Page 8 of A Killing Frost

“The High King and Queen have requested the honor of hosting the celebration, and we could not in good conscience refuse them,” said Tybalt. “It answers the question of where to conduct the ceremony, since we cannot wed in the Court of Cats, and my lovely lady wife-to-be is currently estranged from her liege. Queen Windermere would have been willing to host, but the fear of givinginsult to Duke Torquill would still have loomed troublingly over the event.”

It was public knowledge that I was currently persona non grata at Shadowed Hills, and had been ever since I’d convinced Sylvester to wake his twin brother, Simon, who had been in an enchanted sleep thanks to elf-shot, and then lost him. Simon, not Sylvester, although in a way, I had lost Sylvester, too, in the moment when his brother—now spell-mazed and unable to remember all the progress he’d made toward becoming a good person again—had turned on his temporary allies and disappeared.

Sylvester might have been able to forgive me. His wife, Luna, was not. As far as Luna was concerned, I was responsible for every ill that had befallen her house since I was born, and having me around the knowe was nothing more than a reminder that her life, so carefully constructed and designed, was falling apart around her. So I stayed away. I waited for the moment my liege lord, the first person who had ever treated me like I might matter despite being the unwanted changeling daughter of a local woman who didn’t even belong to the political structure enough to have a minor title, would remember that I was his responsibility and call me home. He might not want me around right now, but I would be loyal to him until the day I died.

That didn’t make me happy about the reminder of my current outcast status. I kicked Tybalt’s ankle discreetly under the table and was rewarded with a slight flinch, followed by an apologetic look. He was annoyed, but he knew he’d overstepped.

“So no date has been settled upon?” asked Patrick. “I assume that means invitations have yet to be delivered?”

So that’s what this was about. I relaxed marginally. “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re on the list. You and Dianda both, and Peter, of course. Even if we weren’t friends, there’s no way Quentin would let me get away with not inviting Dean, and if I invite Dean and not his parents, that’s sort of a slap in the face, right? I know you may not be able to attend—Toronto is pretty far away, and I’ll understand if Dianda doesn’t want to leave Saltmist unattended—but you’ll be receiving invitations.”

“I wasn’t concerned for myself,” said Patrick uncomfortably. “Is it safe to assume you’ll also be inviting your father to the event?”

I blinked, surprised by the cruel thoughtlessness of the question.I hadn’t been expecting that from him. “My father is dead,” I said, in a sharp tone. “He died a long time ago, believing I was dead, that I’d been killed in the house fire Uncle Sylvester started when he gave me my Changeling’s Choice. I can’t invite a dead man to my wedding, even though I wish I could.”

Humans don’t join the night-haunts. There’s no reason they couldn’t; changelings do, which means mortality isn’t anathema to them. I can ride the memories encased in human blood, and as far as I can tell, that’s what the night-haunts thrive on. But human bodies rot and decay, while fae bodies don’t, and that puts humans outside their purview. More’s the pity.

“You should go now,” said Tybalt, tone suddenly formal in a way it hadn’t been before. He set his own menu aside and pressed his hands flat against the table, fingers flexed just enough to show the points of claws beneath his human-seeming nails. Oh, he was pissed. I knew I liked him for a reason.

My father would have liked him, too, if he’d been able to see me grow up and fall in love. I didn’t remember him well enough to make many sweeping statements about how our relationship would have been when I reached adulthood, but I was absolutely certain he would have liked the man I was going to marry.

“I’m sorry, but you misunderstand,” said Patrick, seemingly oblivious to the danger he was putting himself into, which was ridiculous—the man was married to Dianda Lorden, whose first response to any situation was trying to figure out how she could most efficiently punch it in the throat. Not every situation has a throat, but that’s never stopped Dianda.

I narrowed my eyes. We hadn’t ordered yet, which meant Jason hadn’t brought out the steak knives, but I always bring my own. Maybe a little light stabbing would make Patrick drop whatever this was and go sit down. “Was there something else you needed to say?” I asked coldly.

Patrick took a deep breath, standing up so straight that it looked as if his spine had been starched. “I was referring to yourlegalfather.”

I stared at him, aghast. “You’re talking aboutSimon?”

“He was, and presently remains, your mother’s husband,” said Patrick. Then he stopped, looking at me, clearly waiting for me to connect the lines he was drawing.

Unfortunately for me, I could. I just didn’t see why it should matter. “Simon was gone before Mom met my father. He has nothing to do with me.”

“He has everything to do with you,” Patrick patiently corrected. “Under fae law, since he remains married to your mother, and humans are not recognized as viable spouses, he is legally your father, and always has been.”

“I know all that, but she left him when he went all dark side and started working for Evening!” I countered.

“She left him. She didn’t divorce him. Shecouldn’tdivorce him, as your sister wasn’t there to agree to the proceedings. A pureblood divorce requires approval from all children involved, as they declare for their chosen family lines. It keeps inheritance from getting complicated.”

“Because this isn’t complicatedat all,” I said sourly.

“I repeat my question,” said Patrick. “Will you be inviting your father, who is very much alive, to your wedding?”

“Since he currently wants to kill me on behalf of the nasty-ass Firstborn he works for, and who he’s probably trying to wake up right now, which is something I do my best not to think about more than I have to, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him short of elf-shooting him again, and that would requirefindinghim, which no one’s been able to do—no, I wasn’t planning to invite him to mywedding,” I didn’t try to keep the frustration out of my voice. It would have been a losing battle. “And I frankly don’t appreciate you interrupting my date to ask about it. I thought better of you, Patrick.”

“And were we discussing any other man, I would never have brought it up,” said Patrick. “You realize you must invite him, or the wedding can’t proceed.”

I blinked. “I realize no such thing, and I’d appreciate it if you’d go back to your table now and leave us the fuck alone.”

Tybalt didn’t say anything. He had gone pale and was staring at Patrick, pupils reduced to thin slits against the banded malachite-green of his eyes. I scowled, looking impatiently between the two men.

“Is this where you reveal yet another way in which Faerie is planning to screw me over because I got too complacent?” I demanded. “Because if it is, I’d really, really like you to just walk away. Don’t say anything else. Let us order our dinner and eat inpeace. Please.” Not that there was much chance of that. Based solely on the expression on Tybalt’s face, we had already missed the window on “peace” for the evening.

“Yes, it is,” said Patrick. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how many holes there were in your education. I’d say I thought better of your mother, but it would be a lie. I never once in all my days thought better of Amandine. And no matter how poorly I’ve thought of her, she’s continually found ways to disappoint me. Truly, that woman is an artisan of letting people down.”

“Normally, I’d be thrilled to sit around trash-talking my mom,” I said. “Right now, not so much. What are you trying not to say to me right now?”

Patrick sighed heavily. “That’s the problem. It’s nothing you’ll want to hear, and I hate to be the one to say it to you.”

---