The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,61

about the Firstborn,” I said.

“Truth,” said Tybalt. “My lady possesses a filthy mouth and a creative mind when it comes to describing our forebears.”

“Too much information,” muttered Quentin.

I laughed again, turning back to Patrick and Dianda. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“What, and miss the opportunity to see our son when he’s back at sea, like a sensible Merrow, and not hiding in his inland halls?” Dianda finally sat up. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Goldengreen is coastal,” Dean protested.

“Coastal, but still on dry land,” said Dianda.

I looked around. There were no other Lordens. “Where’s Peter?” I asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen both of you without him.” One or the other, sure, but not both at once.

“Peter is safe in Saltmist with Helmi,” said Patrick. “We wanted to bring him, but it seemed . . . inadvisable.”

“Meaning you thought there might be a slaughter here,” I concluded.

Dianda shrugged. “Can you blame us? This is a whole new thing. Anyway, Peter’s getting older. He’s ready to stretch his fins a little, and if anybody tries to hurt him or take him hostage, Helmi can explain why it’s a bad idea.”

“Meaning she’ll assault them until they go away,” I said.

“You get used to it after you live in the Undersea long enough,” said Patrick. “Things are simpler there.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” I took a step back and Tybalt was there, putting an arm around my waist and pulling me, ever so gently, against him. If I didn’t focus on the fact that we were on a floating demesne in the middle of the ocean, the scene was almost pleasant. Everyone in this courtyard was a friend or an ally, or at minimum, someone I trusted to have my back in a fight. It was a level of security I didn’t have very often outside of my home.

Of course it couldn’t last.

The sound of marching feet broke our momentary peace. I pulled away from Tybalt and spun around to see what looked like a full detachment of armored guards enter our courtyard, arraying themselves to either side of the entryway. I didn’t recognize their livery, which featured a red-and-yellow chevron with a hippocampus rampant above three radiant sea stars.

Dianda did. She was on her feet in an instant, transforming back into her bipedal form with a smooth, somehow frenetic speed as she moved to place herself in front of Dean and Patrick. That, more than the ceremonial tridents in the hands of the guards, told me something was wrong.

The Undersea is a dangerous place. They still settle disputes the old-fashioned way: by beating on each other until only the victor is left standing. Dianda blustered. Dianda threatened. Dianda had never, in my experience, looked genuinely alarmed. She was protecting the people she cared about. She didn’t look openly scared, but there was a tension to her shoulders I’d never seen there before. Not good.

Poppy fell back a step. Marcia didn’t. She was pinned between two planters, her hands full of strawberries, and there was nowhere for her to go.

Quentin took a step toward me. I offered him a quick, encouraging nod, and he crossed the rest of the short distance between us, falling into place at my side. The guards were still coming, making a clear display of force. I touched the knife at my belt, and wondered whether calling for the Luidaeg would do any good at all. One of the many geasa she lives under forbids her to injure any descendants of Titania. I couldn’t say for sure—I don’t have enough practice identifying Undersea fae—but I thought at least some of the guards were Merrow, which would render the Luidaeg powerless to move against them.

Maybe it was better to let her stay inside, where she could watch and take notes, but couldn’t wind up stuck in an untenable position. No matter how much better I would have felt with a really big stick by my side.

“Toby,” said Quentin in a low voice.

“Stand your ground,” I said. “We’ll figure this out.”

The guards stopped coming, and a final man stepped into the courtyard.

Unlike the guards, he wore no armor. His clothing was far more reminiscent of that worn by the denizens of the Duchy of Ships, almost but not quite historical, like something from a maritime fantasy novel. His doublet was the same red as the chevrons on the guards, and he had the hippocampus and sea stars stitched above his right breast, the lines of the insignia picked out