Page 27 of Silver and Lead (October Daye #19)

“In the better world spun for us by our Lady of the Flowers, I found you by night in an alleyway where you had no business being, and you lifted a weapon against your betters. Kyle died because you could not know your place.”

“That world was a lie created by a woman who had just murdered her own child in cold blood,” spat Quentin, before I could say anything.

He stepped forward, like he was going to put himself between me and the massive footman.

“That enchantment was ended by the eldest daughter of Oberon, because it was unjust. How dare you call it the ‘better world’? To view a deceit as such is to stand in opposition to all that is right and just in Faerie.”

“No one said Faerie was fair, little boy,” said the footman. “It was a world where people like myself weren’t expected to bow down to our inferiors. I would have expected you to see things as clearly as I do.”

Quentin didn’t say anything, just glared at him with his mouth set into a hard line, chin jutting forward like a challenge or a target. I reached over and put a hand on his arm.

“I remember our encounter,” I said, as calmly as I could.

“I remember your Kyle stabbing me before I slit his throat. He thought to kill me first, and I acted in self-defense. Our Queen has absolved me of all blame in that encounter, and the memories of my blood have been viewed by her blood-workers to verify that I spoke truly when I told her what had happened. I am here on royal business. Please, let us pass.”

The man took another step forward, filling the doorway like an animate stone wall.

The enchantments on the roses that circled the porch were beginning to make more sense; he should have been fully visible from the street, but he wasn’t making any effort to disguise or hide himself.

Seeing me being loomed at by a Bridge Troll should have brought Danny rushing up the stairs to defend me, but he hadn’t come to my defense as yet.

The roses were somehow protecting us from view.

A don’t-look-here worked into the roots, most likely, something too deeply seated to be destroyed by dawn.

It was a clever way to spare her servants from needing to be disguised, and I would have been impressed if I hadn’t been working so hard not to get pissed off.

The situation was ludicrous. Whether he liked me or not, this man couldn’t deny that I was a hero of the realm, making my claim to be here on the Queen’s behalf utterly believable.

Even aside from that, there had been two attacks on his mistress in the very recent past. I would have expected him to be eager to get answers for her, if only because someone coming at his employer with iron weapons would put him in danger.

I narrowed my own eyes, keeping my hand on Quentin’s arm.

“Perhaps you don’t understand,” I said. “I’m here—we’re here—because Queen Arden Windermere in the Mists wants us to be.

She wants me to speak with your mistress, and I’m not leaving until I fulfill what my queen has asked of me.

Now, I’m sure you don’t want to explain to the queen, or to my husband, the local King of Cats, why you left a pregnant knight standing on the front porch while you exercised your petty authority to make things harder for her, hmm? ”

Bridge Trolls have such rough-hewn features that they’re not famed for the subtlety of their expressions. They can smile and they can snarl, but the little moods are difficult to read. This man was no different. I thought his lips tightened slightly, but it was hard for me to tell.

“I will tell my mistress you have arrived,” he said, and stepped backward, slamming the door rather than inviting us inside.

Quentin turned to me, visibly fuming. “He’s violating every rule of hospitality I can name, and probably a few that I’ve either forgotten or never had cause to learn.

You don’t leave the representative of a friendly monarch standing outside in the cold, and you certainly don’t leave a pregnant woman outside the protection of a knowe when you have the ability to welcome her past the wards. ”

“Changeling,” I said, gesturing to myself with one hand.

“Remember, the rules are different for me sometimes.” Somehow that didn’t sting as much as it would have once upon a time.

Spending a few months living in a reality where I’d been treated as so far below the people around me that I’d had no hope of ever dealing with them as an equal had pointed out both how far I’d come in my real life, and how bone-deep stupid the lingering prejudices of Faerie really were.

Stupid things can still do harm, but it’s harder to take them seriously.

Quentin glowered. “Even if you want to take that position, which you shouldn’t, because it’s a terrible position and I hate it, I’m your squire, and I’m not a changeling. My presence should be enough to make him let us inside.”

“But it wasn’t. I’m not saying we stand out here all night.

Just that we give Dame Altair a few minutes to realize how badly her man is fucking up before we start making a fuss.

” I turned back to the door, smiling almost serenely.

“She’s a smart lady. I’m sure she’ll be able to figure out that pissing off the queen she has to live under isn’t a great way for her to keep enjoying the relative autonomy that Arden extends to her trusted vassals. ”

Faerie’s hierarchy is imprecise and incredibly nepotistic, but there are monarchs who are far more unpleasant and aggressive about enforcing “the right way of things” than Arden has ever been inclined to be.

I was reasonably sure that Dame Altair was in no real hurry to find out how unpleasant an oppressive queen could really be.

As if on cue, footsteps approached the door.

These ones were softer and quicker than the Bridge Troll’s had been, not quite quick enough for their owner to be rushing, but definitely quick enough that there was no question of whether or not they were dawdling.

I straightened again, trying to look utterly relaxed and not at all as if my knees were hurting.

The person on the other side of the door paused. I tensed, resisting the urge to grumble. All this waiting around was starting to really wear on my nerves.

The door swung slowly open, and I plastered the pleasant smile back across my face as Dame Altair appeared.

Like many among the Daoine Sidhe, she seemed to have taken all her camouflage tips from a macaw rather than a human.

Her hair was a deep shade of purple-blue that clearly hadn’t come from a bottle, based on the way the color extended from roots to tips, unfaded and layered with natural highlights.

Her eyes were the vivid orange of panther lilies, echoing the scent of the magic swirling around her.

Unlike most Daoine Sidhe, she wasn’t particularly pale, but had a deep natural tan that almost matched the unpainted wood of the doorframe.

It was a nice change from the near-universal pallor of her line.

Given that the fae steal surnames from our human ancestors, her complexion was probably a gift from some long-dead mortal whose blood had been purged via hope chest as soon as it became possible, leaving nothing but coloration and a name behind.

She was wearing a long pseudo-medieval gown in steel gray velvet, and she looked me up and down with visible scorn.

I managed, barely, not to follow her inspection of me with one of my own: I knew what I looked like, but it was difficult sometimes not to emulate the Daoine Sidhe when they so ostentatiously implied that I was doing something even slightly wrong.

My maternity pants and once-oversized sweater were clean and unstained, and that would have to be enough for her.

Even if I’d wanted to run home and change into something more formal, all my normal clothing was too small for me right now.

I hadn’t seen much point in buying a bunch of new maternity gear when I almost never left the house, and I was not going to dignify Dame Altair’s scorn with one of my nicer court dresses.

She could choke on whatever she wanted to say to me.

“Dame Altair,” I said, hoping that none of my irritation would show in either my face or my tone. “A pleasure to see you again. I appreciate your taking the time.”

“Ehren informs me that you have some cockamamie story about being here on behalf of Queen Windermere,” she said, voice tight and sharp. “I know he can’t be correct about that. Surely even you wouldn’t make such a ludicrous claim.”

“Not if it weren’t true,” I said. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m here as a hero of the realm to try and figure out why you’re being targeted.

Which means that yes, Queen Windermere sent me, I’m here on official business, and while I’ll try not to waste your time, I would very much appreciate it if you’d allow me and my squire to come inside.

I find standing uncomfortable at the moment. ”

Admitting to weakness was a calculated risk. It was also apparently the right thing to do, judging by the way her expression momentarily softened before she collected herself and straightened again, looking down her nose at me.

“Well, then, I suppose you’d best have a chair,” she said. “I’ll be sending a letter to the Queen to chide her for her choice of champions. She should send her best to help a valued member of her vassalage, not whatever it is you’re meant to represent.”

I didn’t rise to the obvious bait, only nodded and said, “My lady is kind,” before stepping through the open door and into the knowe proper.