One Salt Sea
Page 31

I parked the car in the deepest shadows I could find before prodding Tybalt. He rose and stretched, giving a few cursory licks to one paw. Then he looked at me expectantly. I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
He looked from my door to his, flattening an ear.
I sighed, unfastening my belt. “Yes, O master.” I got out of the car, walking around to open the passenger side door. “Just hurry it up, okay?”
Tybalt leaped out onto the blacktop, the smell of pennyroyal and musk already gathering. He reared up onto his hind legs and was suddenly a man again, variegated hair in disarray. Slicking it back with one hand, he offered a fang-baring smile before snapping his fingers and clothing himself in the glittering film of a human disguise. “You were right; that was much better.”
“Show-off,” I said. “I suppose you were too comfortable to turn back in the car?”
“Cats aren’t built to sit like humans,” he replied. “Any reasonable position would have given me a concussion.”
The image of Tybalt smacking his head against the roof of the car made me smile. “Fair enough. Come on.”
“Will we be diving off any cliffs this evening?”
I smirked. Goldengreen’s least popular entrance requires walking off the side of the cliff and hoping you’re in the right spot. Only the Selkies think this is fun. When they misjudge their entrance, they can turn into seals and enjoy the plummet to the ocean below. The rest of us . . . let’s just say that I have better taste in extreme sports.
“We’ll be using the main entrance.” I held up my keys. “Apartment, car, secret entrance into my private kingdom beneath the proverbial hollow hill.”
“Yes, but do you have a can opener?”
“I’ll get right on that.” I led Tybalt out of the parking lot and toward a rusty-looking old shed. Its doors looked like they were barely holding on. Appearances can be deceiving. Inserting my key into a crack in the metal eight inches away from the visible keyhole, I turned it to the left, and chanted, “Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run. You’d run too, if a hungry Cait Sidhe was on your ass.” My magic rose around us in a veil of cut grass and copper, and the door to Goldengreen—the real door, the one that had nothing to do with keys or sheds—swung open.
Tybalt gave me an amused look. “I assume that was for my benefit?”
“Assume away.” I swept a hand toward the entrance. “After you.”
Chuckling, he stepped through the open door. I pulled it shut behind me as I followed.
There’s a moment of transition when you move between the mortal world and the interior of a knowe, a brief second where you aren’t sure where you are or how you got there. The disorientation faded as quickly as it came, and I turned to Tybalt, who was looking around the hall with undisguised curiosity.
“Come on,” I said. “We need to find Marcia.”
“I do adore a scavenger hunt,” he said dryly.
Nobles are supposed to be innately connected to their knowes, able to sense the moods and states of their hollow hills. My connection is tenuous at best, thanks to the part where the knowe really regards the pixies and bogeys as its owners. I have to rely on more mundane means, like following the sound of voices down the hall and into the courtyard.
If there was a goal in mind when Goldengreen’s courtyard was constructed, I don’t know what it was. The circular room looks like it should be outside, part of a large ornamental garden or something. The door opens onto the front level, which is small for a courtyard, since it’s only about sixty feet across. That’s because the walls are arranged in six shallow concentric tiers, each planted with a variety of flowers, herbs, and grasses. The top tier holds willows transplanted from Lily’s knowe before it sealed itself completely. Her former handmaids spend a lot of time with those trees, curling up among their roots and not saying anything to anyone. I think it helps them cope with the pain of losing her. I’m not going to be the one who stops them.
Marcia was sitting on the edge of the polished brass fountain at the center of the room, chatting amiably with a pair of Satyrs. She looked up at the sound of our footsteps, and stood as soon as she realized who we were. “Toby! Is it true?”
There was only one thing she could be asking me about. I nodded. “It’s true. The Undersea has declared war.”
“Oh, oak and ash.” Marcia went pale. “What are we going to do?”
“First? We’re going to let the Cait Sidhe in.” I gestured toward Tybalt. “The King of Cats has graciously extended his protection to us in these trying times.”
Marcia turned to him, blinking. “Really?”
If I’d asked that, he would have been offended that I was questioning his word. Because it was Marcia, he simply nodded, trying his best to look encouraging as he said, “Yes, really. It will be our honor.”
“Tha—” She caught herself, and curtsied instead, suffusing the motion with every ounce of her gratitude. Most of the nobles in this Kingdom could take lessons from her on what a curtsy’s supposed to be.
“It really is my pleasure,” Tybalt said.
One of the Satyrs raised his hand, like a schoolchild requesting permission to speak, and said, “Your Excellency? Do you—I mean, do we—can we leave?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “If you want to leave the city, get away from the coast, if you can. Goldengreen will be open to you when you return.” Assuming it was still standing, which was a possibility I didn’t feel like voicing out loud.
The Satyr nodded his appreciation and grabbed his companion’s hand, hauling him from the room. The sound of their hooves on the floor faded down the hall. I sighed. “Look, Marcia. I can’t stay—I need to get to Shadowed Hills—but I want you to tell anyone who asks what I just said. If they’re too scared to stay, they can go. They’ll be welcome when all this is over.”
Marcia nodded solemnly. “I will. I’ll even tell the pixies.”
“Good.” I paused. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”
“What is it?” Her expression turned wary in an instant, the face of someone who’s had their hand slapped one time too many for daring to reach beyond their station. I know that face all too well. Every changeling I’ve ever known has worn it way too often. “Did I do something wrong?”