Seanan McGuire - One Salt Sea

“She’ll bring them home to us,” said the Roane woman. Smiling, she continued, “What she has to pay is dearer than salt, but she’ll bring them home.”

I blinked at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I don’t believe I freed it,” she said. “Mary does me well enough.”

That couldn’t be her real name. The fae avoid duplicating names when they can, and “Mary” would have been taken centuries ago. Still, there’s a long, proud tradition of pseudonyms in Faerie. I bowed, saying, “October Daye, Countess—”

“Countess of Goldengreen, the land that falls to rise and falls again, daughter of Amandine the liar, mother of Gillian with the eyes half-open but so soon to close, she who’ll stand by the burning tree with a brand bare in her hand and a song upon her lips, yes, yes, we know you,” she said, waving a hand. “Trust her, my Pat. She believes her words, and if she lies, she doesn’t know it.”

I stared, first at her, then at Patrick. He flashed me a small, strained smile.

“Mary holds the Roane gift of prophecy a bit more directly than most,” he said. “You learn to filter what she says until you find the useful parts.”

“So you understand her?” I asked, fighting the urge to shake Mary until she told me what she knew about my daughter in words I could understand. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t be diplomatic. That didn’t do a thing to stop my wanting to do it.

“I’ve had years of practice.”

The Undersea fae were finally calming. Mary looked up at me, smiling distantly. “You’ve done but the start of what’s to do, and still you have our gratitude, daughter of Amandine. You’ll understand soon enough.” She paused, tilting her head to the side, and added, “She waits. They’ve not hurt her. Ask no more, for I don’t know it.”

I stiffened. “You’re talking about Gillian. Where is she?”

She raised a hand. “I’ve said what I know.”

“She’s telling the truth,” said Patrick. I glanced at him, frowning. “Mary never sees everything. If she did . . .”

“You wouldn’t need me,” I finished wearily. “Is there anything else you need right now? I need to get back to work.”

“What you’ll do, you’ll do. Come, my Pat. My mother’s soon to be involved, and it’s best if we not be standing in whatever path she comes by. She favors solitude. I try to do well by her when I can.” Mary smiled again, more sadly, and turned to the others. “Up, then, all of you lot, and away! We’ve news of all the world and more to carry to our lady.” Again, her gaze went to Connor. “Not you, soldier boy. Your place is by your lighthouse keeper’s daughter.”

Patrick looked briefly concerned before inclining his head, saying, “Connor, stay here. It’s a good idea for us to keep the channels of communication open, especially now.” Turning to me, he bowed as deeply as if he were bowing to the Queen herself. “The sea will not forget what you’ve done for us, or what we’ve done to you.”

“I appreciate that.” I returned the bow, putting every ounce of courtly grace that I possessed into the gesture. “I’ll throw you another bottle if I learn anything else. Until then, please try to keep Dianda from doing anything rash?”

“You credit me with a great deal more power than I possess, but I’ll try,” said Patrick wryly, and turned to go. The delegation from Saltmist parted to let him take the lead before following him out the door. Patrick’s shoulders were higher than they’d been when he arrived; he was walking like a man, and not like someone who’d been beaten. That was good. He was going to need his strength.

Connor waited until they were gone before standing up, saying, “He must like you,” and walking over to put his arms around me. “Are you all right?”

“No,” I said, and buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in the reassuring sea-salt smell of him. For a moment, I just let him hold me, trying to pretend that everything could ever be all right again. Voice muffled by his skin, I whispered, “She took Gillian, Connor.”

“I know.” He stroked my hair with one hand, holding me closer. “We’re going to get her back. I swear to you, we’re going to get her back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I refuse to let this end any other way.” He pulled back, just enough to press a kiss against the side of my jaw, and said, “Besides, she’s your daughter. She’s probably too damn stubborn to do anything but survive.”

I laughed a little as I pulled away, wiping my eyes with the back of one hand. “I hope you’re right. For right now, we need to find Raysel.” I took a breath, trying to clear my head. “Did she ever say anything about redwood trees? Maybe a park she liked visiting, or a place that she remembered from her childhood?”

“Raysel never talked about ‘liking’ anything,” he said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Mostly, she just talked about how everyone was letting her down, including—and sometimes, especially—me.”

“Right.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I need to call Danny. Maybe one of Rayseline’s rocks remembers redwood trees.” Statements like that are just one of the many reasons mortal police work and Faerie will never mix.

“What can we do?” asked Quentin.

My attention snapped back to the doorway, where Quentin and Raj stood like mismatched chess pieces waiting for their next moves. I blinked as I realize how accurate that was; they were both waiting for me to tell them what to do. Oak and ash, had I acquired a Cait Sidhe Prince to go with my Daoine Sidhe knight-in-training?

I could worry about that later. “I’m going to go meet with Bucer after I call Danny. You can come, if you want to.” Seeing me shake answers out of the little weasel would be educational for them, right? And maybe showing up with a couple of unfamiliar teenagers in tow would make him more willing to talk to me.

I flinched from the thought as quickly as it crossed my mind. That was Devin’s tactic: bring the kids along, throw your opposition off-balance. Was I really resorting to his techniques? And so what if I was? If it got Gillian back, it was worth doing.

“We’ll hold down the fort,” May said. “I already called Jazz.”

“Good thinking.” I glanced at Connor, asking hopefully, “Do you want to come with us? It’s probably not going to be fun.”

“Like anything has been, this week?” Connor shook his head. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you out of my sight before I have to. I’m coming.”

“Great. I’ll meet you all at the car after I call Danny.” I turned and walked out to the hall, heading for the kitchen. I needed coffee for the drive, or I was going to get a lot less useful, very soon.

Connor followed me. I gave him a questioning look. He shook his head, saying, “I’ll get your coffee. I need to talk to you before we go.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly, and dialed Danny’s number.

Danny’s voice boomed through the speaker after the first ring, declaring, “Danny here. Where’s the fire?”

“Hopefully, not under my frying pan,” I replied. “Hey, Danny. You get any answers out of those rocks yet?”

“Toby! You ain’t dead!” I couldn’t decide whether it was amusing or disturbing that he sounded so surprised by my continued survival.

I settled on amusing. I needed more amusement. “Not for lack of trying. The rocks, Danny. Have they said anything?”

“Not too much that’s useful, but I’m still tryin’.”

“Do you think you might have better luck with direct questions?”

“Hey, yeah—that’d probably help. Why, you got one?”

“I do. I want you to go to the nearest florist and get some decorative redwood branches. Put the branches with the rocks, and ask them if they’ve ever seen or smelled anything like that before. If any of the rocks says ‘yes,’ see if you can get them to tell you more about where they were before Raysel picked them up.”