snapped, eyes flashing. “He could have fought for her! If he’d been Merrow, he would have fought for her!”
“If he’d been Merrow, your uncle would have needed to find a different excuse for arresting an innocent woman.” I somehow managed to say that with a straight face. The thought of Dianda as “innocent” was barely this side of ridiculous. “Also your father would probably be dead, since your parents didn’t bring an army.” I paused, frowning, as I looked around the courtyard. “Where are Helmi and the others?”
“We decided it would be better if any further attackers received some bad information about how well-defended we are,” said Patrick. As if on cue, what I’d taken for a curling vine lifted away from the wall, its edges tinting orange as it waved languidly in my direction. Then it reattached to its original place, the color draining away.
If I squinted, I could follow that long tentacle to a motionless shape I was pretty sure was Helmi. The other two Cephali were completely camouflaged, blending so flawlessly into their surroundings that I would have needed to cheat and bleed to have a chance of finding them.
“That isn’t unnerving at all,” I said, and returned my attention to Marcia. “Do you need anything else?”
“Basket, oil, herbs,” she said. “And a pony, but I never get that, unless you count the Kelpies, which I don’t. Kelpies are too naughty to count as ponies.”
“They’re also horrifying and full of teeth,” said Patrick.
“Like I said: naughty.” Marcia turned and walked into the herb beds, beginning to pluck sprigs of whatever caught her fancy.
I wanted to go with her, to see what kind of marshwater charm was used to preserve a Selkie’s skin away from a living Selkie. I couldn’t. Marcia would probably feel like I was checking her work—the last thing I wanted to do right now—and more importantly, Peter was still glaring at his father, a look of heartbreaking betrayal in his eyes. I sighed.
“I mostly know Dianda as my punchy friend who sometimes helps me out of nasty scrapes,” I said. “We don’t hang out, we don’t talk about our feelings, we don’t braid each other’s hair. But I know her well enough to know her family is the most important thing in the world to her. She wouldn’t want you to be fighting right now. Not each other, anyway. This is Dianda we’re talking about: she’d absolutely want you to be fighting everyone else.”
Patrick actually cracked a smile at that. “My wife has somewhat militant ideas about conflict resolution,” he said.
“Yet you married her anyway,” said Tybalt. “Fascinating.”
“Don’t say bad stuff about my mom,” snapped Peter.
“Believe me, child, I am not,” said Tybalt. “Even if I wished to mock your father’s taste in wives, he would need only to point at my own choice of bride as proof that I am a man living in the metaphorical glass house.”
“Root and branch preserve me from men who think they’re clever,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “The Luidaeg has gone to find Captain Pete and see if something can’t be done about this whole ‘treason’ thing. In the meantime, I have at least one dead Selkie, and I no longer have the ability to go diving around under the duchy itself to look for more of them. Any suggestions about how to deal with all this would be greatly appreciated.”
“Why do we care about dead Selkies?” demanded Peter.
“Peter,” said Dean, appalled.
“What?” Peter looked from his brother to me, hands spread, trying to make us understand. “Mom’s been arrested. For treason. She could die, Dean. She could be put to death because of lies Uncle Torin is telling about her. Selkies always die. They’re barely better than humans that way.” He suddenly seemed to realize he might have gone too far, because he glanced at me, grimaced, and added, “No offense.”
“Oh, offense taken,” I said. “You don’t get to decide where the offense goes. But, please, continue.”
Peter swallowed. “I—I’m sorry. I know you have more humans in the land Courts, and I know I’m supposed to be kind and . . . and forgiving of their faults, but they’re so weird. How can they be people and mortal at the same time? People aren’t supposed to die unless they do something stupid enough to deserve it. But changelings are mortal, and they’re people. And Selkies are mortal sometimes, and they’re people, too, and it’s all weird and confusing and I don’t understand it. They have my Mom.