One Salt Sea

Connor.

Dugan scowled. “You may pass,” he said, not bothering to conceal his resentment. We—a changeling and a skinshifter—were invited guests, while he, a pureblood Daoine Sidhe, was stuck on door duty. He kept scowling as he turned in practiced tandem with the other footman to open the vast oak doors, revealing a long, dimly-lit hall that matched the entrance chamber’s design. I walked past them with my head held high, not making eye contact.

Connor walked beside me, waiting until the doors were closed behind us to grin and say, “You always say you hate your name. Why don’t you go by Christine?”

“Be quiet.”

“We could call you Chrissie.”

“Shut up.”

Connor snorted and stopped talking. He didn’t stop looking amused.

A series of diaphanous curtains the color of new-fallen snow billowed from the ceiling at the end of the hall, turning the ballroom beyond into a watercolor abstraction. Connor’s hand sought mine, gripping tightly. I shot him what I hoped was a reassuring look, and we stepped together through the layers of hanging fabric.

The curtains parted around us like a slightly more solid version of the wall we’d walked through to enter the knowe—and just like the wall, when the last of them fell away, it was to reveal a world transformed.

The main hall had been decorated for the occasion, elevating it from “grand” to “practically unreal.” Gray silk ribbons were wrapped around the filigreed ivory pillars studding the room, and layers of white covered the walls, making it impossible to pinpoint the entrances. The royal crest of the Kingdom of the Mists hung from each of the four balconies; no matter where you looked, you’d know whose territory you were in.

More ribbons hung from the heavy chandeliers overhead, eddying with the movement of the crowd below until they drifted dangerously close to the candles around them. The candlelight itself was bright and diffuse at the same time, turning everything faintly unreal. I shuddered, squeezing Connor’s hand. I hate candlelight.

And then there were the people.

There are dozens of fiefdoms in the Kingdom of the Mists. Most of them have at least one noble family, and for an event this size—an event meant to prevent a war— everyone had come out of the woodwork to prove their willingness to make an effort. Everyone. I didn’t recognize half the people. They were all dressed to the nines, mingling and chatting while they ignored the servants weaving among them with trays of drinks and canapés. Only the faint air of unease disturbed the illusion of glamorous society; this might be the last peaceful night in the Kingdom for quite some time.

My feet were suddenly numb, refusing to let me move. “I don’t think I can do this,” I said.

“Just smile.”

“I don’t think I can do that either.”

“Try.”

I took a deep breath and scanned the room, looking for something safe to concentrate on. I found it in a woman standing at the nearest banquet table, picking disinterestedly at a roast Wyvern. She had marigold-colored hair, and was the only person in the room wearing jeans. I pointed at her. “Is that who I think it is?”

Connor followed my finger. Then he nodded. “Yup.”

“Oh, thank Oberon. I was afraid we’d be the only sane ones here.” I began to wade determinedly through the crowd, hauling Connor with me.

The woman looked up as though she could sense our approach, the light glinting off the lenses of her glasses, as she turned our way, smiled, and disappeared. The people she’d been standing next to stopped and stared. Very few people are as casual about teleportation as April O’Leary, even in Faerie. April makes her own rules. Being the only cyber-Dryad Countess in existence means she gets to do that.

Connor and I stepped to the side, moving into the shelter of one of the room’s massive pillars. “At least now we know they’re not letting anybody off the hook,” I said. Moving April out of her County must have taken some pretty complicated hardware. It also left Tamed Lightning practically undefended, since she was both their Countess and their early warning system.

“We already knew that,” said Connor. “They invited you.”

The air in front of us shimmered before I could come up with a retort. When the shimmer cleared, April was simply standing there, green sparks dancing off the rims of her glasses. I was almost disappointed to see that she’d traded her jeans for a proper ball gown, all crushed green velvet and black satin ribbons. Being made entirely of light has its advantages.

“October. Connor.” She accompanied her greetings with small bobs of her head. “It is pleasant to see you again.”

“Same,” said Connor.

“Hey, April.” I waved. “I see they got to you, too.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I did not wish to attend, but Elliot said I must preserve the illusion that we pay attention to events on the Kingdom level.”

That sounded like something Elliot would say. “Is he here with you?”

“No. He won the coin toss and elected to remain at the office. I am accompanied by one of the junior programmers. I believe he is trysting in the food preparation area with one of the resident Brownies. As long as my server is not compromised, it is none of my concern.” April shrugged, indicating how little she minded being abandoned. “It is interesting to see so many new faces. I still do not get out much. This was a valuable opportunity to test my new mobile server array.”

“We should fix that—the not getting out much, I mean.” I snagged two glasses of sparkling wine from a nearby servant, passing one of them to Connor. I’ve been poisoned that way in the past, but if someone wanted to go to that much trouble to assassinate me in the Queen’s own Court, they wouldn’t stop with a couple of poisoned drinks.

The wine was light and tartly sweet, with a faint aftertaste of apple blossoms.

“I am not sure I want to get out more.” April glanced around before adding, with some frustration, “These people are difficult to communicate with. They mostly just stare.”

I had to laugh. “They’re not used to you yet. You have to give them some time.” As far as I know, April is the only Dryad ever to hold a noble title. She’s definitely the only Dryad ever to have been transplanted into a piece of computer hardware. Say what you like about her adoptive mother, the late January O’Leary, but the woman had a style all her own.

“I encounter this reaction frequently.” April brushed slightly pixelated hair out of her eyes. “I really am not sure what is expected of me if this comes to conflict. I doubt the Undersea has DSL lines for me to disconnect, and my range of movement is limited by my hardware.”

“To be honest, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, either.” The Luidaeg’s shell chilled briefly, reminding me that one way or another, I was going to be doing something.

April tilted her head, looking between us, and asked, “When did you get married?”

Connor choked on his wine. I coughed into my hand, getting my breath back before asking, “Uh, what?”

“Is that incorrect? I am sorry.” April looked annoyed. “I assumed your mutual attendance signified something, given the disappearance of my cousin Rayseline. I really am terrible with this ‘interpersonal relationships’ thing. Elliot says I must find a man and attempt to have children if I wish to validate my rule.”

“Does he, now?” I asked, barely following her apparent change of subjects. Connor was still struggling to breathe. It was almost amusing, in a sadistic sort of way.

“It seems both silly and biologically improbable to me, but . . .” April shrugged, encompassing in a gesture how silly she found most social traditions. “If you will excuse me, I believe I see my Uncle Sylvester. I must say hello.” Her dress shimmered back into blue jeans and a sweater before she vanished, leaving the air to rush into the place where she’d been standing.

I gave Connor a sidelong look. “Normally this is where we’d go bother Sylvester, but for the moment, I think she can have him.”

A voice from my other side asked, “Is she like that all the time?”

“Mostly,” I answered automatically. “Other days she’s a little weird.” Then I paused, realizing the voice didn’t belong to anyone I knew. Wincing, I turned. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been properly introduced.”

The man beside me laughed with what sounded like sincere amusement. I didn’t know him. I would have