Page 82 of A Killing Frost

There were a few cars already present, Danny’s among them, all concealed by simple charms designed to repel human eyes while leaving them visible to the fae, presumably because their owners didn’t want to play bumper cars in the parking lot. It was good to know that we weren’t going to be the only ones suffering tonight.

Once we were parked and Quentin and I were out of the car, Tybalt strolled over and calmly offered me his arm. “Ready to change the world again, milady?” he asked, tone mild.

“As long as you’re doing it with me, always ready,” I said, smiling, and the three of us walked on.

TWENTY-THREE

THE FOREST WAS ONLY DARKto 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 evenholding 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 itwasn’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. Mymother was not. Surprisingly, the Luidaegwas, 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.

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