Page 5 of Silver and Lead (October Daye #19)

“Sir Daye,” she said, correctly interpreting Tybalt’s imperious waving as an effort to feed his pregnant wife. She offered me both a half-bow and the tray, holding it out toward me with a clear air of “take whatever you want, fighting a Hero of the Realm is above my pay grade.”

I flashed her a smile in place of the thanks I wasn’t allowed to offer—Faerie has some weird hangups around the appearance of obligation, which a direct “thank you” can imply—and started to reach for the tray.

Then I froze as the smell hit my nose, and clapped my hand over my mouth, swallowing bile.

Being simultaneously hungry and intermittently nauseous was pretty definitely the worst part about pregnancy for me. My pants didn’t fit and if I dropped something, it lived on the floor, but wanting to eat even while I was throwing up was awful .

Tybalt saw my expression change and waved the baffled server away, murmuring a quick “Bring back something blander if you could, please,” before he turned his attention on me, moving closer despite the risk that I was going to toss my cookies all over his leather pants.

Damn the leather pants. I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for the leather pants.

I think. I’m almost sure, anyway. Sure, the leather pants weren’t involved with the actual conception, but they did a lot to turn my head in the early days, and that set us on the path that led us here.

Again, I swallowed, doing little to clean away the burning taste of stomach acid.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Baby did not want a blue cheese and onion tart,” I reported, only to have my stomach lurch again, as if saying the words were the same thing as actually eating the offending pastry. I clapped my hand back over my mouth.

“I have to go now,” I said, voice muffled by my fingers. “Give Arden my apologies if she comes looking for me.”

I spun on my heel and ran, heading for one of the doors on the side of the hall.

Not only had I been in the knowe enough to be relatively confident that I was heading for the bathroom, I knew Arden wouldn’t want me to toss my cookies all over her ballroom floor, which meant the knowe wouldn’t want that, which meant my chances of making it were better than they might be otherwise.

Running while extremely pregnant is not an experience I would recommend. But then again, neither is barfing on a Queen’s floor, and of those options, I’ll take the running.

It was almost funny, in a terrible way. Every type of fae comes with their own magical gifts and inclinations.

D ó chas Sidhe are blood-workers of unparalleled skill, eclipsing the Daoine Sidhe, who were the big rock stars of blood magic before we came along.

In me, this expresses mostly by causing me to heal almost faster than I can get injured—and I am very, very good at getting injured.

Sometimes there isn’t time to pull the knife out before the wound it made has healed around it.

I don’t get sick, either. My immune system just says “nah, hard pass,” and what’s circulating leaves me alone.

So being at the mercy of “normal” pregnancy-related nausea would have been hilarious, if it weren’t so damn frustrating. It had been the same way with Gillian. Most of my pregnancy had been a breeze, but wow had I gone through a lot of mouthwash.

The door I’d crashed through led to a short hall lined with vases of sunflowers and moonflowers, all enchanted to remain in perfect bloom.

There were a few open doorways leading to small foyers with chaise lounges and comfortable-looking leather chairs, and a few closed doors graven with a pattern of asters and moonflowers.

I kept running until I reached the first closed door, shoving it roughly open to stumble into the remarkably modern-looking bathroom on the other side.

There were no stalls, which explained the iconography on the door, with a single toilet, sink, and even a small shower tucked into one corner, in case someone’s bathroom experience went terribly wrong. I stumbled toward the toilet, not even taking the time to lock the door.

I almost made it, too.

After my dinner was done making a repeat appearance all over the tile floor of Arden’s bathroom, I stepped back from the mess and turned to check myself over in the mirror, silently hoping that I’d managed to avoid getting any of it on myself.

When I got married, my friends and fianc é conspired to enchant my wedding dress so thoroughly that it could repel anything that might stain it.

Sadly, those enchantments are complicated and expensive, and most of my wardrobe is as vulnerable to accidents as anyone else’s.

Luck was on my side this time; apart from the burning need to rinse my mouth out, I didn’t appear to have suffered anything more dire than the loss of my supper. I turned on the sink, using my hand as a cup, and swished and spat with all the vigor I could muster.

When the taste was gone, I straightened and began splashing water on my face, trying to chase away the lingering nausea.

I don’t think I was ever a good sick person, but when I was more human, I used to at least get sick.

I had to imagine I was better about it back then, since otherwise, either Devin or my mother would probably have killed me with their bare hands.

Finally satisfied, I turned away from mirror, yelped, and staggered back against the sink.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” I said, pressing one hand flat against my chest to try and calm the frantic pounding of my heart. “What if I’d gone into labor?”

“Then you wouldn’t have been the first woman to give birth on a bathroom floor, and at least this one’s cleaner than most.” Arden Windermere, Queen in the Mists, gave the puddle of vomit on her floor a dubious look, wrinkling her nose.

She was dressed for court in a long dark silver gown with blackberry canes embroidered around the hems, and she could easily have passed for something out of a Waterhouse painting if she’d wanted to.

A silver diadem rested on her brow, completing the appearance of power and poise.

None of which went with the way she was eyeing the floor.

“I worked San Francisco retail, and even with the current mess, this is still cleaner than most.”

“Are you trying to reassure yourself or me?” I took my hand away from my chest and curled it protectively around my stomach. “I am not having this baby on a bathroom floor. Tybalt would kill me.”

“Please. He’s Cait Sidhe. What, does he expect you to give birth in a box in the closet?”

“What do you want, Your Majesty?”

Tuatha de Dannan—like Arden and her brother, Nolan—are teleporters.

Sometimes I think Faerie has a nasty sense of humor when it comes to deciding which descendant line will get which magical abilities.

Hey, you over there, you can read memories by drinking people’s blood!

But if you drink too much, you might die!

Oh, and Susie here? She gets to move freely through space, without worrying about what may be in her way!

Faerie has never been particularly concerned with fairness, but there are moments when I have to wonder whether it does things on purpose.

Normally, I can tell when one of the Tuatha enters a room.

The portals they use carry the scent of their magic, and Arden’s mixture of redwood bark and lightly bruised blackberry flowers is hard to miss.

Normally, I’m not trying to breathe through a nose clogged from vomiting, blocking out the scent.

Pregnancy is a banquet of endless delights.

Arden lifted an eyebrow. “Do I have to want something? Can’t I just be checking on a valued denizen of my kingdom?”

“You could be, but you’re not,” I said. “If you were, you’d have come through the door, and Tybalt would be with you.”

“The King of Cats is presently occupied. My dear brother needed to ask him some very important questions about the Cait Sidhe population. The mortals are stepping up their efforts to thin the feral cat colonies, and we felt it important that none of your husband’s subjects be caught in the sweep.”

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “You had him waylaid so you could get me alone?”

“That would be manipulative and underhanded.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not at all befitting a proper queen.”

“True enough.”

“But I did need to speak with you, and it seemed best to do so in private.”

“You’re the Queen in the Mists,” I said. “You could have just had someone ask me to step out for a moment, instead of ambushing me in the bathroom. Better yet, let me get back to my husband and then ask him to let us go off by ourselves.”

“I could have, but then people might speculate about why I was summoning you; being able to find you alone like this provided a better opportunity for discretion,” she said mildly.

“So glad my needing to toss my cookies was so beneficial for you,” I grumbled, without any real heat. I knew when I was beaten.

Arden sighed, moving closer. “Would you like to come with me someplace more comfortable, so the Hobs can clean up this bathroom before someone comes looking for us?”

I never really go anywhere alone, even when I think I am.

May and Jasmine had left the house before Tybalt and I did, and were doubtless somewhere in the hall; Quentin was supposed to attend with his boyfriend, Dean Lorden.

They weren’t the only people who might get concerned if I vanished for too long, but they were the most likely to come looking if they couldn’t find me where they thought I should be.

I sighed. “Is there any getting out of this conversation?”

“It may surprise you to hear this, but I wouldn’t be sharing this special magic bathroom time with you if it weren’t important.”

“Fine,” I said. “But you’d better have someone tell Tybalt where I am, before he comes looking for me.”

“Nolan should be informing him as we speak. Unless you have any other objections?”

I shook my head.