wasn’t as blasé about changelings turning into purebloods as the rest of us. She didn’t live here, after all. “You know this Kingdom has a hope chest, right?” Which we hadn’t used, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell her that.

“Yes . . .” she said.

“If I may,” said Tybalt, interjecting himself before things could get ugly. “Young Chelsea is the daughter of a Knight of Shadowed Hills and a mortal woman. He was unaware that their brief tryst had borne fruit, and when Chelsea reached her teenage years, she manifested her powers in a rather impressive way. It was necessary to neutralize her without killing her, as she is a quite lovely girl, and didn’t deserve such a fate.”

“She was punching holes in the walls of the world,” said Toby. “It had to stop.”

“Yes,” said Mom. “So you . . . changed her? Did she consent?”

“Fully,” said Toby. “She had to go one way or the other—she was too dangerous as she was—but she got to choose.”

“I see.” Mom looked at me again, then at my father. “The situation here seems to get more complicated every time we take our eyes off it for an instant.”

Arden laughed bitterly. I jumped. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She might be a queen now, but she’d been a mortal retail employee for a long time, and she knew how to blend into the background when she wanted to. “Welcome to my life,” she said.

My parents looked even more perplexed. It had probably been a long, long time since one of their vassals dared to say something like that in their presence. There was another point to be made there, but I couldn’t think of how to phrase it without angering my parents and embarrassing Arden. So instead, I forced a smile and said, “Toby is good at complicating things. That’s why she’s been such a good teacher for me. By the time I’m High King, I’m going to be completely unflappable.”

“This is the most ridiculous conversation I have ever been involved in,” muttered Dad.

“Also a pretty common side effect of the company we tend to keep,” said May. “Look, I get that this is all a lot to take in, and that you don’t have all the time in the world. We really, really don’t want you to take Quentin away from us. How long are you staying?”

That was Arden’s cue, and she met it admirably. “We’re still opening the knowe. Most of the chambers will be unsuited for habitation for another few months, so I am afraid I can’t offer you the type of housing you deserve, but we’ve cleaned and reopened my father’s quarters. I would be honored if you chose to rest upon the hospitality of my house, and spend the day.”

Mom frowned. “We can’t take your room.”

“I don’t sleep in my father’s quarters.” Arden grimaced. “I’m sure this is another of the cultural differences Sir Daye mentioned, but it wouldn’t feel . . . right . . . for me to sleep in his bed. I have a smaller room near the library. I think it’s going to be a while before I feel comfortable in anything larger.”

“Too late to refuse to confirm her just because she grew up surrounded by humans,” said Toby quickly. “No backsies.”

“I don’t believe there are ‘backsies’ where thrones are concerned,” said Tybalt, sounding amused.

Toby was unrepentant. “I don’t care. I want to be sure.”

“You want a great many things,” said Dad. He looked to Arden, and nodded. “We’ll accept the hospitality of your house for one day. That will give us time to speak with our son, and decide what’s to be done. Sir Daye?”

“Yes?” said Toby. There was a sudden edge in her voice. Then she glanced at me, and I realized that it wasn’t so sudden; she had just been doing her best to hide it. She was scared.

And so was I. When my parents had said they needed to come to the Mists in order to confirm Arden as the new Queen, I had been looking forward to a fun reunion. Not . . . this. Not the threat of removal.

“If you will excuse us, I feel the need to spend some time with my son,” said my father. “Please return in the morning. We will share a light meal, and give you our decision.”

Toby swallowed, hard, before bowing. “Yes, Your Highness.” She looked to me one more time, making no effort to hide the bleakness in her eyes. “Behave yourself, squire.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, and bowed, as deeply and formally as I knew how. My form was perfect. I knew that much. I was showing her the kind of honor I’d be expected to reserve for kings and queens when I was grown, and I was doing it on purpose. I wanted my parents to see.

I was still bowing when the door closed. I straightened to find myself alone with my parents, and with Queen Windermere, who stood uneasily in the space between them and the wall.

“I’ll have my seneschal show you to your rooms,” she said, and was gone, stepping through a hastily sketched circle in the air. It smelled, ever so faintly, of redwood trees. Toby would have been able to pick it apart in an instant, telling me which redwood trees, and which parts of them. I couldn’t.

I looked at my parents. They looked back at me.

“We have a lot to talk about,” said Dad, and he’d never said anything so honest in his life.

Three

King Gilad’s quarters were vast, as befitted the ruler of the Mists. A large central chamber opened onto a private bedroom, library, sitting room, and servant’s quarters, where his personal valet would have slept, always ready for his king to need him. Taken together, it was larger than the apartment Toby had been living in when I first met her. Even the servant’s room was bigger than my bedroom at the house.

This sort of grandeur was nothing new to me. At home in Toronto, Penthea and I had shared a suite much like this one with an ever-shifting array of nursemaids, each selected for their grace and discretion. None had ever stayed long enough for us to become dangerously loyal or attached to them. I didn’t even remember them all by name. But I remembered the space, and how much of a comedown in the world it had been when I’d moved into my temporary quarters at Shadowed Hills. By the standards of my peers, I might as well have been living in a shack. Things hadn’t improved much since then.

I wouldn’t have traded my metaphorical shack for all the castles in the world.

Mom and Dad had been escorted through the halls by Madden, who took his duties as Arden’s newly appointed seneschal very seriously. Arden herself had come back for me after they were gone, opening a gate between that room and her father’s, so no one would see me too close to the High Regents. It could have raised questions. If not for my being squired to Toby—a changeling, viewed as unsuitable by even minor monarchs—people would probably have already started asking.

Less than half an hour had passed, and I was finally back where I’d wanted so desperately to be five years ago: alone in the company of my parents. I’d just never expected the word “alone” to hang so heavily.

“Quentin, please,” said Mom. She had released the cosmetic spells hiding the scars on her face; she finally looked like my mother, and not High Queen Maida of the Westlands, long may she reign in the glory of the rose and thorn. “I just want to understand why you don’t want to come home.”

“I don’t care whether we understand,” said Dad. “I want to know what makes you think we won’t take you back to Toronto, regardless of what you think is best for you. You’re a child, Quentin. A child we sent into blind fosterage too soon, for reasons I honestly never fully understood. I was never fostered. Your mother was never fostered. We could have kept you at home and no one would have questioned it.”

I said nothing. I remembered the night they’d come to me and Penthea and told us they’d been convinced by some of their advisors that sending us away would be best for us. I’d been twelve; Penny had been ten, and she’d clung to me and cried when she was told I’d be leaving first, sent all the way across the country and forbidden to have any contact with her until her majority, when she would be brought home. They’d sent her into her own fosterage two years later. I still didn’t know where she was. I had never asked exactly who had convinced them that we should be fostered. I didn’t want to know.

“Quentin?” There was a dangerous edge to my father’s voice now. I hadn’t heard it in years, but I remembered it clearly. “Answer me. Why do you think you get a say?”

“Because while it’s traditional for children to hate their parents, I was under the assumption that you enjoyed my good opinion of you,” I snapped. There was no one here but us: I couldn’t be accused of speaking out of turn or reaching above my station. Life with Toby might not involve practicing a lot of the manners that had been drilled into me during my childhood and during my ongoing etiquette lessons at Shadowed Hills, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten a single thing. “All I have ever wanted was for you to be proud of me. When you sent me away, I thought it was because I was such a profound disappointment that you couldn’t stand to look at me. Do you know how long it took for me to get over that? Years, Father. Years I spent thinking that I was an embarrassment to my house and family name.”

Mom gasped softly, putting a hand over her mouth. Dad looked ashamed.

“You have never disappointed us,” he said, softening his tone. “I know you may not want to hear this right now, but your mother and I are intensely proud of the man we see you becoming. He shows in your letters. In your actions. In the way you choose to argue with us when etiquette says you should be dutiful and patient and do as you’re told. I would never have argued with my father the way you’re arguing with me.”

“I argued with mine,” said Mom.

Dad shot her an amused look. “Your father was a Baron in Kansas.”

“I still argued with him,” she said. “He made me feed the chickens and do the dishes.”

“Sir Daye doesn’t have chickens,” I said.

“But she does make you do the dishes,” said Mom.

I nodded. “And I have to vacuum, and clean the bathroom once a month. There’s a chore chart.”

“I never expected to hear a son of mine say the words ‘chore chart’ like they were reasonable things,” said Dad.

“But they are,” I said. “We don’t have servants, and if everybody didn’t take turns, one person would wind up spending all their time cleaning. That’s not fair. And I didn’t like it at first. I thought it was beneath me. I still did it, because there was no way to say ‘no’ that wouldn’t involve explaining why I thought it was beneath me.” I’d pushed back in those early days—sweet Oberon, how I’d pushed back—and Toby had listened, nodded, and then cuffed me in the arm before giving me another lecture about how being a pureblood didn’t make me better than anybody else. Eventually, it had become easier to do the dishes than it was to listen to her.

That was what I couldn’t figure out how to explain. I’d started doing the dishes because I didn’t want to be yelled at anymore, and I’d continued doing them because it was the right thing to do. Because the whole house was happier when we were all pulling our weight, and my being a prince didn’t make my silverware any less in need of scrubbing. I could form the concepts. I could see them in my mind. I just couldn’t find the words to bring them into the light, where other people—where my parents—could see them.

“That’s very enlightened of you, Quentin,” said my mother, after the moment of stunned silence had passed. “I’m so glad this has been good for you. It’s been everything we could have wanted in a blind fosterage. You’re coming back to us stronger and wiser than you left. But it’s time for you to come home.”

I took a deep breath. This was it, then: this was where I set myself against my parents. Oh, goodie. “Are you ordering me home?”

“What?”

“Are you ordering me home? It’s a simple question. It has sort of big implications, but it’s still pretty simple. I’m your heir, not your vassal. I’m sworn in service to Sir October Daye, through her fealty to Duke Sylvester Torquill. If you order me, I will be breaking my oaths, because neither of them will release me from my word.” I tried to look stoic and brave. I was pretty sure I looked like I was about to be sick. “Maybe in a couple of hundred years that won’t matter, but I promise you, if you haul me away from here, there are going to be people who go ‘wait, he was Crown Prince?’ And they’re going to talk about how I’m not even on the throne yet, and I’m already oathbroken. People like to gossip. Everyone will know.”

“People in the court talked when we sent you away; that gossip hasn’t hurt you any,” said Dad.

“No, because it was all home gossip. Everybody’s got a missing prince or princess to worry about. Everybody’s got a fostered kid, or knows one. But a scandal? That’s the kind of thing that gets you on daytime television.”

My parents looked blankly at me again. I swallowed the urge to sigh. If this was how Toby felt when she dealt with most purebloods, no wonder she spent so much time in a bad mood.

“It’s a thing mortals—never mind, it doesn’t matter.” I shook my head. “If you want me to be High King someday, you have to let me do things the right way. Like finishing my knighthood. Like keeping my word.”

“You broke your word when you revealed your parentage,” said Dad, sounding more confident now that we were back on what he felt was familiar ground. He was right and I was wrong, and everything was going to be fine.

“I revealed my parentage to get the rightful queen on her throne, depose an imposter, and prevent the exile of my knight, which would have resulted in either me being kicked out of the Mists—not good when I’m supposed to be in charge someday—or in the false Queen finding out who I was. She would have used me. You know she would. I needed to make a choice. I made the right one.”

“But, Quentin . . .” Mom’s voice was soft. I turned. The tears in her eyes were visible now. She smiled wistfully at me. “Don’t you miss us?”

The truth was, I didn’t know. When they’d first sent me away, I’d cried myself to sleep every morning, condemning myself as a weakling and a coward for being so scared to be away from my family. I was a prince, and princes didn’t cry. But I’d also been a twelve-year-old boy, surrounded by strangers, far from home, in a place where even the air didn’t taste right. Duke Torquill’s wife and daughter had still been missing, and most of the duties of my fosterage had been set by Sir Etienne from the guard and Melly from the kitchens, both of them working together to keep me from attracting the Duke’s attention. He was always a good man. Even good men could become dangerous when they were tangled in their grief.

Every day, I’d prayed to the root and the branch that my parents would realize they’d made a mistake and come to take me home. Every night I’d struggled to be perfect in every possible way, so someone would tell them what a fine young man I was growing into, and they’d realize that I would be an asset to their court, and come to take me home. Every moment had been focused on the idea of earning my way back where I belonged.

And then Toby had come back from the pond.

Duke Torquill had started assigning me to her company, first as a messenger, then as an assistant, and finally as a squire. She hadn’t wanted me in the beginning. She’d claimed it was dangerous, and she hadn’t been wrong about that—the first time I’d gone somewhere with her, I’d ended up with a bullet in my shoulder and a whole lot of my blood on the floor. But it had been exciting. It had been interesting. It had been something I could learn in the Mists that I couldn’t have learned at home in Toronto, and I had wanted it. I still did.

I took a breath. “I miss you, Maman,” I said finally. “I miss you every day. I wonder what you’re doing, and what Penny’s doing, and if she thinks about me—I mean, I’m five years older now, which means she is, too, and she was younger than I was when I went away. Maybe she doesn’t remember who I am. But I’m not a little boy anymore. I stopped praying for you to come and carry me home a long time ago.”

Mom looked down at her joined hands. Dad looked at me.

“This is really what you want, son?” he asked. “To stay here, in this . . . this mess?”

“It’s sort of funky in the Mists sometimes, but I like it,” I said. “It feels like home, for now.”

His lips drew tight. “You understand that no matter how much it feels like home, you’ll have to come back to Toronto when you reach your majority. As heir to the throne, you need to learn the traditions and standards of the position that will one day be yours.”

“I know.” My majority was years away. If I still didn’t want to leave the Mists when I reached it, there was going to be a problem. But maybe I’d change my mind. I’d already changed it once, when I stopped being the boy who would have done absolutely anything for the chance to go home. “That’s not now, Father. I love it here. I have a purpose. I’m learning, and everything I learn is going to make me a better king someday. I’m not in any hurry to take your throne. Don’t you want me to be as prepared as possible?”

Mom laughed. Dad and I both turned to look at her. She was wiping away her tears, and she was smiling.

“Oh, give it up, Aethlin. We taught the boy to think and then we sent him away to learn how to argue; you’re not going to win. All you’re going to do is chew on each other, and we have little enough time here that I’m done with wasting it. Quentin is right. We can’t pull him out of the Mists without leaving him oathbroken, and that knight of his isn’t going to release him just because we tell her to.”

“Toby’s pretty stubborn,” I said gravely.

“And you haven’t been picking that up from her at all,” said Dad.

I grinned.

“If you’re to stay here—and I’m not yet saying that you are—I’ll need to know everything about what you’ve been doing,” said Mom. She scooted over, making space for me on the couch between them. “Who your friends are, who you choose to spend time with, everything. Omit not the smallest detail, nor elude the tiniest trace, or I’ll know.”

“Then what?” I asked, settling myself in the place she had opened. The warmth of their bodies was familiar, and soothing on a deep, almost indefinable level. These were my parents. They loved me, and even if we disagreed, they still wanted what was best for me. It was my job to make sure they understood that “what was best” was a moving target, and always had been.

“I’ll tickle you until you repent,” said Mom solemnly.

I laughed, and so did they, and everything was going to be okay.

Four

Everything was not going to be okay.

My parents had wanted to meet Toby on neutral ground to discuss their decision, which had seemed like a good idea at the time. Summoning Toby back to Muir Woods would just make her tense. Going to the house would look like we were there to pick up my things. And it wasn’t like meeting her at Shadowed Hills would have been any better, since it would have blown my cover further without actually making things any better. Dad had been the one to suggest a mortal restaurant, one where we’d all be wearing human disguises and hence be unlikely to be recognized by anyone who didn’t already know us.

I’d been the one to suggest Cat in the Rafters, since I knew it was owned by a member of Tybalt’s Court, and Cait Sidhe don’t care who is or isn’t an heir to the Divided Courts. As far as most of them are concerned, we’re all useless, and exist only to get in the way of good, honest felines. Getting a reservation there is supposed to be really difficult—it’s one of the best steakhouses in San Francisco—but it helps to have connections. I’d texted Raj, and Raj had pointed out that humans don’t usually go to steakhouses for breakfast. Then he’d spoken to his uncle, and now, two hours later, we were seated in the private dining room, waiting for the rest of our party to arrive.

“This is . . . rustic,” said Dad.

“Be nice,” chided Mom.

“What? All I said was that it was rustic.”

“Which everyone with any sense knows means ‘barbaric,’ at least when spoken by someone of your social status,” said a mild, faintly irritated voice from the shadows. A patch of shade peeled off and became a teenage boy about an inch shorter than me, thin, brown-skinned, and lanky, with black-tipped russet hair. Raj didn’t walk across the room: he slunk, moving fluidly and without seeming to use any actual bones. He paused when he reached the table, long enough to give my parents a lingering, utterly shameless look. Then he fell into the seat beside me, slinging his legs over mine before reaching across me to snatch the roll off my plate and begin munching. Between my body and my food, he was claiming me as his property in every feline way he knew.

Dad frowned. “Quentin?”

Right. “Mother, Father, meet Prince Raj of the Court of Dreaming Cats.”

“And his best friend,” said Raj, not bothering to swallow his mouthful of roll first. His voice was muffled by the doughy mass, but not enough to take the edge off his words. “I know your son in all ways better than you do. Remember that, as you consider taking him from me.”

“Oak and ash, Raj, don’t talk to my parents like that! Actually, don’t talk to anyone like that. You know modern grammar. Use it.” I didn’t have another roll, so I couldn’t throw it at him. I settled for wadding up my napkin and bouncing it off his head.

He frowned at me, clearly unrepentant. “They’re purebloods. They don’t listen to modern grammar.”

“No, that’s your uncle. My parents believe in the existence of contractions.”

“That’s sometimes debatable,” said Mom, and laughed.

Dad didn’t laugh. He was busy frowning at Raj. “His best friend? Really? This is the sort of company you’re keeping here, Quentin?”

“You mean company like the future King of Cats? Um, yeah,” I said. Again, I didn’t have another roll, and thus couldn’t throw it. “Raj is going to take over for his uncle someday. He’s a prince, which means he’s the sort of company I’m supposed to be keeping, and he’s not a stuck-up jerk, which makes him better company than like, every other prince I’ve ever met. And he likes me for me.”

“But he knows your identity,” said Dad. There was a dangerous note in his voice now. “How are you going to justify this one?”

“I don’t have to,” I said. “He’s a Prince of the Cait Sidhe. They don’t care about our titles and positions.” I had pulled rank to get him to stop hogging the remote control, but they didn’t need to know that, and he’d promised not to tell his uncle. He hadn’t, either. We had been through a lot together in Blind Michael’s lands. Bonds like that ran deeper than anyone who hadn’t been there would ever be able to understand.

Raj, meanwhile, was still looking at my parents like they were something unpleasant at the bottom of a jar. “You sent him away, to the knowe of a madman, with no one to help or hear him when he cried,” he said. “How are you going to justify that? If we’re going to demand justifications of one another, I don’t think I’m going to be scrambling alone.”

“Raj, come on,” I said quietly. My cheeks and the tips of my ears were burning. Embarrassment is not my friend. “Back off.”

“No,” he said, shifting his attention to me. “At least my father had the decency to outright admit that he was selling me for the sake of his own ambition, before he went and betrayed us all.”

“What is he talking about?” asked Mom.

“Um,” I said. “His dad tried to lead an insurrection against his uncle—who isn’t actually his uncle by birth. That’s not how the Cait Sidhe do things. Anyway, he died in the fighting and we left the body in Annwn, along with Duchess Treasa Riordan of Dreamer’s Glass. She’s officially missing right now, since no one wants to admit that Chelsea was powerful enough to rip holes in the walls of Faerie. It would probably be regarded as untidy, and maybe Li Qin wouldn’t be allowed to keep tending the Duchy, which would be bad for everybody.”

“I don’t mourn him,” said Raj, leaving his legs slung across my lap as he leaned back in his own seat, folded his arms across his chest, and looked imperiously down his nose at my parents. The urge to dump my water on him was getting stronger all the time. “He was my father, but he was also a fool, and my mother deserved better. Now that he’s gone permanently, maybe her memory will be held in higher regard by those who knew her in life.”

“Oh,” said Mom. She hesitated a moment before reaching for her own roll, and saying, “I don’t remember any of this from your letters.”

“I told you there had been some unrest in the Duchy of Dreamer’s Glass, and that the Duchess had disappeared, and that one of the other local nobles was standing steward.”

“See, when you say it like that, it sounds perfectly reasonable, and not like a thing that princes shouldn’t be involved in at all,” said Mom. “What does that tell you?”

“That I already have the makings of an excellent diplomat, and if you give me long enough, I’ll be able to sell icebergs to Snow Fairies,” I said brightly.

Mom blinked. Then she began to laugh. Her cosmetic spells were back in place, making her skin as smooth and perfect as ever, but I knew what she really looked like; I could picture every delighted crease around her mouth and eyes. Knowing I was the reason she looked so happy made me want to smile. I fought the urge for a moment before I realized it was my father’s presence that was making me repress it, and so I let it out, beaming at her. If making my mother happy made me this happy, maybe my own happiness would have the same effect on him. Maybe.

I could hope, anyway.

Raj wasn’t finished. He looked down his nose at my father and drawled, “Well? What are your intentions here tonight?”

Dad lifted an eyebrow. “My intentions?”

“Toward Quentin. Would it help at all if I told you the Court of Cats would view removing him as a breakdown in diplomacy between us, and feel absolved of any need for civility between our Court and yours for the next hundred years?”

“Given how little civility exists between our Court and yours, either nothing would change or you would be declaring war on behalf of all cats, everywhere,” said Dad. “I’m terribly sorry if it sounds like I’m doubting your ability to fulfill your threats, but that is something I would truly like to see. In all my time as High King, and my years as Crown Prince before that, I never saw the Cait Sidhe agree on anything, much less on something as large as going to war.”

Raj scowled and took another bite of my roll.

“You know, I’d criticize the company you’re keeping, but you have friends now, and that’s nice,” said Mom. “You never had many friends when you were home.”

“Because anyone who showed up at Court with kids just brought them because they wanted you to like them better,” I said. “Remember that one Baron who brought his daughter, told her to play with me, and then tried to convince you it was true love and we should be engaged immediately? Uck.”

“She was a sweet girl,” said Dad.

“I was six,” I countered. “The only ‘sweet girl’ I wanted to spend any time with was Penthea, because we were being explorers and we were going to find Oberon and get him to unlock the doors to deeper Faerie and then we’d be heroes and could have all the cookies we wanted.”

“Lofty goals,” said Raj.

“Again, six,” I said.

The door to the private dining room opened, and Toby and Tybalt stepped inside. Both were wearing human disguises, making them seem just foreign enough to be jarring, while still familiar enough that the knot of tension at the base of my spine unsnarled a little in relief. They were here. This could still work out.

Tybalt was wearing a cream-colored button-down shirt and brown slacks. They were probably leather, but his disguise turned them into linen, which was something of a relief. His pants could get distracting sometimes. Toby had gone for her usual “black tank top and blue jeans” combination, and I had absolute faith that her clothes would look the same with and without her illusions. She wasn’t putting on a show for my parents anymore. I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad one.

“I see you’ve found my nephew,” said Tybalt, once they were close enough to speak without shouting. “I apologize for anything and nothing he may have done. Anything because he is my nephew, and hence my responsibility; nothing because he is a cat, and hence fully capable of extricating himself from any holes which he may have dug for himself. Raj, please, I beg you, stop treating the future High King of the Westlands as furniture. It’s untidy.”

Raj did not remove his legs from my lap. “No,” he said. “They want to take him away. I don’t want him to go.”

“So you’re just going to sit on him and make sure he doesn’t get up?” Toby shook her head. “What, is that a genetic thing with cats?”

“Why, October.” Tybalt pulled out one of the free chairs for her, holding it until she sank into the cushions. “I don’t sit on you when I want you to stay put. I know it would do no good, and simply make us both late for whatever horrifying thing you were racing off to do. It’s much more effective to follow close behind and be ready to either chide or attack whatever troubles you.” He pushed her chair in before sinking down into his own.

“We’re glad you could join us for dinner,” said Dad. “Hopefully the waiter will be back with the menus soon, and we can order.”

“Oh, that won’t be happening,” said Tybalt. Everyone turned to look at him, except for Toby, who was looking resolutely at her napkin. “This is a Cait Sidhe-owned establishment, which is what makes it safe to conduct this meeting here. At the same time, it is . . . let’s charitably say ‘rare’ for the Court of Cats to have the opportunity to host individuals of your stature. The restaurant has been closed to all other custom for the day, and the chefs are working at assembling a menu that will show the length and breadth of their skills.”

“What if my parents had allergies?” I asked.

“The cooks in Muir Woods would have been informed, as they were of your parents’ preferences,” said Tybalt. “The High King and Queen travel nowhere without a certain amount of pomp, is that not so, Your Highness?”

It took Dad a moment to realize the question had been directed at him. He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes, getting away long enough to hit the Timmy’s for donuts is the hardest part of my week.”

“They don’t have Tim Hortons here,” I said.

“Then we sent you to live with savages,” Dad replied, deadpan.

The corner of Toby’s mouth twitched. “We do okay in the baked goods department,” she said. “San Francisco likes its donuts.”

“Ah, but Tim Hortons is a Canadian institution,” said Dad.

“That is fascinating,” said Raj, tone implying it was anything but. “Can we get back to you promising not to take Quentin away?”

“Raj,” said Tybalt admonishingly. “That is not how we speak to visiting royalty.”

“That’s exactly how we speak to visiting royalty,” said Raj.

“Not when we want something from them.”

Toby was quiet. It was starting to worry me. I was so used to her loudly pushing her way into the center of things that her being silent for more than a few seconds was unnerving.

“Sir Daye?” Mom’s voice was gentle. Toby glanced up, and Mom smiled. “I’m glad you could join us.”

“It seemed like the thing to do,” said Toby.

Mom hesitated before she continued, “I would like us to have a pleasant dinner, and get to know each other a little better. As a mother, you must understand how hard it’s been for me to be separated from my children.”

Mentioning Toby’s human daughter was always a gamble. Sometimes she was happy to talk about Gilly, and how much I would have liked her if we’d ever had the opportunity to get to know each other. Other times she’d just clam up and refuse to say anything at all, like speaking her child’s name was a quick way to bring back the nightmares she’d been fighting for so long to put behind her. I held my breath, waiting to see what her response was going to be this time.

She smiled. Just a little, but that was better than nothing. “I do,” she said. “When I was separated from my daughter, it nearly killed me. She lives with her father now. It’s better that way.” It was the only option Gilly had left. Toby had turned her completely human to spare her from dying of elf-shot, and the Luidaeg had changed her memories enough that she wouldn’t know what she’d lost—but as I knew from losing my first serious girlfriend, Katie, that kind of change came with a cost. Toby couldn’t be a part of Gilly’s life, not now and not ever. Seeing her mother might crack the seal keeping her memories of Faerie buried, and that could break her.

“It’s hard,” said Mom. “I admire how well you’ve managed.”

Toby shrugged. “It’s not like I had a choice. You do. You can choose to take him home. Maybe that would be for the best. We all know it’s dangerous here. It’s never going to get easier. Honestly, if things continue the way they have, it’s going to get harder. It seems like every time we stop to take a breath, something else goes wrong.” She glanced my way. “Sorry, kiddo. But it’s like I said when you asked if I would be your knight. I got you shot.”

“Which is exactly why we’ve decided to let him stay.” My father’s words fell through the air like bricks, bringing everything crashing to a halt. The group went silent. Even Raj didn’t have anything clever or rude to say. He actually sat up, pulling his legs out of my lap.

I was the first one to find my voice. That was one for the record books. “You really mean it? I can stay?”

Dad smiled. He looked a little wistful, and for the first time it occurred to me that maybe he’d been hoping for a different outcome. I was the kid here, but he was the one who’d been homesick. “You can. Assuming the food here is good enough.”

“Believe me, sir, you would not be alone in taking bad crème brûlée as a declaration of war,” said Tybalt, and both my parents laughed, and it felt like I could breathe again.

Five

My parents left five minutes after the ripples of dawn finished flowing through the world. Magic returned, their Tuatha de Dannan escort opened a gate, and they were gone, heads held high, expressions neutral and serene, as befitted the High King and Queen of the Westlands. Toby had been summoned to see them off. It was supposed to be an honor, something to reflect the great service she had done to the people of the Mists by bringing their rightful Queen back to them. It felt like my parents giving me one last chance to change my mind.

I didn’t change my mind. I watched them go, and I blinked back tears, and I didn’t change my mind. Sometimes it’s the things that hurt most that are the most important.

There were no Court functions scheduled after the departure of my parents. Arden didn’t have much of a Court yet—just her, Madden, Lowri, and the courtiers she’d been loaned by local nobles who wanted to curry favor with the newly crowned Queen—and even asking her to provide waffles would have been unfair. By seven o’clock Toby and I were back in the car and back on the road, heading for San Francisco at a speed that would probably have resulted in half a dozen traffic tickets if the car hadn’t been enchanted six ways from Sunday.

We were just passing the city limits when I stirred myself out of my silence and asked, “Can you drop me off?”

“Depends on where,” she said. “If you want me to drop you at the bus station, no. Your parents said I got to keep you, and I’m holding them to that. You have any idea how hard it is to break in a new squire? Nope. Not going to do it.”

“I was actually thinking more Goldengreen.” I looked down at my seat belt, taking my time adjusting it as I said, “Raj has prince things to do today, and I want to spend some time with somebody my own age.”

“Wow. I knew one day you’d reject us all for being too old, but I thought we’d celebrate your ‘staying in California’ victory for five minutes first,” said Toby, without rancor. She sounded bizarrely happy. She had met the High King and Queen without embarrassing herself completely, and more, when they’d tried to take me away from her, she had managed to avoid the worst-case scenario. For her, this encounter was an incontestable win.

For me, too. I grinned. “You’re ancient and decrepit.”

“Basically dust and bones.”

“I could scatter you from the mountaintops and tell the wind your name.”

“Aw, you’d do that for me? You’re so sweet.” She took one hand off the wheel and reached over to ruffle my hair. I bore the indignity stoically. It helped that, for once, there was no one around to see. “You going to need me to come back and pick you up?”

“Nah. I can take a bus, or a taxi, or sleep in one of the guest rooms until it’s late enough that I can call Raj and tell him I’ll order pizza if he comes and gets me.”

Toby attempted to sound stern. “The Cait Sidhe are not a car service.”

“Can I be there when you tell Tybalt that?” I asked brightly. “He might faint from shock when he hears you admit that you knew that all along.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I liked you better before you had a sense of humor,” she said, turning off the freeway and onto the service streets that would lead us to the art museum housing the mortal side of the knowe.

“I always had a sense of humor,” I said. “It just took a while for me to adjust it to the tastes of non-Canadians.”

Toby snorted, and said nothing.

It was early yet; the streets were buzzing with humans on their way to work, most of them walking with their heads down and their eyes glued to their phones. Give it a few more years and none of us would need human disguises at all. We’d be able to go wherever we wanted with our true faces exposed, and anyone who saw us would just assume that we were part of an augmented reality game. That was going to be a fun future.

Toby was yawning when she reached the museum parking lot. It was still empty; the museum employees would start arriving within the hour, getting the place ready for the day to come. “Last chance to get a ride home in the car.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, and waved as I hopped out. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t!” She drove off as soon as my door was shut. I stayed where I was for a few seconds, letting her see me dwindle in the mirror. Then I turned and started down the shallow hill, moving toward the cliff that ran behind the museum.

The County of Goldengreen had originally been founded and held by Countess Evening Winterrose, a Daoine Sidhe who’d been in the Mists for as long as anyone I’d ever spoken to could remember. She had ruled mostly in solitude, but her knowe was palatial, as befitted someone of her stature. After her death, the place had been sealed for a while before the false Queen had given it to Toby as part of an elaborate plan to shift Toby’s fealty and arrest her for murder. Not fun. Toby hadn’t taken too well to being part of the nobility, and had offloaded the place the first chance she got, giving it to the air-breathing, half-Merrow, half-Daoine son of our local Undersea Duchess.

Sometimes I feel like my life should come with a flow chart or something.

It was a beautiful morning. The sea air was sweet and tasted of salt. Everything in the field behind the museum was blooming, adding a dozen floral perfumes to the mix. I didn’t stop to smell the flowers. Even as early as it was, there are some things that are always best done quickly. I walked to the edge of the cliff, keeping my eyes fixed on the distant line of the horizon, and stepped off.

The world twisted and spun around me, rewriting itself before my feet hit the solid floor of the entry hall. It hadn’t been a long fall, and I’d done it often enough that I landed with my knees slightly bent, allowing them to absorb most of the impact. Something moved in the rafters above me. I didn’t look up. The bogies that infested the knowe were mostly friendly, but that wouldn’t stop them from turning into giant spiders and dropping down onto my head for a laugh. Their sense of humor is nothing to mess with.

Toby hadn’t been in charge of Goldengreen for long, but it had been long enough that I was familiar with the place. I started down the hall toward the kitchen. That was where I was most likely to find Dean’s seneschal, Marcia, and she, in turn, would know where Dean was.

Sure enough, when I stuck my head around the doorframe, there she was, kneading bread dough and humming to herself. She was a slight, thin-blooded changeling, more human than fae, and her eyes were ringed with a thick layer of faerie ointment. Without it, she wouldn’t have been able to see through the illusions that surrounded her. Her hair was a blonde corona around her head, and her clothes were strictly mortal-modern; she could have gone anywhere in the city without raising an eyebrow.

I rapped my knuckles against the lintel. “Hey, Marcia,” I said. “Dean still up?”

“Quentin!” She beamed as she turned. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Actually, scratch that. My eyes aren’t sore. That saying makes no sense. It’s good to see you! Dean’s down by the cove. You just missed Duchess Lorden.”

I grimaced. “Yay for timing, I guess.” Duchess Dianda Lorden was a good ally, and a good mother. She was also prone to threats of violence, and with her, those threats were never empty.

“Oh, you,” said Marcia, laughing. “Go on down. If you boys get hungry, just send a pixie, and I’ll send down a little something.”

“Okay, Marcia,” I said, and sketched a quick bow in her direction before turning and trotting down the hall toward the door to the stairs.

Toby has this theory that knowes are not only alive, they’re intelligent and can make their own choices. They just make them more slowly than people do, on account of how they’re buildings, and anything short of being on fire is unlikely to seem all that urgent. The cove-side receiving room at Goldengreen was a great piece of support for her theory. It hadn’t been there when she’d been in charge, or when Evening had been; it was a large enough part of the knowe’s structure that there was simply no way we could have all missed it.

The door opened on a wide-stepped spiral staircase, curving languidly downward to a chamber that seemed to have been hewn straight out of the side of a mountain. The ceiling was inlaid with an elaborate design in white quartz and mother-of-pearl, and the stairs ended at a wide expanse of redwood floor, magically treated to keep it from becoming slippery. The floor stretched onward to become a dock, stopping just short of a strip of gleaming white sand. Beyond that, the ocean, sheltered by the ceiling until it reached the narrow strip of daylight that allowed it to escape from the confines of the knowe.

Dean was sitting on the edge of the dock with his hands on his knees, staring out over the water. I stopped where I was for a moment, just looking at him.

He was almost two years older than I was, which seemed like a lot, even though I knew one day, when we’d both been alive for centuries, two years would be nothing but the blinking of an eye. He had his mother’s tawny skin and black hair, with streaks of oceanic green inherited from his father. His eyes were deepwater blue and distracting. I spent a lot of time when we were together trying not to stare into his eyes.

Right. This was verging on creepy. I started walking again, letting the scuff of my feet against the deck alert him to my presence. He turned and looked over his shoulder, smiling when he saw me.

“Quentin,” he said. “I didn’t know you were coming over today.”

“It was sort of last minute,” I said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Mom just left, and I was feeling a little down. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” I walked over and sat down next to him on the dock. Not too close, but . . . close enough. “Did you come to Arden’s confirmation?”

“Yeah,” he said, and gave me a measuring sidelong look. “I’d never seen the High King in person before.”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe you should dye your hair.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

Dean turned back to the water. “Mom went home after that and got really, really drunk. She said it was like seeing King Gilad finally laid to rest. I guess he was a pretty good king.”

“That’s what everybody says.”

“Where’s Raj?”

The question was surprising enough that I frowned, looking at him. “Home. It’s his day to be a proper prince, instead of hogging the TV remote at my place. And he has a date with Helen tonight, so unless I call him for a ride later, I probably won’t see him until the weekend. Why? Did you need him for something?”

“No. He’s just usually with you when you decide to drop by for a visit. He’s still dating Helen?”

“I think he likes the way she argues with him.” Helen was a half-Hob changeling. They’d met in Blind Michael’s lands. Trauma like that either builds bonds or breaks them down. In Helen’s case, I was never quite sure which that was. She was nice, and she seemed to enjoy Raj’s company, but she was an expert at dodging invitations to spend time with the rest of us. It was hard to take offense at that. She’d been through a lot. At the same time, none of us could really tell whether she and Raj were good for each other when we never got to see them together.

“Huh.” Dean picked at a thread on the side of his trousers. “I keep expecting them to break up so that Raj can start going out with you.”

If I had been drinking, I would have done a spit-take. As it was, I choked on air, coughing before I said, “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you. What I meant was what?” I shook my head. “Raj and I aren’t going to date.”

Dean twisted to give me a dubious look. “Really.”

“Really-really! We flirt, but . . .” I paused to gather my thoughts. “Toby and Tybalt are getting pretty serious. If it gets too serious, he’ll have to step down. I mean, he can’t have a girlfriend he puts above the Court. That’s not how they do things. Raj is his only available heir. Raj plays at being selfish and self-absorbed, but he loves his uncle more than anything, except maybe the Court of Cats. He’d never do anything to endanger either one.” And Raj knew I was going to be High King. Our Courts could be friends. Could even coexist peacefully. But he would never, never allow a situation to arise where the Court of Cats could be seen as beholden to the Divided Courts. Being my boyfriend, however casually, would mess things up for both of us.

“Sometimes I wonder what dating is like for people who don’t have to think about the politics of everything they do and say,” said Dean.

I smiled wryly. “If Toby’s anything to go by, it’s sort of bloody and awkward.”

“Everything Toby does is sort of bloody and awkward.”

“Well, yeah.” I shook my head. “So no, Raj and I: not dating, not going to date. He’s my best friend. I’d bleed for him, and defend him before oak and ash and thorn. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

Was it my imagination, or did Dean sound just a bit relieved? I decided to push my luck. “You know I’m here on blind fosterage. That means I’ll have to go home when I reach my majority.”

“In what, twelve years?” Dean smiled lopsidedly at me. “That’s a long time. Twelve years ago, I was living in the Undersea, looking forward to a lifetime of SCUBA gear and air locks. And you were what, back with your folks, waiting for your fosterage to begin? Twelve years can change everything.”

“It really can,” I agreed. In for a penny . . . “Besides, even if Raj wanted to go out, I’d have to turn him down. I sort of have a thing for someone else right now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He’s smart, funny, cute—really, if it weren’t for the part where I’m squired to a knight with hydrophobia, he’d be pretty much perfect. And I guess the hydrophobia thing means we’d never have to worry about Toby interrupting when I was over at his place.”

Dean turned to fully face me, blinking slowly. “You’re bold today.”

“I just had a bit of a shock to the system,” I said. “My parents threatened to end my fosterage. Made me really think about what I wanted to do while I was still here. And I like you, Dean. I like you a lot. I have since I met you, and I like you more every time I see you.”

“Are you sure you’re not scrambling for something to make you feel like staying here was the right thing to do?” Again, the identity of my parents hung between us like an unspoken oath. He knew. His comment about my father’s hair . . . he knew. He was just doing the socially appropriate thing, and not saying anything about it.

“No.” I’d been honest so far. Might as well stick with it. “And I’m not saying I’m in love with you, either. But I like you. We’re still kids. Isn’t that supposed to be enough?”

“I’m a Count. You’re a squire. We have duties.”

“And one day we’ll both be expected to marry long enough to provide heirs for our family names. I know that. I’m not asking you to be in love with me. I’m just asking you to . . . to hold hands with me, and see a movie, and maybe go out for ice cream.”

He smiled a little. “My parents spent their first real date looking for ice cream.”

“See, and now we have modern refrigeration. We can find ice cream, no problem.”

“Quentin.” Dean sobered. “You know that in the Undersea I was considered sort of, well, a freak. My dad’s Daoine Sidhe. I can’t breathe water. I can’t even put on scales. Mom nearly lost the Duchy because I was so weak and wrong.”

I nodded slowly. “Is this your way of saying you haven’t dated much?”

“It’s my way of saying I haven’t dated at all.”

“That’s okay. I’ve only had one serious girlfriend, and we had to break up after Blind Michael turned her into a horse and she found out Faerie was real and then the Luidaeg wiped her memory. So we’re on pretty equal footing here, I’d say.”

Dean blinked. “I think the worst part of that sentence was how every part of it was awful, and yet it all still made sense.”

“That’s life with Toby, and by extension, I guess that’s life with me. So if you don’t want to, you know, risk it—”

“Sometimes I think about how soft your hair must be, and then I have to go sit quietly for a little while until I stop blushing.”

I stopped.

“And sometimes I think ‘I should ask him out,’ and then I go no, he’s a blind foster, he’s someone’s important son, he has better prospects than some Merrow-maid’s half-breed son who’s still not sure how he even wound up with a title and holdings of his own. So I don’t.”

“Maybe you should,” I said softly.

“Maybe.” Dean took a deep breath, smiled, and asked, “You want to catch a movie?”

I smiled back. “Only if you’ll let me pay for the popcorn.”

“It’s a deal,” he said, and reached over to take my hand in his. His fingers were cool, with the ghosts of webbing extending from his palms halfway to the first knuckle. We sat there on the edge of the dock beneath the mountain, and we watched the tide roll out, and for a little while at least, it seemed like there was nothing else to say.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Also by Seanan McGuire

Copyright

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five