Seanan McGuire - One Salt Sea

For Chris.

Thanks, bunny.

One Salt Sea is the fifth Toby Daye book, and like those that came before it, it has been guided along the way by many hands. My thanks go out to my faithful Machete Squad, whose tireless efforts to make these books better is a joy and a delight. These people pull my books apart and staple them back together, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Special thanks go out to Jeanne Goldfein, who put up with my using our trip to Australia as an excuse to field-test Undersea biology, and to Chris Mangum, who supplemented his heroic webmaster duties with a tolerant willingness to listen to me go on and on and on (and on and on) about the way my version of Faerie functions. I have the best Machete Squad in the world.

As always, my agent, Diana Fox, made sure I had the space and sanity to keep writing, while my editor, Sheila Gilbert, showed an unerring ability to go straight for the heart of my story. They have my thanks and my eternal gratitude, as does the rest of the crew at DAW. My cover, which knocked my socks off, was created by Chris McGrath, and my interior dingbat was designed by Tara O’Shea. Special thanks to Joshua Starr, for his tireless devotion to SCIENCE!, especially when that science means I’m calling him with another weird request.

My website team of Chris Mangum and Tara O’Shea kept things rolling smoothly here at home, while my mother played roadie for every book event in driving distance. Michelle Dockrey provided the stability I needed to keep me anchored as I threw myself at the wind, and Amy McNally was always there to pull me back to solid ground. Thanks to Amy Mebberson, for helping to make some images clearer, and to Kristoph Klover, for helping to spread my music a little further. Deborah, Cat, Lauren . . . I couldn’t have done it without you. And of course, thanks to my cats, Lilly, Alice, and Thomas, for allowing me to stop paying attention to them long enough to write a book.

My soundtrack while writing One Salt Sea consisted mostly of House Rules , by Christian Kane, Lungs , by Florence and the Machine, endless live concert recordings of the Counting Crows, and all of the soundtracks to Glee . Any errors in this book are entirely my own. The errors that aren’t here are the ones that all these people helped me fix.

Thank you for reading. I’m glad that you’re here.

Bannick: ban-nick . Plural is Bannicks.

Banshee: ban-shee . Plural is Banshees.

Barghest: bar-guy-st . Plural is Barghests.

Barrow Wight: bar-row white . Plural is Barrow Wights.

Blodynbryd: blow-din-brid . Plural is Blodynbryds.

Cait Sidhe: kay-th shee . Plural is Cait Sidhe.

Candela: can-dee-la . Plural is Candela.

Coblynau: cob-lee-now . Plural is Coblynau.

Cornish Pixie: Corn-ish pix-ee . Plural is Cornish Pixies.

Daoine Sidhe: doon-ya shee . Plural is Daoine Sidhe, diminutive is Daoine.

Djinn: jin . Plural is Djinn.

Dóchas Sidhe: doe-sh-as shee . Plural is Dóchas Sidhe.

Ellyllon: el-lee-lawn . Plural is Ellyllons.

Gean-Cannah: gee-ann can-na . Plural is Gean-Cannah.

Glastig: glass-tig . Plural is Glastigs.

Gwragen: guh-war-a-gen . Plural is Gwragen.

Hamadryad: ha-ma-dry-add . Plural is Hamadryads.

Hob: hob. Plural is Hobs.

Kitsune: kit-soo-nay . Plural is Kitsune.

Lamia: lay-me-a . Plural is Lamia.

Manticore: man-tee-core . Plural is Manticores.

Peri: pear-ee . Plural is Peri.

Piskie: piss-key . Plural is Piskies.

Pixie: pix-ee . Plural is Pixies.

Puca: puh-ca . Plural is Pucas.

Satyr: say-tur . Plural is Satyrs.

Silene: sigh-lean . Plural is Silene.

Swanmay: swan-may . Plural is Swanmays.

Tuatha de Dannan: tootha day danan . Plural is Tuatha de Dannan, diminutive is Tuatha.

Tylwyth Teg: till-with teeg . Plural is Tylwyth Teg, diminutive is Tylwyth.

Urisk: you-risk . Plural is Urisk.

Will o’ Wisps: will-oh wisps. Plural is Will o’ Wisps.

Asrai: as-rye . Plural is Asrai.

Cephali: she-fall-li . Plural is Cephali.

Cetace: sea-tay-see . Plural is Cetacea.

Hippocampus: hip-po-cam-pus . Plural is Hippocampi.

Kelpie: kel-pee . Plural is Kelpies.

The Luidaeg: the lou-sha-k . No plural exists.

Merrow: meh-row . Plural is Merrow.

Naiad: nigh-add . Plural is Naiads.

Nixie: nix-ee . Plural is Nixen.

Roane: rone . Plural is Roane.

Selkie: sell-key . Plural is Selkies.

Undine: un-deen . Plural is Undine.

THE SWORD SWUNG FAST AND HARD toward my face, leaving me with barely enough time to raise my own sword into position to parry. The force of the blades colliding knocked me back a step and made my wrists ache even more than they already did.

“Oberon’s balls, Sylvester!” I snapped. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“That’s generally the point of hitting someone with a sword,” he said, almost cheerfully, and swung at me again.

Having Sylvester Torquill—Duke of Shadowed Hills, pureblooded Daoine Sidhe, and most importantly, my chosen liege—swinging a sword at my head wasn’t getting less unnerving, or more fun. Not even the knowledge that our blades were magically blunted could stop my atavistic “oh, hell no” response. I blocked this stroke marginally faster than the last, shoving his sword aside and sliding my own blade under his arm. Theoretically, this should have let me hit him.

Reality wasn’t that forgiving. Sylvester twisted his sword underneath mine and slammed the flat of his blade against my fingers, causing them to open involuntarily. My sword dropped to the ballroom floor, clattering on the polished marble.

The sudden disarmament startled me enough that I forgot to dodge. Sylvester grabbed my arm, spun me around, and slammed my back into his chest, pressing his sword against my throat. “Dead again,” he said conversationally. “Can you tell me what you did wrong?”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the blade pressing against my skin. It wasn’t easy. “I didn’t run away the second you suggested I learn to use a sword?”

“You left an opening.” He let me go, stepping back. “You need to watch that.”

“I’m sticking with my first answer.” I took a moment to wipe the sweat from my forehead before bending to retrieve my weapon. Cold moonlight flowed in through the windows above us, filling the ballroom with shadows. “Are we done yet?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done. Now, on my word . . . begin.” Sylvester fell into a defensive position. I mimicked it as well as I could. At least he’d managed to teach me that when someone’s about to swing a sword at you, you should be prepared to stop them. Not that I ever seemed to succeed, but hell, I was trying. That was something, right?