TWENTY-THREE

THE FOREST WAS ONLY DARK to mortal eyes. Globes of witch-light bobbed among the trees, while swarms of bright-winged pixies flitted from bough to bough, chiming like bells, sending trails of glittering dust to drift down over everything they passed. I held Tybalt’s arm as we walked, not quite trusting my balance on the slippery walkways. Arden’s knowe is accessed through the public side of Muir Woods, something I have to assume was by design; otherwise why would the patch of forest adjacent to the royal seat of the Mists be one of the only stretches not sliced down during the human expansion through the state, when settlers decided that clear-cutting California’s redwoods to make room for their European ideas of home and community was a really great idea?

Humans don’t like falling into streams or gullies any more than I do, and like me, they lack the preternatural grace of pureblood fae. So they cut trails into the hillsides and built wooden boardwalks over the wetlands, doing their best to make as little impact as possible on the slivers of nature that they chose to preserve. It was a small kindness on top of a huge cruelty, and enough to make me think that there was less difference between them and the fae than anyone wanted to pretend. But Muir Woods was still a healthy riparian woodland, near the beach, and dampness was one of the many great gifts to which it was absolutely heir. The wood was slippery with dew and the paths were slippery with mud, and even holding onto Tybalt, he still had to catch me several times to keep me from spoiling all May’s hard work.

“You could have worn more sensible shoes,” he murmured, after the third time he had to set me back on my feet.

“Oh, and you would have let me leave the house in this dress and a pair of sneakers?”

“He might have, but I wouldn’t,” said Quentin, from the path just ahead of us. Primly, he added, “There are standards in this world, even if you think they mostly apply to other people. They need to be respected.”

“See? I’m doing the best I can.”

“Indeed you are, milady,” said Tybalt, and lifted me off my feet to keep my skirt clear of a particularly squishy-looking patch of ground. “You have my sincere apologies for the inconveniences of fashion.”

“I hold you personally responsible.” I took my hand away from his arm in order to grasp the handrail along the stairway cut into the side of the hill that would take us to the next hiking trail. It wouldn’t get us all the way to the door to Arden’s knowe—that required a much less dignified ascent, using a series of tree roots in place of a stairway—but it would get us close enough that if I had to be carried, I wouldn’t feel too bad about it.

The pixies were getting more frequent, the globes of witch-light brighter. Arden had pulled out all the stops for tonight, or as many as she could on the mortal side of the knowe. I wondered briefly whether the Luidaeg had warned her about her potential bonus guest, or whether this was just a reaction to the idea of hosting two Firstborn at the same time. Then we reached the top of the stairs and confronted the climb up the ladder of tree roots, and I no longer had time to worry about Arden’s hospitality.

Sometimes, surrender is the better part of valor. I turned to Tybalt and spread my arms. “Get me to the top?” I asked.

He laughed as he swept me off my feet and braced me against his hip. It was a little awkward, but not as bad as a bridal carry would have been. “As milady wishes,” he said, and started nimbly up the side of the hill, Quentin now following close behind us, presumably to step in if Tybalt slipped.

The day when a Cait Sidhe slips and falls on their way up a muddy hillside will probably come—I’ve seen my cats do clumsier—but it wasn’t going to be tonight. When we reached the top, Tybalt set me back on my feet, waiting while I smoothed my dress with the heels of my hands, then offered me his arm. I took it decorously, and the three of us walked slowly forward.

The doors to Arden’s knowe were already visible and open, set into the body of an ancient redwood tree that could probably have accommodated my first apartment within the interior of its trunk, if we’d been willing to damage the tree by carving it out. Guards in her livery stood to either side of the door, one an unfamiliar Bridge Troll whose massive shoulders strained against his uniform, the other a petite Glastig who smiled at the sight of us.

“I wondered when you’d be showing up,” she said brightly, her Welsh accent stronger than usual, either because she was pushing it forward, or—more likely—because she’d stopped trying to hide it since shifting her fealty to Arden. “Fashionably late, as always.”

“The command to appear said the declaration wasn’t going to happen until midnight, and I really didn’t feel like mingling and eating canapes while my mother glared at me from the other side of the room.” I smiled at her. “Hi, Lowri. Still enjoying the Queen’s guard?”

“More than I will if you linger out here and cause your mum to take offense at your absence,” she said. “I don’t want to be called to intervene. Get in there.” She stomped one delicate cloven hoof for emphasis, and I swallowed my laughter.

“We’re getting,” I said, and waved for the boys to follow me as I made my way through the doors into the knowe.

The entry hall was paneled in redwood bas reliefs, each piece carved to show some significant event in the Kingdom’s history. Much of the knowe had been conceived and crafted by actual artisans, but this section was solely the knowe itself, making its opinions about what did and did not matter known. The panels changed on a regular basis, even the oldest ones; now, when I looked at them, I could see Simon among the carven crowds with much more frequency than had been the case when the knowe was first reopened. I paused, smiling, at a panel that showed what I assumed was Patrick and Dianda’s wedding: they were standing in front of a man whose carved face looked enough like Nolan Windermere to be the late, much-mourned King Gilad.

Simon was there, among the carved figures in the crowd. My mother was not. Surprisingly, the Luidaeg was, and I wondered whether Dianda realized the sea witch had been at her wedding.

The sound of music drifted down the hall from the main ballroom. This felt more like a party than I’d expected, possibly because so many people had to attend to make what was supposedly a fairly simple process as legal as possible. We walked in that direction and were hit about halfway there with the smell of roast meat and mulled wine. There was a strong undercurrent of sugar, implying the presence of at least one dessert table.

An implication that was proven when we stepped through the door into the crowded room. If someone had told me this was a ball, my only question would have been why there was a fiddle player standing next to a harpist on the dais, rather than a full band. The fiddle player was a plump, blue-haired Daoine Sidhe, dressed in long skirt and leather corset, while the harpist was clearly Merrow, due to her current lack of legs. Her fins were tucked under her chair, well out of the way of the fiddler’s feet and her own harp, and she looked blissful as she played.

People crowded the room, not so densely as to be remarkable, but enough so as to make me suspect something else was going on here tonight. Arden was near her throne, speaking with Dianda and Patrick, both of whom were dressed with utter formality. So was Arden. She was even wearing her crown, a narrow-banded concoction of braided metal and shining jewels, which I almost never saw outside of its protective case.

I started in that direction. Quentin peeled off almost immediately, presumably because he’d spotted Dean or one of his other friends in the crowd. Tybalt paced me, and together we approached the Queen, pausing about five feet away. I bowed. Tybalt did not. Arden looked amused.

“You realize that once you’ve set your own crown aside and married one of my subjects, you’ll be expected to bow to me like a normal person,” she said.

“Yes, but in the moment, I remain a King of Cats, and we do not bow to anyone,” he said primly. They both grinned, clearly amused by what had long since become a familiar interplay.

I am never going to understand the relationship they have with one another, and that’s fine. They get along, which is more than can be said of most monarchs of the Divided Courts and Kings or Queens of Cats.

“It’s almost midnight,” said Dianda.

Arden nodded. “I know. Are you sure about this?”

It was an odd question for her to ask, given that Dianda wasn’t one of the people getting divorced. Dianda nodded anyway, expression determined.

“We’ve discussed it at length, and we’re certain,” she said.

“Very well, then.” Arden turned and began making her way up the shallow steps to her throne. The room quieted, everyone turning to map her progress with their eyes. The musicians stopped playing. She ignored them all, settling on the cushion, looking every inch the queen.

Gone were the days when she felt comfortable receiving her court in sweatshirt and jeans, and I couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad one. Her dress was form-fitting and flawless, crafted from spider-silk the deep blue-black of the night sky, fading into rose around her hips and finally a pure, clean gold at her knees. The dark portion of the dress glittered with captive, impossible stars, forming constellations across her bodice and midriff. It was stunning and eye-catching and not at all what a bookstore clerk from San Francisco would wear to something like this. The dark waves of her hair blended with the fabric at her shoulders, and she was a Faerie Queen: there could be no question of that. In a room filled with nobles and luminaries, Arden shone.

Tilting her head toward the few people still speaking, Arden snapped her fingers. The sound was impossibly loud in the hush of the room. They stopped immediately, and everything was silence.

“We are here tonight to discuss the marriage of Simon Torquill, landless Baron, most recently in service to the Court of Countess Evening Winterrose, who is unable to be with us tonight due to her untimely death,” Arden’s expression was a challenge for anyone who knew the truth about Evening to contradict her, “and Amandine, called the Liar by her siblings and descendants. Simon has requested an end to their union, and as both their daughters are present tonight, the marriage is hereby declared eligible to be dissolved. Does anyone object?”

“I do,” shouted a familiar voice. I turned. Mom was standing near the courtyard doors, her cheeks flushed with unusually hectic color, her lips set into a hard, indignant line. August was beside and a little bit behind her, head bowed. Both of them wore bone-white gowns that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Waterhouse painting, although Mom’s was at least embroidered in gold and belted below her breasts. It didn’t do much for her. It did nothing for August, who looked like a child who’d been raiding her mother’s closet.

I remembered feeling that way when I was Amandine’s shadow. For the first time, I actually felt bad for my sister, who didn’t have my options for getting away.

“My husband was stolen from me by a woman who made him impossible promises, and twisted his thinking out of true,” Mom continued, stepping forward. The light struck prismatic gleams off her near-white hair. She was beautiful, even in her ill-chosen dress, and she knew it well enough to use it to her advantage. “I did nothing to betray his faith while he was running around in her service, bedding Oleander de Merelands, and behaving like a common ruffian.”

“You lay with a human,” drawled an insouciant voice. I glanced to my left. Raj was standing on the edge of the crowd, arms folded, looking annoyed.

“Humans don’t count,” snapped Amandine. “I lay with a human because I was lonely, and because I didn’t want to betray my husband as he had betrayed me. I never banned him from my bed. He could have come home at any time.”

“So you object to this divorce on the basis that you did nothing wrong, and so your husband should not be allowed to change his mind?” asked Arden.

“Yes,” said Mom. “And on the basis that my father is Oberon himself, and I do not choose to let Simon Torquill go.”

A gasp ran through the room. A surprising number of people didn’t know that Mom was Firstborn. Well, that cat was well and truly out of the bag now. Mom would never be able to go back to pretending to be just another Daoine Sidhe. August shot her a look, seemingly torn between horrified and surprised. It wasn’t just a matter of Mom outing herself, after all. Both of us were marked now as a Firstborn’s daughters.

“That isn’t the etiquette we all stood witness over when first a marriage was dissolved, Amy,” said a familiar voice. The Luidaeg stepped forward, the crowd parting before her. She was wearing her surging sea dress again, and it broke around her feet like the ocean crashing on the rocks. She lifted her chin, looking down the length of her nose at Mom. “What you want matters not at all. What he wants matters, and the choice your children make today. They’re both here. That means the divorce proceeds, whether you agree with it or not.” She turned to look imperiously at Arden. “There are no valid objections. Continue.”

Arden looked for a moment like she wanted to argue, then thought better of the impulse. People who argue with the Luidaeg once don’t usually get to make a habit of it, assuming the word “people” even applies once they’re done. Instead, she cleared her throat, and said, “There are no valid objections to this divorce proceeding. The two named children of Amandine the Liar and Simon Torquill are August Torquill and October Daye. Will August and October please step forward?”

So they weren’t going to force May to declare. That was a good thing. I moved to the center of the floor. August moved to meet me, and we shared a brief glance that was still the longest interaction we’d had since I refused her request to bring Simon home. She twisted the skirt of her ill-fitting dress between her fingers, honey-colored eyes filled with weary shadows. Not for the first time, I wondered what it was like bearing the full weight of our mother’s attention. From the way August’s shoulders drooped, I had to assume it wasn’t much fun.

“Before a marriage can be dissolved, all living children must choose which line of descent and inheritance they will belong to,” said Arden. “They must declare for one parent over the other. This isn’t a question of love or of compassion; it’s a question of who inherits what in the unfortunate circumstance that someone stops their dancing. It’s a question of where you will belong. October Christine Daye, daughter of Amandine the Liar, for whom do you declare?”

“My father,” I said, picturing my father, my real father, with as much clarity as I could. I’d been so young the last time I’d seen him, and I had no pictures. But he had loved me completely and without judging how strong my blood was, and I knew that if he were here, he would have forgiven me for choosing Simon over Mom. “I declare my line for Simon Torquill. I shall only ever be of his descent, and Oberon’s, for I cannot set my blood aside.” That part of the declaration had been dictated to me by May, a serious expression on her face and a mascara wand in her hand. I couldn’t refute Oberon, even if I’d wanted to. Mom was another story.

Mom scoffed. “No great loss,” she said. “Let Simon found his dynasty on a mongrel child, if that’s what he wishes. I release my claim on her.”

I didn’t look in her direction, just dipped a shallow bow toward Arden and walked back to my original place.

Now for the hard one. “August Torquill, daughter of Amandine the Liar and Simon Torquill, for whom do you declare?” asked Arden.

August looked at me, and then at Mom, before scanning the crowd, presumably searching for Simon. He had to be present. As one of the people involved in the divorce, he was required to be here for it to move forward. I didn’t see him. After a few seconds, it became apparent that she didn’t either. Her face fell, and she returned her attention to Arden.

“Am I allowed to ask to face my father as I declare my choice?” she asked.

Arden blinked before glancing to the Luidaeg, who was, I supposed, the closest thing we had to an arbiter of the custom’s intent available to us. She was older than Amandine, enough so that she would presumably know. She was also, technically, a neutral party in this endeavor.

The murmurs that had spread through the room when Mom was declared as Firstborn were starting to die down. The Luidaeg nodded. “The girl is allowed to face her father,” she said.

The crowd to her left parted, and Simon Torquill stepped to the front.

He was looking better than he had been. His clothes were still shabby, the cuffs carefully mended; given that he’d been a guest in Saltmist for the past week, I had to assume that was by choice, rather than by necessity. The hollows of his cheeks had filled out somewhat, and the dark circles under his eyes were virtually gone. He’d been sleeping and eating for once, and he looked more like his brother than ever.

“I’m here,” he said.

August turned to him. “Daddy?” she said, in a hopeful tone.

“Yes, pigeon, it’s me,” he said.

“But the Luidaeg . . .” August frowned, brow furrowing. “The terms of my debt—how can you be here?”

“It was your sister,” he said, sidestepping the actual question. “She found a way to settle my accounts with the Luidaeg and bring me home.”

August moved then, running across the floor and throwing herself into his arms, locking her own arms around his chest in an embrace more than a hundred years in the making. “I missed you,” she wailed. “The tower is so cold without you. Come home. Don’t do this. Come home.”

“Oh, pigeon.” He ran his thumb down the slope of her cheek, pulling her attention to his face. “You know I can’t do that. Your mother doesn’t want me there, or she would have been the one to bring me home. She would at least have tried. I’m tired. I want to be away from all this fuss and bother. I’m finished with Firstborn.”

“Well, then I—”

“Will declare for your mother, as we both know you must,” he said firmly. “She’d follow you forever if you tried to go with me. She’d never leave either of us in peace. And if you want to learn everything your bloodline is capable of, you need to stay with your First. The beginning of a line has always remained with its First. Be her daughter, my dearest, as you’ve always been, and let me love you from afar.”

“Is this normal?” asked Arden, sotto voce.

“What?” I murmured back.

“A parent trying to convince one of the kids not to choose them.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a pureblood divorce before.” I paused. “Wait, haven’t you done this before?”

“No.” Arden shook her head. “They’re rare, and I was a child. I don’t even remember my father conducting a divorce.”

“Huh,” I said.

August was still clinging to Simon. “I know enough, and you’ve taught me more about blood magic than she ever bothered,” she said. “I don’t think she understands everything I can do. I don’t think she cares. Daddy, I’m lonely. She doesn’t know how to be a mother. She only knows how to be an owner. I can’t do this. I can’t lose you.”

Simon closed his eyes, looking pained. “Are you asking me to stay with your mother?”

“Well, he can’t,” said Dianda, not bothering to keep her voice low. Heads turned toward her. She glared at them all, the expression unfettered and all-encompassing. Dianda had plenty of irritation to share with the world, and she didn’t care who claimed a portion. “He’s made promises, and he’s going to keep them, or he’s going to have to answer to me.”

Simon opened his eyes, looking briefly, miserably amused, which was a neat trick. “Yes, dear,” he said, not letting go of August. “I can’t stay with your mother, dearest. Duchess Lorden is correct: I have made promises. Even if I hadn’t, your mother would never forgive me for embarrassing her here today. She’d make me miserable forever if I tried to come back. What’s done is done. I’ve made my choice.”

“Well, so have I,” said August, and pulled away from her father. She kept her eyes on him as she straightened, and said loudly, “I declare my line for Simon Torquill. I shall only ever be of his descent, and Oberon’s, for I cannot set my blood aside.”

Amandine made an unspeakable screeching noise, starting to rush forward. She stopped as a pair of strong arms closed around her from behind, leaving her unable to move forward.

The man who had stepped out of the crowd behind her was nondescript, ordinary-looking to the point of becoming extraordinary. When I glanced away from him, his face immediately slipped my mind, so that he seemed to be someone new when I looked back. Only the antlers on his brow kept him from being entirely forgettable. That, and the fact that hard as Amandine fought against him, she couldn’t break away.

“Peace,” he said, and his voice was a command none of us could resist. All around the room, people calmed. Even Dianda lost her glare. The Luidaeg smiled at him beatifically and walked toward Amandine.

“This is yours,” she said. “You planted it and nurtured it, and now it’s come to harvest. Your daughters reject you because you never learned to love anyone who wasn’t yourself, and maybe that’s partially on us, your siblings, for trusting you to find your own way, but that’s how our parents raised us, and we didn’t make the same choices you did. The rituals of divorce were laid out long ago, and August has the right to make her own decision.”

August was clinging to Simon again, sobbing like her heart was broken as he stroked her hair. The Luidaeg made a small gesture with her hand. The man, who I had to assume was Oberon, let Mom go and melted back into the crowd, vanishing without a ripple. Mom snarled but didn’t try to lunge again, just stood where she’d been left and glared at her older sister.

“I won’t forget this,” she spat. “She’s my daughter. Mine.”

“Not anymore she’s not,” said the Luidaeg. “The children have chosen; the divorce is done. This marriage is no longer recognized in the eyes of Oberon and will not be reestablished without full consent of all parties involved. Even if it were to be, the lines now sundered will not be restored. Done is done. The lines stand as drawn. Amy, you’re free to go. We’re finished with you, and what comes next is not for your eyes.”

Mom straightened and stomped her foot. “I have not forsaken my heritage,” she said. “I am Oberon’s own daughter, and I will not be expelled from this place against my will.”

“Funny,” said the Luidaeg. “I’m also Oberon’s own daughter, and I say you should go. You’re not wanted, Amy. You have no descendant line to stand for you, and my power is in transformation—your blood’s weakness. Unless you want to be a fern for a while, which might improve your disposition, but probably wouldn’t be great for your mental stability. Go home, Amy. Lick your wounds and try to figure out why this happened to you. Something’s wrong when all your children choose their father, even the ones who aren’t actually related to him.”

Mom looked at her for a long moment, squeezing her hands into fists, looking mulish and angry. Then she spun on her heel and marched away, the crowd opening before her to let her pass. I glimpsed the man with the antlers watching sadly as she walked away. Then he faded into the background, and she was gone.

The Luidaeg clapped her hands, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. Not that she could lose it for long. All these people might know that Mom was a Firstborn now, but they weren’t used to it, not the way they were used to fearing and respecting the sea witch. She beamed, showing teeth that were closer to a barracuda’s than a human woman’s.

“As for the rest of you, please remain where you are,” she said brightly. “I am Antigone of Albany, better known as the sea witch, or the Luidaeg, and it is my honor to stand before you now and conduct a wedding that has been a very long time in the coming.”

I shot an alarmed glance at Tybalt. He shook his head. This hadn’t been his doing.

“Will Patrick Twycross-Lorden, late of Tremont, currently of Saltmist, please step forward?”

Patrick did so, his simple tunic and trousers melting into something more formal as he moved. It wasn’t quite a tuxedo—that’s a tradition that hasn’t caught on with the purebloods, sadly—but it was a well-fitted suit that was probably an ancestor of the modern formal option. The arms of Saltmist were stitched above his heart, the only splash of real color against the burgundy and brown.

“Will Dianda Lorden, Duchess of Saltmist, please step forward?”

Dianda moved to stand beside her husband, taking his hand, and together, they walked to stand in front of the Luidaeg. Both were smiling, both utterly relaxed.

The Luidaeg smiled at them. “Will Simon Torquill, once of Londinium, once of Shadowed Hills, please step forward?”

Simon extricated himself from August, who watched with confusion as he approached the Luidaeg. His own clothing shifted to match Patrick’s, minus the arms of Saltmist. He stopped on Patrick’s free side, and the two of them joined hands.

Dean moved closer to Quentin, leaning his head on the other teen’s shoulder. I guess that answered the question of whether he was okay with this.

“Land and sea are not often joined,” said the Luidaeg, addressing the three people in front of her. “Shipwrecks are more common than survivors. Why should Faerie honor your request to expand your bridal bed?”

“Simon Torquill is the only person in this world I’ve loved longer than I’ve loved my wife. She has never had the whole of my heart, nor has she pursued it,” said Patrick. “We would have included him when we were first wed, had he not been married to a woman who didn’t share.”

“I knew when I allowed Patrick to court me that he came as a package deal with the man he called ‘brother’ only because Amandine forbade him to use the word ‘lover,’” said Dianda. “I’ve survived a century in the Undersea with a Daoine Sidhe by my side. I can handle a few centuries more with two of them.”

“I don’t have a good argument for you,” said Simon. “I can only tell you that I’ve loved Patrick Lorden longer than I’ve loved anyone else, except for Amy and August, and I can’t be with Amy anymore. I need a place to rest. I need peace. Dianda and I may not love each other yet, but I have faith that we will. Just give us the time we need.”

“Are your sons in attendance today?” asked the Luidaeg.

Dianda nodded. “They are.”

Dean lifted his head from Quentin’s shoulder, and called, “I’m here.”

From the crowd behind me, another voice called, “I’m here as well.” Peter Lorden stepped forward.

“Do you think I should allow your parents to wed another?”

“I do,” said Dean. “As the one with a right to claim offense against the man, I think the punishment he deserves is my mother.”

“If they want to, I don’t see why it’s up to me,” said Peter.

The Luidaeg nodded. “Very well.” She turned to Simon. “Your daughters are here. Do you think they’ll agree to your remarriage when your divorce still hangs in the air?”

“I already agreed,” I called.

“I . . . I can’t,” said August. “But I can’t say no, either. I just want my father to be happy.”

“This will be a harder one to end,” said the Luidaeg warningly. “Divorce is complicated when there are three lines to choose between. The children you each already have will be bound only to the parents they’ve known; the children yet to come will have hard decisions to make.”

“This marriage isn’t ending,” said Dianda. “Now will you marry us or not?”

While the idea of Dianda Lorden deciding to assault the Luidaeg was an entertaining one, it wasn’t anything I wanted to watch today. Tybalt slid his arms around my waist. I folded my hands over his, holding him in place as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

“I will,” said the Luidaeg, and smiled. “The three of you have presented a compelling case for why this should be permitted, and love is rare enough in Faerie that I trust you to nurture and care for it. Dianda, if you’d lied and claimed to already love him, I would have denied you, but you want to tend a garden as yet fallow, and I respect your ambition. Patrick, you have been faithful to two people for over a hundred years. Simon, beloved failure . . . you deserve the chance to rest. By the power once granted to me by my father and never yet rescinded, I now declare you husbands and wife.”

Patrick actually cheered before turning to kiss first Dianda and then Simon. All three of them seemed to stand a little straighter.

Amandine was furious. Oberon was back, and no one knew it yet but a handful of people who understood the scope of the secret we were keeping. Evening was too powerful asleep and too powerful awake and not as isolated as we wanted her to be. Dianda and Patrick were going to have to contend with an unexpected stepdaughter now that August had chosen the Torquill line over the Carter one.

But those were all problems for tomorrow. Right now, we watched and clapped as Cassandra oversaw the wheeling out of a massive six-tiered wedding cake, and while things were still terribly broken, they were a little bit better than they had been before I’d gone looking for the man who was now, in the eyes of Faerie, my only legal parent.

Tybalt slipped his hands into mine, pulling me onto the dance floor, and I smiled at him. Sometimes you just have to take the win.

Sometimes a little bit better is enough.