Seanan McGuire - One Salt Sea

“I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t. I raked my hands through my wind-tangled hair and went trudging down the beach, with the others close behind me.

We had barely reached the water’s edge when Dianda came running through the surf, a look of pure, electric joy transforming her features into something so beautiful it hurt. “Boys!”

“Mom!” shouted Peter and Dean, and threw themselves into her arms. They were still embracing when Patrick came walking more sedately out of the waves, water streaming from his hair, a corked bottle in one hand—Dean’s breathing potion. Magic was the only way a Daoine Sidhe could survive in the Undersea. That was what Dean had to look forward to: a life of depending on other people’s magic for his survival.

I watched Patrick join his family, the four of them holding onto each other like there was nothing else in the world, and felt the slow tendrils of an idea uncurling in my mind.

Quentin stopped next to me, tilting his head back so he could look in my direction. “I think we did okay,” he said.

“Say that again next week,” I said.

Dianda raised her head, cheeks gleaming wet with more than sea spray, and started wading toward us. Peter came with her, holding onto her arm like he was afraid one of them would wash away. “You found them,” she said, once she was close enough to be heard over the waves.

“I told you I would.”

“But you actually did .” She said the words like they were some sort of miracle. In a way, I guess they were.

“I did.”

Dianda paused, frowning. “Where’s Connor?”

This time, when the tears came, I didn’t fight them. I just let them fall, letting them say all the things I couldn’t bring myself to voice.

“Oh. Oh, I am sorry.” Dianda reached out, putting her hand on my shoulder. “The tides sing a threnody of sorrow for your loss.”

It was a ritual phrase, even if it was one I’d never heard before; it had the cadence and weight of something repeated many times. Somehow, it helped. I sniffled, nodding my thanks, and said, “So maybe this is a bad time to ask, but about that war . . .”

“I’ll send a message to your Queen at once. You have the eternal gratitude of my family, and of my Duchy. You will always be welcome there.”

“Cool. I can bring Quentin for a visit next time I feel like letting the Luidaeg use dangerous enchantments on me.”

Dianda hesitated before asking, “Was she here?”

I didn’t even have to look to know that the Luidaeg was gone. “Yeah. She helped us get into the shallowing where Dean and Peter were being held.”

“It would be nice to see her again,” said Dianda wistfully. “It’s been a long time.”

“About that. Why is she here? If she’s the sea witch, shouldn’t she be in the Undersea, and not drinking all the damn Diet Coke in San Francisco?”

Dianda looked startled. “She abandoned the Undersea centuries ago. I thought she would have . . . she’s welcome in the waters any time she wants to come home. She left us, not the other way around.”

“Why?” asked Quentin.

“The Roane,” said Dianda simply. “They were her descendants. Almost all of them died. And she left.”

I thought back on her behavior around Connor, and asked, “Did the Selkies have something to do with it?”

Dianda nodded. That was all she had to do.

I took a deep breath, preparing to change the subject. “Your Grace, I’d like to talk to you about Dean. I have some ideas, if you’d be willing to hear them. About how we can make relations a little better between the land Courts and the Undersea.” I looked toward Patrick and his sons. The boys were sitting on the sand now, Patrick hovering nearby, like he was afraid they’d all be washed away at any moment.

Dianda followed my gaze. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s a little complicated, and we’re not actually done yet—Rayseline has been elf-shot. She’ll stand trial when she wakes up, but she wasn’t working alone, and the man I think she was working with is a trusted courtier in the Queen’s Court.” I raised a hand to cut off Dianda’s protest before it could begin. “I really don’t think the Queen was involved, but I need your help to prove it.”

“Help?” She tilted her head, assessing my expression. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, first, we call a man named Walther for a final bit of confirmation. And then we give Dugan a lot of rope, and see whether or not he hangs himself.” I smiled grimly, motioning for Sylvester to come closer. “Once Patrick’s done reassuring himself that your sons are okay, I can tell you what I’m thinking.”

Dianda nodded. “I think I speak for all of us when I say I truly can’t wait to hear.”

“Good,” I said. “I can’t wait either.”

IWALKED INTO THE QUEEN’S COURT with an unconscious, emaciated teenage boy hanging limply in my arms. A hush fell, creating a bubble of silence that moved with me across the ballroom floor. Sylvester followed me, and his men followed him, all of them as silent and as solemn as I was. For once, the Queen had done nothing with my clothes, possibly because we’d all come courtesy of the Tuatha de Dannan shuttle service. Etienne would forgive me eventually. I hoped.

The Queen herself stood when she saw me coming, eyes narrowing as she marked our progress across the floor. “What have you brought me today, Countess Daye?” she asked, sinking slowly back into her throne. Her voice sent shivers racing along my spine, but she was holding back, not using it as the weapon that it sometimes was.

“I found the Lorden children,” I said, my eyes searching the crowd for Dugan. He was standing behind the Queen’s throne, just to the left of the dais. “They’re injured, but alive.”

“Did you find the perpetrator of this horrible injustice?” asked the Queen, tone implying that it had been no such thing. Her eyes went to the boy in my arms, watching him hungrily. She probably saw him as a bargaining chip against his parents. That, more than everything else, told me that I’d been right: the Queen wasn’t involved in their disappearance. She’d been just as much a patsy as everyone else.

“I did,” I said calmly. “Rayseline Torquill.”

“You can’t prove it!” shrieked an indignant voice behind me. I forced myself to keep looking straight ahead as everyone else turned. I knew what they’d see. A furious, rumpled Rayseline being held in place by her father’s hand, unable to break his grip enough to get away. We’d run the scene ten times on the beach to make sure we got it right, after my call to Walther confirmed that the sleeping tincture had been brewed by a Daoine Sidhe. “I didn’t do anything!”

Dugan stiffened, a look of pure panic flashing across his face.

That’s what I’d been waiting for. “If not you, then who?” I asked, still not looking behind me.

“Dugan! He said it would work! He said—”

“Dugan?” said the Queen, cutting “Raysel” off. “She’s delusional.”

“Is she?” I kept my eyes on Dugan, watching him, rather than the Queen. “He’s unlanded Daoine Sidhe, Your Highness. Everyone knows they get hungry sometimes. They get . . . anxious . . . to improve their positions. So I looked a little deeper. It turns out Rayseline isn’t the only one ready to point the finger. There’s a Glastig named Bucer O’Malley who’d be happy to testify.” I smiled thinly at Dugan. “The Undersea is going to be very interested in finding out who was behind the kidnapping. They’ll need someone to blame.”

“Perhaps—” began the Queen.

“He said everyone would forgive us because we’d make things so much better!” The sounds of a scuffle came from behind me, “Raysel” trying to break away from her captors. “Tell her, Dugan! Tell her what you promised me! You swore ! You said—”