Once Broken Faith (43 page)

The scholars who like to have accurate notes about such things think Oleander de Merelands was the one who killed my parents; that she slit my mother's throat and did some terrible thing to my father, using the earthquake as cover. The people who care about “who” and “why” have lots of notes, and some of them have shown up at my Court, trying to show them to me. The people who want history to make sense don't seem to understand that it doesn't matter who killed him; what matters is he died, and he took us all with him to the grave. The person I am now is not who I would have been, had my father lived. The person my brother would be when he woke—and he was
going
to wake—was not the person he would have been, either. Every death is a massacre.

“Here,” said Cassandra, coming to a stop. I blinked. Somehow, the street had disappeared; we had wandered down the sort of narrow alley that every one of my city dweller's instincts normally worked double-time to keep me out of. We were in front of a wooden door painted in faded, peeling blue, set back into an old brick wall, like the architect had wanted the occupant to be able to stand on the stoop and smoke without getting wet when it rained.

It wasn't a welcoming door. It wasn't a menacing door, either. There was nothing arcane or significant about it. It was just a door.

“Here?” I echoed.

Cassandra nodded. “That's what the air says. We need to be here.” She looked at me expectantly. Walther and Madden did the same. All of them were waiting to see what I would do; all of them were following my lead.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, and knocked.

The door was
actually
made of wood. That was nice. Given who we were dealing with, I'd half-expected my hand to thump against illusion-wrapped kelp, or
something even less pleasant. I took a step back, folding my hands behind my back, and waited.

Seconds slithered by before the deadbolt clicked and the door swung open, revealing a girl who didn't look like she could be more than eighteen years old. Maybe nineteen, if I assumed her attire—denim overalls over a white tank top, bare feet, and pigtails secured with black electrical tape—was making her look younger than she was. Her hair was thick, black, and curly; her eyes were pale green, like beer bottles, and her cheeks were round and pitted with shallow acne scars. Nothing about her looked even remotely fae.

The slice of apartment visible through the open door was like something out of an episode of
Hoarders
. Garbage spilled around her feet, and I was pretty sure I saw mold growing on the walls. No one should have been living there. The place needed to be condemned.

She didn't say anything. She just stood there, looking at me for a long moment. Finally, she sighed.

“I guess I should have been expecting assholes tonight,” she said. “It's been too long without them. Hello, Your Highness.” She smiled, and there were too many teeth in that expression, all serrated like a shark's. Her mouth shouldn't have been able to contain that many teeth.

Cassandra stepped forward. “I'm Karen's sister, Cassie,” she said. “Karen told me you were kind to her. I'm glad there was someone in a position to be kind to her. I wish it could have been me.”

Oh, sweet Oberon, the girl's eyes—the
Luidaeg's
eyes, and I was standing in front of the sea-witch, like some sort of fool, like some sort of
hero
—moved to Cassandra, looking her up and down, taking her measure. Her smile faded, taking those terrible teeth with it.

“Your sister is a brave girl, and she'll need to be, in the days ahead,” she said. “So will you. Now.” She clapped her hands, returning her attention to me. “I'm assuming
that when the Queen in the Mists shows up on my porch, it's because she wants something, not just because Cassandra wanted to show her appreciation for me taking care of Karen. Normally, I'd expect you to send Toby. Let her rack up all the debts for keeping your kingdom in one piece. I guess that means whatever brought you here is important. Tell me, little queen, are you here to pay?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes,” I said.

“Good girl.” This time, the Luidaeg's smile was notably devoid of teeth. “Come on in.”

I stepped onto the porch. Madden moved to follow. The Luidaeg raised her hand.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I can see why you might think that, but you'd be wrong. The three of you will wait outside. What comes next is between Arden and me.” She waved for me to enter the apartment.

I looked over my shoulder. Madden was shaking his head. Walther was standing frozen. Cassandra, though . . .

Cassandra was looking at the air above me. As I watched, she nodded, fractionally.

I'd trusted her this far. I stepped through.

The smell inside the Luidaeg's apartment was like the Bay at low tide: brackish and terrible and rotten and
natural
, necessary, even. This was what happened when the sea rushed out. It left all its scum and debris behind.

She closed the door before turning to look at me. “You had to know what you were doing when you came here.”

“I did,” I admitted.

“So why?”

“Because my brother won't wake up.”

The Luidaeg snorted. “Didn't we just have an entire conclave about this? Your brother's been elf-shot. Wake him up or don't wake him up; it's no concern of mine.”

I damped down my growing irritation. This was the Luidaeg, and I didn't want to spend the next hundred years as a lawn gnome. “I used the cure on him. It cleared the elf-shot from his system. He fell asleep again almost immediately. Walther found a sleeping potion in his blood, something old, that doesn't have elf-shot's protections on it. He's going to die if we don't wake him.”

Realization flashed across her features, followed by a slow neutrality. “And I brewed it.”

“Yes.”

“I remember a few potions like that. The people who asked for them paid dearly, but they paid. I had to give them what they wanted.”

“Yes.”

“I'm not going to give you the antidote just because you're pissed that I helped someone hurt your precious brother.”

“I know.”

“It's unreasonable of you to—wait, what?” The Luidaeg turned to look at me, cocking her head to the side. “What did you say?”

“I said, I know.” I shrugged. “I know you didn't have a choice. You have to do what people ask for, as long as they pay you.”

Her eyes seemed to darken, bottle green shifting toward pine. “You know, do you? How do you know?”

“You sold some charms to my nursemaid, to keep me and Nolan hidden from the people who would hurt us. She said . . . she said it was worth what she'd paid if it meant we stayed safe. And they worked. They worked for a long, long time, until October asked you to help her
find us. It's sort of funny, really. You hid us, and then you found us, and you didn't do it because you wanted to either time.” I forced myself to smile. My head was still throbbing, and every nerve felt like it was on fire. If I tried to open a gate, I'd probably dump myself into the Bay, and that didn't change the part where I desperately wanted to try. I wanted to get out of here.

I wanted to save my brother. I had to stay.

The Luidaeg's eyes had continued to darken. “Your nursemaid,” she said. “What was her name?”

“Marianne.”

“Marianne.” She said the name like it tasted of the finest wine in Faerie. “She used me to hide you. Your brother didn't stay within the wards, and someone else used me to hurt him. Faerie might do better if all the Firstborn were gone, don't you think?”

“You're the only one I've actually met,” I said. I paused before adding, “No, wait, that's not true. Amandine's Firstborn, right? And Evening Winterrose. How many of you
are
there?”

“Don't ask that.” There was steel in her voice. She took a step toward me. “Here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you want—exactly what you want—and I'm going to tell you what it costs. You'll pay, or not, as you see fit. If you pay, you get what you asked for, and I let you leave here unharmed. If you refuse, you get nothing, and you may not find it that easy to get away from me.”

I stiffened. “I'm Tuatha de Dannan.”

“Yes, and you stink of burnt magic and overexertion. You couldn't teleport to the corner store right now. You're trapped with me until I let you go, and I'm not letting you go until you do what you came for. What do you want?”

“I want my brother awake.” The words came easily. Relief followed. Until I'd been speaking, I hadn't been certain I'd be able to. “I want him to open his eyes and look
at me. I want him back in the world, unharmed, unchanged, ready to be my brother again. I want him
back
.”

“Is that all?” The Luidaeg raised an eyebrow. “No bone for your puppy? No three wishes and a new toaster?”

“Madden finds his own bones, and I have kitchen staff. I don't need a toaster.”

“I see.” The Luidaeg looked at me, assessing. Finally, she said, “Wait here,” and vanished down the hall, leaving me alone in the mess.

No, not quite alone: a cockroach the length of my index finger strolled along the wall, antennae waving, apparently unbothered by the fact that I was standing less than four feet away. I wrinkled my nose, but didn't smash the disgusting thing. It could be the Luidaeg's familiar or something. I didn't want to come all this way only to incur her wrath over a bug.

The smell of love-lies-bleeding and kelp drifted in from the direction the Luidaeg had gone, notable mostly because it was so much fresher than the scum around me. The Luidaeg herself appeared a few moments later, a small vial in her left hand. Its contents were pearl gray and glowing like a fallen star. She held it up, showing it to me.

“Feed this to him and any sleeping potions will be cleansed from his body,” she said. “He'll go back to sleep. He'll sleep for eight hours. He'll sleep
restfully
, and when he wakes, he'll be fine. Eighty years out of time, but fine. That's what you want.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. I started to reach for the vial, catching myself and pulling back at the last moment. “What does it cost?”

“Clever girl.” She smiled, ever so slightly. “I know why you sent Toby to Silences. I know she touched you without permission. I know she did it because she was chasing you, trying to make sure you didn't abandon your post. And that's what I want from you. If you take this from my hand, you take your throne as well. You will
not be able to step down or step aside without my permission, ever.”

I bristled. “I'm not going to be your puppet.”

“Did I ask for that? I didn't ask for that. I don't care how you rule. I care about this kingdom having some stability. I have shit to do, and some of it includes Toby being clear-headed and focused enough to listen when I call for her. So I need you to stay on your damn throne.” The Luidaeg's smile grew. The teeth were back. “No stepping down. No stepping aside. You die in the saddle, or you get my permission to leave.”

“What's to stop me from breaking my word?” That might have been a bad question to ask someone like her, but I needed to know.

“You won't be able to,” she said. “If you try to say the words, your tongue will stop in your mouth. If you try to give your crown away, your fingers won't let go. You'll die before you step down without my consent. But you'll have your brother back, and I'll never ask you to do me any favors. Not unless you ask me for something first.”

The vial in her hand continued glowing. If I took it, I could save Nolan, but I'd never be free; I'd be queen until I died, or until the Luidaeg didn't need October's full attention anymore. That could be centuries. No more exits, no more escapes. If I didn't take it . . . Walther was an excellent alchemist. He might be able to find a way to save my brother. The future wasn't set yet. I could still have my freedom and my family. It would be a risk. It would be a gamble. It wasn't an impossibility.

It was more than I could afford to risk. Still . . . “Is there any chance you'll give me permission in the future, when the region is stable, when I have a named heir standing ready?”

Her smile told me she understood what she was asking of me; there was mercy in her eyes, and a kindness that reminded me of Marianne's hands moving through my hair. “Ask me in a hundred years,” she said.

I nodded once and took the vial. It was surprisingly heavy, like it was filled with liquid mercury. Her smile turned from sympathy to pleasure.

“Do we have a deal, Queen Windermere in the Mists?” she asked.

“We do,” I said.

The air turned electric around us, making the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. The charge only lasted for a few seconds. When it passed, my headache was gone and the vial in my hand was no longer glowing. I looked at the Luidaeg, eyes wide.