The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,108
first, I’m not loyal to any specific Selkie clan; it’s not like Connor and I ever reached the stage of visiting his family for the holidays. Which is almost a pity, because Selkies throw amazing parties, but that’s neither here nor there. Second, I’m engaged, and my fiancé would be cranky if I let the memory of a man he wasn’t exactly friends with muddle my actions.”
“Hello,” said Tybalt.
René blinked. “The rumors are true? You’re really marrying a King of Cats?”
“I’m going to ignore the part where they’re apparently gossiping about me in Halifax, of all places, and move on to my third point. Namely, it doesn’t matter if Liz is trying to trick her way into your house, because I’m not. I’m a knight sworn to the service of Duke Sylvester Torquill and a hero in the service of Queen Arden Windermere in the Mists, and neither one of them would put up with me lying my way into a private home.”
Well. Sylvester wouldn’t, anyway. Sylvester had always been very clear on the need for his knights to be honest, chivalrous, and true, and maybe if he’d done a little better of a job at living up to those standards himself—at least the “honest” part—we wouldn’t be functionally estranged. His lies weren’t the only things that complicated our relationship, but wow, had they been enough to do a lot of damage.
Arden had spent over a century hiding in the mortal world, pretending to be a human woman, selling books and sitting for children and generally lying to everyone around her for the sake of staying alive. Her approach to the truth was probably a little more flexible than Sylvester’s, and for good reason.
“Let them in, René,” called a voice from deeper inside. “It’s not as if I wasn’t expecting a challenge.” Mathias sounded . . . smaller, somehow, almost deflated, like all the fight had gone out of him.
René’s fingers tightened on the edge of the door. But he nodded, and said, “Of course, darling,” as he pulled it wider open, and let us step inside.
The front of the little Cape Cod was almost identical to the one where we’d spoken to Liz, which made sense: these weren’t their personal homes. These were temporary quarters maintained by the Duchy of Ships for the comfort of their Selkie guests and the human family members who traveled with them. Mathias and René probably shared a home that was filled with things only they would have chosen, touches and traces of the men they were, the life they shared with one another. This was . . . a motel, practically, a way station between home and harbor.
Mathias was sitting on the couch, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. It could have been part of the same set Liz was using, and her eyes locked on it almost instantly. His chuckle was both dark and bitter, like strong coffee served on a winter morning.
“Don’t get too excited, Lizzy,” he said, and took a sip. “It’s apple cider. I prefer to keep a clear head when people are trying to do me ill. Although if you’d like something stronger, I can have René fetch it for you. A drunk enemy is a sloppy enemy, and I need all the advantages I can get.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” Liz spat. “This is your fault.”
“I’m well aware, and believe me, I wish I felt as comfortable numbing the edges of the world as you do.” Mathias took another swig of cider before swinging his attention around to me. “Ah, the sea witch’s errand girl is here for a visit, with her entourage. Come to issue more veiled threats against anyone who touches your child? Believe me, we got the message. She’s as safe as houses, at least until the deadline gets closer and people grow more desperate. Come back in a few hours if you feel the need to frighten someone.”
“I’m not here about Gillian,” I said, and it was only half a lie. “I’m here because I need to talk to you about Isla Chase.”
“Why not go talk to Isla herself? We’re not friends, no matter what you may have heard about our history. We simply do a better job of tolerating each other than many of our peers.”
He sounded honestly confused. I couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been involved with the plot that killed her, but . . . I didn’t think so. He had no reason to be that