Page 19 of When Sorrows Come

Then she was off again, pausing only long enough to kiss Chelsea loudly on the cheek before she was heading back to the door she’d entered through, a cheerful whirlwind that left a cloud of flour in her wake.

I looked to Tybalt. “I thought you said I’d have a chance to object to the cake.”

He shrugged apologetically and spread his hands. “That’s between you and Kerry.”

Meaning that, no, there wouldn’t be a chance to object to the cake. Oh, well. I should have expected that. I turned, in silent unison with everyone else, to Nessa. She grimaced before forcing a smile, clearly trying to recover her dignity.

“Not Sir Daye, then?” she asked of the Luidaeg, who laughed.

“Not in the slightest, although wearerelated,” she said. Since she was still projecting humanity with the focused determination only the Firstborn can seem to manage, the impression she was giving was that she was a cousin from the fae side of my family who had just decided to take the Tuatha express across North America out of nothing more than familial loyalty.

“Oh,” said Nessa, sounding baffled. Then: “I am so sorry, miss. I intended no insult, to any of you.”

“None is taken,” said Tybalt. “I, the actual groom to be, apologize for allowing it to go on so long. It was uncouth of us not to correct you immediately and spare you this embarrassment. Now, I presume you were sent to escort us to our quarters for the duration?”

“Of course, of course,” said Nessa, clapping her hands together in what looked very much like relief. “If you would all do me the favor of following me?”

“Sure thing,” I said and, when she started moving, fell in easily behind her. Tybalt stayed close by my side, and Quentin stayed at my heels. I glanced back at him. He hadn’t said a word since Nessa got close enough to hear him, which seemed a little odd, since his voice had changed along with the rest of him. It wasn’t like she was going to hear him speak and go, “You’re the Crown Prince!” and accuse us all of treason.

So far as I’m aware, hearing through illusions is not a power possessed by any corner of Faerie. Seeing through illusions is, forpureblooded Cait Sidhe, and smelling through illusions certainly is, but hearing? Not so much. And this wasn’t an illusion, anyway. This was a total transformation, binding to the bottom of his bones, and it wasn’t going to break so easily.

I still reached back and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, earning myself a grateful look. Whatever was bothering him, it wasreallybothering him.

Nessa led us back through the widest of the puzzle-piece doors, into a long hallway as paneled in maple and amethyst as the first had been. Catching my confusion at the aesthetic, she gave me a tour guide’s practiced, polished smile, and said, “Ontario is famous for our maple trees, which are an emblem of Canada the world over, and of course, amethyst is our provincial stone. When the royal seat of the Westlands was being settled upon, it came down to a question between the Kingdoms of Maple or Ash and Oak.”

I hadn’t heard the technical name of the Kingdom comprising most of Ontario in so long that it threw me for a second. The High Throne has been in Toronto for so many years that the Kingdom is almost forgotten, grouped in with the rest of the High King’s holdings. “Guess we got lucky there, since we had to abandon Ash and Oak,” I said.

“Yes, there were Roane among the Selkies of Beacon’s Home when the choice was being made,” said Nessa, with some pride in her voice. “My home Kingdom,” she explained a moment later, in case her accent hadn’t been indication enough. Beacon’s Home is another of the Kingdoms counted among the High Throne’s holdings, and it corresponds roughly with the Canadian province of Nova Scotia. One of the largest Selkie clans—now Roane colonies—is centered there.

“Good to know,” I said neutrally.

“The Roane told the convocation debating the location of the ruling seat that Ash and Oak would be lost to rust and ruin within a generation, and war would follow if the seat had to be relocated once it had been established,” she said smoothly. This was something she had practiced, whether in front of visitors or in her own mirror. Did Gwragedd Annwn use mirrors? The stories I’d heard said they could stun even themselves if they weren’t careful.

But then, they would need to know what they looked like to cast the spells that allowed them to interact safely with the rest of us, so presumably, mirrors were involved somehow.

“We were very fortunate in that the monarchs attending the convocation, some of whom were already entangled with the ongoing stirrings of revolution among the Colonies, agreed that placing the seat in their infant America was less essential than placing it in a location which would bring stability and prosperity to our new High Kingdom, and keep us from fighting a losing war against Europa when they sensed both weakness and wealth to be had. This continent had suffered enough from Europa’s attentions. We deserved to be left alone to prosper or perish. It was due to the intervention of the Roane that we were able to open this knowe and dig its roots into the bedrock of the world, where they would never be sundered.”

Quentin pulled a face. So we were getting a sterilized version of the ten-cent tour, and would get the rest of it later, when we were safely behind closed doors. Not a shock but, still, good to know.

“The Roane are good that way,” said the Luidaeg, in a neutral tone.

“Yes, they were,” said Nessa, clearly heedless of the danger she was putting herself in with that casual statement.

That seemed a little odd. She should have been up to date on everything that was happening within her liege’s demesne. Or maybe my standards were skewed by the fact that things seemed to happen so quickly around me.

Not that my standards were what put that murderous expression on the Luidaeg’s face. Maybe it wasn’t nice to wander around the royal knowe of the Westlands with an undercover Firstborn, but since her father, the literal King of Faerie, was also with us, I was pretty sure we weren’t breaking any laws, written or unwritten, which might indicate that hospitality demanded immediate disclosure. And the Luidaeghadaccepted the hospitality of the house, if only through her silence, which meant she had to wait seven days before she’d be allowed to turn anyone inside-out for insulting her descendants.

Dean coughed. “I’m Count Dean Lorden of Goldengreen?” he said, somehow turning the statement of his identity into a question. Nessa gave him a polite look, like she was asking how that was relevant. “My mother is Duchess Dianda Lorden of Saltmist?”

Nessa blinked. “Isn’t that an Undersea Kingdom?” she asked.

Dean began to bristle. Before he could do much more than lookannoyed, Raj stepped in, saying, “Duchess Lorden will be attending the wedding, and is a daughter of the Merrow, madame.”

“Ah,” said Nessa, still sounding bemused. “But the Count is, by all appearances, Daoine Sidhe.”

Oh, this was potentially about to take a hard left turn into some seriously deep and dangerous waters, and one or more people might wind up badly hurt, hospitality or no. “The ducal consorts are Daoine Sidhe,” I said hurriedly. “Dean takes after his father.”

Nessa nodded. “I’ve heard such can happen,” she said. “Well, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young Count, and I am glad for all our sakes that you are here to witness such a grand historic event as the marriage of a King of Cats.”

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