The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,57

unhappy with me,” she said finally.

“I know you can’t read minds, thank Titania, and I know you can’t lie,” I said.

“Again, that’s on Titania,” she said dryly.

I ignored her comment. “What would happen if I wasn’t upset? Maybe my face just looks like this.”

“Which is why I couldn’t say that sort of thing about anyone I didn’t know well,” said the Luidaeg. “You, however, I know very well. I’ve had years of you darkening my doorstep whether I want you to or not. I can tell when you’re unhappy.”

“You put my daughter at risk,” I said.

The Luidaeg nodded solemnly. “That’s true. I did.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because she was going to be put at risk no matter what. What we’re doing here is risky. The destruction of one descendant race to make way for another is something that’s only happened once before, all the way back to the dawn of Faerie. It doesn’t matter that we’re only putting right something that should never have gone wrong. This is going to change the balance of the power in the Undersea. It’s going to change everything. Gillian was going to be at risk, because every Selkie is at risk until this is finished.”

“You could have told them she was off-limits,” I said stubbornly.

The Luidaeg sighed. “I could have, yes,” she agreed. “I could have told them she was your beloved baby girl and wearing the skin of my own daughter, and ordered them to leave her alone. And maybe she would have thanked me and maybe she would have spit at me, but she’d have been safe, for now. Only ‘now’ is a moving target. Tomorrow is coming, and another tomorrow after that, and another after that, until we’re standing a century away, and none of the other Roane will even speak to her out of fear that they’ll hurt her feelings and the sea witch will sweep in to steal their livers.”

I blinked. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“They think of me as a monster, remember? As far as they’re concerned, I’ll do virtually anything. Maybe I’m wrong—I’m not lying when I speculate about what the future might be, as long as I base it off what I know to be true. But honestly, I don’t think I am. These people are going to be her peers for a long, long time, and she’s going to be on even footing with them, because none of them know how to be Roane yet. I needed to not start her off in a position of social isolation.”

“That’s . . .” I paused, shaking my head. “That’s way more carefully thought-out than I expected.”

The Luidaeg shrugged. “I’ve had a long time to learn how to read people.”

The entry to our courtyard was visible up ahead, and I sped up, anticipating the comfort of being back among people I already knew and trusted. Tybalt and the Luidaeg matched my pace. I barely noticed. Quentin was probably going to be pissed that we’d gone off without him. It was for the best—having him there wouldn’t have made things go any more smoothly—but I could still appreciate his reasons for annoyance. Best to get this over with. Maybe he’d been able to spend a little quality time with Dean, and would go easy on me. Maybe—

We came around the edge of the courtyard and stopped, staring at the scene that was unfolding inside. The people we’d left behind were grouped at the center of the space. They had been joined by two newcomers. One, a tall man with burnished bronze hair covered in a thin patina of verdigris, was standing, holding hands with Poppy and staring at her, mouth slightly ajar, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. The other, a tawny-skinned woman with straight black hair, was aiming a punch directly at Dean’s throat.

Dean dodged the blow with surprising speed, laughing, and swung back, aiming his own fist for the side of the woman’s face. She grabbed his arm and twisted, performing a complicated pivot with her lower body that somehow resulted in Dean being flung over her shoulder. He slammed into the deck, landing on his back. He laughed harder. So did she, turning to offer a hand up.

I smiled. It was difficult not to. Both of the newcomers were dressed in the vaguely ahistorical, vaguely maritime style that dominated the Duchy of Ships; whether or not they’d ever been here before, they fit right in. They were clearly at ease in a way they’d never