Seanan McGuire - Ashes of Honor

“You will come with us,” said one of them, voice barely loud enough to be audible.

When the wind orders me to do something, I do it. “We will come with you,” I agreed, and gestured to Quentin and Li Qin to follow as I walked out of the room.

The translucent bodies of the Folletti distorted the tapestries and crown molding as they led the three of us down the hall. It was like being accompanied by two giant funhouse mirrors, both set permanently to “warp.”

We stopped at a large set of double doors, surrounded by more of that ubiquitous crown molding, and built on a scale that made me wonder if Riordan had looked at the doors in Shadowed Hills and thought, “Mine should be bigger.” They were so massive that I wasn’t even sure they could be opened. One of the Folletti ghosted forward and turned what looked like another bit of crown molding in a full circle. One of the bottom panels in the right-hand door swung outward.

“I guess they can’t be,” I murmured.

The other Folletti turned to frown at me. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Still frowning, the Folletti led us through the panel and into Riordan’s receiving room.

After the rest of the knowe, I’d been expecting something over the top and almost laughable. I definitely hadn’t been expecting what was there. The room was large, easily on a par with the ballroom at Shadowed Hills. Globes of witchlight floated near the ceiling. There were no chandeliers, and the globes moved freely, according to some undefined pattern. The floor was simple stone, and the walls were bare, except for a banner at the very far end of the hall, directly behind Riordan’s throne. It showed the arms of Dreamer’s Glass—a crack running through silver fabric, with a lily on one side and a spindle on the other. I’ve never studied heraldry, but I know enough to know that the lily was probably a reference to the Lady of Shalott, who had her issues with mirrors. It was an odd choice for a Ducal coat of arms, but hey, not my business.

Riordan herself was seated on the throne beneath the banner, waiting for us. She came into clearer focus as we approached, and I realized that she’d changed her clothes. Her college girl chic was gone, replaced by a green floor-length gown that looked much more in tune with what Li Qin was wearing. Only her ruby choker remained; she wore no other jewelry. An unornamented silver circlet rested on her brow. If I hadn’t seen her knowe, I would have looked at her and assumed she was a little old-fashioned, a little humble.

Since I had seen her knowe, I had to wonder what her angle was and what she expected to get out of it.

Riordan raised a hand, waving it languidly. The Folletti ghosted away again, becoming breezes that ruffled our hair as they flew past. The door slammed behind us. Quentin glanced at me. I nodded reassuringly, and we kept walking.

We stopped the polite ten paces before her throne. Li Qin curtsied. Quentin and I bowed. We all held our positions at the lowest point, supplicating ourselves. It was the appropriate thing to do; we were guests in Riordan’s home. It still rankled, especially given what I’d heard her saying while I was in the hall—and since I wasn’t supposed to have been there, it wasn’t like I could reasonably ask her about it. Not unless I wanted to find out whether her hospitality extended to dungeons.

My back was just starting to hurt from having been folded over so long when Riordan said, with practiced sweetness, “You may rise.”

“Your Grace,” I said, straightening. “We appreciate your granting us this audience.”

“It’s the least I could do, sugar. You’ve never come to see me before, and it’d be plain rude to send you packing without letting you experience the grandeur of a formal reception.” She giggled. It was probably meant to sound girlish and carefree. Instead, it sounded overly practiced, like the host of a bad PBS kid’s show. “How are you finding Dreamer’s Glass?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Quentin, with absolute honesty.

Riordan beamed, clearly choosing to interpret his answer as a good thing. “I’ve worked very hard on this place. I’ll have you know, I had a hand in decorating every single room.”

“Really?” I asked. “That must have taken a lot of time.”

“It was worth it.” Riordan settled back in her throne, smile turning into something smug and dangerous. “Now. Why don’t you explain just who it is you’re looking for?”

“A changeling girl named Chelsea is missing. She hasn’t had her Choice yet; she was still living with her mortal parent when her powers manifested.” It wasn’t a completely true statement. It was close enough, especially given my growing suspicion that Riordan was involved. “Her magic smells like sycamore smoke and calla lilies. She’s shown a pretty impressive range on her gates—we don’t know how far she might have traveled by now.”

“Shoot, you mean you’re here about a runaway? I thought it would be something worth getting worked up about. Teenagers run off, especially ones who can open themselves magic doors in space. She’s probably in Los Angeles swooning over some movie star, and she’ll come home when she’s ready.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “For one thing, she’s already called home once, begging for help. Someone took her, Your Grace, and it’s my job to get her back.”

Riordan’s eyes narrowed. “She called home? Did she speak to her human mother?”

“No,” I lied. “I took the call. I was there looking for signs that might point me in her direction.”

“Did you find any?”

“Not yet.” I forced myself to keep looking at Riordan’s face. Breaking eye contact would be a quick way to tell her something was wrong. “I was hoping she’d come here. I cast an augury that indicated she’d at least passed through.” More lies, unless you wanted to interpret the Luidaeg’s charm really, really broadly. But the Luidaeg is a blunt instrument, and telling Riordan she was helping us might trigger a violent response. If I were a kidnapper and someone told me the sea witch was on my trail, well. I’d be tempted to make sure that someone never had the opportunity to report back to her allies.

“I haven’t seen her,” said Riordan. If she was lying, she was doing it too smoothly for me to be sure about it. I suppose that was only fair. I was lying through my teeth, after all.

“If I may,” said Li Qin. “The girl is young and does not know or respect the bounds of our domains. Might your guards have seen an intruder, one who came and was gone too quickly to be detained?”

“First off, honey , there’s no ‘our’ in the domains around here. You didn’t inherit when your little love bug went and left us.” Riordan’s words were delivered with a smile that did nothing to reduce their sharpness. The smell of apples and snowdrops rose in the air around her, a menacing reminder of her anger. I stiffened. She was too wrapped up in her own dialog to notice. “Second, if she’d been here, my guards would’ve caught her. I don’t know how you do things in Tamed Lightning, but here, no one comes or goes without my leave.”

“Can I leave a number for you to call if she shows up?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level. It was essential that she not realize I recognized her magic. “We need to find her.”

“Changelings run away. It happens.” She kept smiling. “You did, didn’t you? I remember your mama was so mad . This Chelsea girl is probably just doing the same thing. I don’t see where it’s any of my problem, to be honest.”

I took a deep breath, counting to ten before I answered her. Amandine wasn’t the perfect mother, and I did run away from home. But I was in my twenties and coming to understand that I’d never belong fully in the Summerlands, not a confused teenager who barely understood what she could do. “She’s lost, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” I said, as steadily as I could. “It’s not your problem. Telling us if you see her is the right thing to do.”