Once Broken Faith (7 page)

Arden was on the stage conjuring balls of witch-light and tossing them up to join the others that were already bobbing among the rafters. With each ball, the light in the room got a little brighter, twilight melting into day. She looked toward the sound of my voice and smiled, although it didn't remove the lines of strain around her eyes. “The bookstore used to host a lot of author events,” she said. She didn't seem to be raising her voice, but it carried, clean and clear, to the back of the gallery. There must have been amplification charms on the stage. Neat trick.

Arden continued her thought as we walked toward her: “Usually, we just had to move a couple of shelves and set up folding chairs, but it could still get pretty intense. Genre authors can attract some weird crowds. So I'm trying to think of this as if it were that. We're hosting like, Stephen King and J.K. Rowling at the same time, and the weirdoes are going to ride, ride, ride.”

“I thought I heard voices while we were in the hall,” I said, looking around. “Who else is here?”

“I am,” chirped Madden, sticking his head out of the wings. This place really
was
a little theater. Tybalt might try to move in and stage a new Shakespeare production every Thursday. “Hi, Toby. Hi, Quentin. Ever cater a banquet for royalty?”

“Can't say as I have,” I said. Peanut butter and tuna sandwiches slapped together for Quentin and Raj at two o'clock in the morning probably didn't count.

“Well, don't. It's awful. Just awful.” He vanished again.

I turned to Arden. “We're here. Where do you want us?”

“My Court is going to be sitting over there,” she said, indicating the seats curving around the left side of the stage. “I was planning on putting anyone unaffiliated but with good reason to be heard on the other side.”

It was clear she wanted me to decide where we belonged. I knew what she was hoping for, but I still smiled as I said, “Okay, cool,” and led Quentin to the unaffiliated seats.

Arden did a good job of hiding her disappointment. Her face only fell a little. It was the best I could do. My fealty has been sworn to Duke Sylvester Torquill since I was young. Even though he's Arden's vassal, that doesn't make me hers. He would have to release me formally for that to happen, and he's not going to do that unless I ask him to.

Quentin's fealty ultimately lies with the Westlands, but while he's my squire, he's also considered sworn to Sylvester, at least until the day when I declare him a knight in his own right. When that happens, Quentin's obligations to Sylvester will dissolve, allowing him to go out into the world for his knight errantry. During that time, he'll answer only to the High King—and his knight. Up until the day he takes the throne, he'll be expected to answer to me.

No pressure or anything.

Quentin and I took our seats. Madden reappeared a few minutes later, waving before heading to his place on
the other side of the stage. As if that were a cue of some sort, other members of Arden's court began appearing and settling themselves nearby. Walther entered through a side door and moved toward us, pointing to the seat on the other side of me.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

“Please. Spare me the anxiety of wondering who might come and claim it,” I said.

“Excellent.” He looked profoundly relieved as he sank into the cushion. “Marlis just called to let me know she's in the queue outside with our parents, Aunt Siwan, and Uncle Holger. They'll be entering when the heralds announce them. She wanted to know if I was going to sit with her.”

Walther's Aunt Siwan was better known as the rightful Queen of Silences. Holger was her King and consort, and Walther's parents were the court alchemists. Marlis was still seneschal, as far as I knew; she'd served under the pretender King, Rhys, and knew the modern shape of the Kingdom better than anyone else in her family. In a human monarchy, she would probably have been executed as a traitor, or at the very least imprisoned for life. Oberon's Law changes things, and so does magic. Rhys had been using loyalty potions to compel her obedience. She couldn't be held responsible for that.

Arden walked onto the stage, followed by a group of courtiers. They set out four thrones. One was silver, patterned with graven redwood branches and blackberry vines. One was golden, patterned with yarrow branches and rose briars. The other two were bronze, patterned with maple leaves and heather flowers. Arden, Queen Siwan, and the High King and Queen. Which made sense. The ownership of the cure was split between Silences and the Mists, and the High King and Queen were here to oversee the proceedings. Of course, those would be the four who sat at the head of the room.

Humans would probably have insisted on giving the
High King and Queen golden thrones, focusing on the value of the metal. Because this was Faerie, the division was determined by the colors of their Kingdoms, and how well the metals suited them. Arden had silver, for fog; Queen Siwan had gold, for yarrow; and the High King and Queen had bronze, presumably for King Aethlin's hair.

The doors opened, and people began entering. Normal people, people who'd heard a conclave was happening and had come to witness the largest gathering of Kings and Queens that they were ever likely to see. I had to wonder whether this was a ploy on Arden's part to keep the cure from being suppressed; after all, it was harder to bury something people knew about. Or maybe it was just the natural result of gathering this much royalty in one place. Even if each of the Kings and Queens traveled with a minimal staff, they'd still fill the gallery without trying. That would also explain the number of faces I didn't recognize.

There were no other changelings in the first wave of arrivals. That was no real surprise.

The crowd settled quickly, filling the balcony and the back of the room. When the last of them was seated, Arden's herald took up a position next to the rear door. “Her Royal Highness, by right of blood, the Queen in the Mists, Arden Windermere,” he announced.

Arden, who was already on the stage, bowed her head to the audience and walked regally to the throne marked for her use. She sat. The people applauded. So did I. It seemed like the only appropriate response.

The applause died down. The herald spoke again. “His Grace, by right of appointment, Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, and his consort, Her Grace, by right of marriage, Duchess Luna Torquill of Shadowed Hills.”

“Oh, sweet Oberon's ass, they're going to tell us how
every single person
got their throne, aren't they?” I
whispered, before flinching and waiting for the reaction from the crowd. There wasn't one. The amplification charms apparently didn't cover our part of the gallery. Thank the rose and the branch for that.

Quentin smirked and said nothing.

Sylvester and Luna appeared at the back of the gallery, followed by Etienne. They made their way to the middle rows of seats, well ahead of Arden's courtiers and the commoners who'd come just to watch, but leaving plenty of room in the front for the higher-ranking nobility. It was the first time I'd seen Sylvester since before I'd gone to Silences to play diplomat. He glanced my way. I didn't smile. I didn't look away either. We were going to have to find our peace sooner or later. Honestly, I wanted it to be sooner. He was my liege. I was planning to get married. He shouldn't be excluded from being part of that.

The list of mid-ranked nobility—important enough to announce, unimportant enough that I'd never heard of most of them—went on and on. Li Qin was announced as interim Duchess of Dreamer's Glass, which probably pleased her. April O'Leary was announced as the Countess of Tamed Lightning, unable to attend due to duties at home, to be represented at the conclave by her seneschal, Elliot. It was a smart move. April was weird even for Faerie, and sending her to something like this would probably result in her finding a way to baffle and offend all the Kings and Queens at once. Wiring a Dryad into a computer system has that sort of effect.

Finally, the heralds ran out of Dukes and Counts and Barons and Earls. After a brief pause for consultation, the announcements resumed. “Her Royal Highness, by right of blood, Queen Siwan Yates of Silences, and her consort, His Royal Highness, by right of marriage, King Holger Yates of Silences.”

Walther's aunt and uncle entered through the rear door and proceeded down the aisle. Marlis was close behind them, almost as if she were guarding them against
possible attack. She glanced our way and offered a quick, genial nod as they neared the stage. Walther, who was less constrained by propriety, grinned and waved. I split the difference with a smile and a nod.

Queen Siwan kissed her husband on the cheek before mounting the stairs to the stage. Marlis stepped into the front row of seats, gesturing for King Holger to follow her. As he did, he turned, bringing the left side of his body into view. I stopped smiling and sat up straighter. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been missing the lower half of his left arm. Now, it was present and accounted for, supported by a sling, but as much flesh and blood as the rest of him.

I'd left a portion of my blood in Silences. Queen Siwan had explained her intent to try to work it into a regenerative potion. Looked like she'd succeeded. The ramifications of
that
were . . . well. I just hoped they wouldn't be leading to another conclave. I might heal fast, but there was no way I was going to agree to becoming a pharmacy for the rest of Faerie.

“Their Majesties, by right of equal ascension, King and Queen upon the Golden Shore, Theron and Chrysanthe.”

A pair of Ceryneian Hinds—Golden Hinds—made their way down the aisle, heads high, hooves tapping on the carpeted floor. Like all of their kind, they were elegant and lithe from the waist up, looking more like Tylwyth Teg than anything else, and golden-furred, bipedal deer from the waist down. They wore tunics belted with woven gold-and-silver wire, but left their legs bare. Their ears were long, curving, and lightly furred. Chrysanthe's hair fell to her waist, white-gold and curly enough to have some bounce, despite its weight. Theron had antlers, small but distinct, growing from his forehead. His crown had clearly been designed to accommodate them, and echoed the forms in hers. They walked, together, to settle in the front row.

“Golden Shore,” Quentin murmured, trying to sound
like he was doing a casual review, when we both knew it was for my benefit. “Kingdom directly to the South, mostly agrarian, few political aspirations.”

I knew the basics about my neighbors, but I didn't tell him to stop. He might tell me something I didn't already know, and I was so far out of my depth that anything would help.

“His Royal Highness, by right of conquest, King Antonio Robinson of Angels.”

Antonio didn't enter through the doors, although the doors opened: instead, he appeared at the center of the aisle, already halfway to the stage. He was a tall, striking man, with skin the color of slate and hair the color of ashes. Two Merry Dancers appeared with him, globes of floating light that turned and twisted around his body. It was rare for a Candela to aspire to a throne, much less fight to take it. King Robinson was an anomaly in many ways. Still, the people dutifully applauded as he made his way to his seat.

So it went, on and on, as the monarchs of the neighboring kingdoms made their appearances. It looked like Aethlin's invitation had gone out to the entire West Coast—that, or the West Coast monarchs were the only ones who'd felt comfortable leaving their Kingdoms for the duration of this meeting, which made a certain measure of sense. The people who were most likely to stage an invasion were always your immediate neighbors, since they were the ones who knew how nice your apple trees were, or how much parking you had. If all your neighbors were in the room, there was no one left to invade you. That was pureblood logic for you.

The herald named their Kingdoms, places I'd never seen and wasn't sure I ever would, and I translated them as best I could into mortal landmarks. The Kingdom of Evergreen was Washington and part of Vancouver, ignoring the America-Canada border in favor of drawing its own. The Kingdom of Prisms was farther up the coast,
encompassing Alaska, but they hadn't sent a representative. Either they didn't care what we decided, or that whole “we might get invaded” problem was a real concern for them. Painted Skies was Nevada, represented by a Crown Princess and two Dukes. Highmountain was Colorado, represented by their Daoine Sidhe monarchs. They were accompanied by a single silent, downcast handmaiden—a Barrow Wight, from the looks of her. Interesting. Copper was Arizona, and their Centaur King took up half an aisle. The delegation that had traveled the farthest to sit in this room and listen to everyone fighting was from Starfall, in Idaho. They hadn't brought their monarch, but were a small group of interested nobles, no doubt hoping to curry favor by bringing home news of what transpired here.

Starfall was the last land Kingdom to be announced and seated. There was a brief pause as the heralds checked their notes, and the introductions continued:

“Representing the Undersea Kingdom of Leucothea, Her Grace, by right of blood, Duchess Dianda Lorden of Saltmist, and her consort, by right of marriage, Duke Patrick Lorden of Saltmist.”

Dianda and Patrick entered through the rear door. The conclave was likely to go on for quite some time, and while Dianda preferred to deal with land fae on her own two feet, assuming—probably correctly—that most would view anything else as weakness, pride didn't make her foolish. She was in fins and scales, seated in her wheelchair with her flukes defiantly exposed, like she was daring anyone to say a word about her presence. Patrick was pushing her, a mild expression on his face. He was probably the reason the King of Leucothea had assigned Dianda to be his representative; as the only Undersea noble I knew of who was married to someone who'd grown up on the land, her husband was an invaluable resource for explaining what the hell it was that everyone around her was talking about.