Page 83 of A Killing Frost

“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, Ardenshone.

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 aWaterhouse 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.

“Myhusbandwas 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, myrealfather, 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 hisdynasty 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.

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