The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,88
a sign of trouble to come, I folded my arms and looked the Cephali languidly up and down before lifting an eyebrow. “What are you supposed to be?” I asked. “The wall we have to scale to get to freedom? Because trust me, I’m not in the mood for rock climbing right now. How about you go do something else, and let us walk away nice and easy?”
He sneered. Actually sneered. It was a pretty good display of arrogance and misreading the situation, if I did say so myself. “Out of my way, vermin,” he snapped. “This is between me and the traitors.”
“Wow, ‘traitor’ is a moving target around here, isn’t it? See, where I come from, the people who are defending the son of the rightful regent aren’t the traitors, they’re the heroes of the hour. Quentin?”
“Um, yes?” My squire sounded uncertain. I couldn’t blame him for that. I was so far off-script at this point that I might as well have been part of an entirely different production.
That was the plan. If even my allies were off balance, the people who were supposed to be fighting me would have absolutely no idea how to handle themselves. “Can I have that big fork you took from the patrol we beat the snot out of?”
The Cephali man glowered, his tentacles curling closer to his body in a move I could only interpret as enraged. They lightened at the same time, that inky shade of cobalt retreating to their very tips.
“I bet they didn’t get the Smurfs down here under the Pacific, but trust me, you look like a giant angry Smurf right now, and it’s not helping you look impressive.” I stuck my hand out. To my immense relief, Quentin slapped the shaft of his borrowed trident into it. “How about we dance, big guy? Just you and me.”
“I don’t honor vermin with my strength,” he rumbled.
“I’m not vermin,” I replied. “I am a knight of the Divided Courts—which means, right, the Court that includes the Undersea. You’ve listed no titles, bucko, which probably means you don’t have any. I outrank you. If I am vermin, that means you’re below vermin. You’re less than the thing you sneer at. If I’m not vermin, maybe your honor survives the day. Either way, you and me, we’re going to do this.”
He looked, briefly, confused. “You lack the authority—”
“What I lack in authority, I make up for in big pointy things.” I leveled the trident on him. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I could hear the others shifting behind me, uncertain about exactly what was happening. Quentin would catch on soon, if he hadn’t already. He’s been with me for long enough to understand that my seemingly suicidal actions almost never are—and that even if they were, it wouldn’t stick. I may not be unkillable, but I’m hard to put down for more than a few minutes.
The Cephali continued to look unsure. So I stabbed him in the nearest tentacle.
He bellowed, raising his own trident and jabbing it toward me with a speed and force born entirely of fury. Reasonable fury, even, since he hadn’t come here expecting a strange woman from the land Court to stab him. I dodged his blow, wrenching my own trident free, and stabbed him again.
“You can do better than that!” I shouted. “What are you, a guppy?”
He didn’t look like he understood the insult. Oh, well. Guppies are freshwater fish, but I’d still considered it to be pretty good. He stabbed for me again, and I danced backward, keeping his attention on me.
“Do they not teach you to fight here in the Undersea?” I jeered. “Have we been worried about invasion all this time for nothing? Gosh, wait until I go home and tell the Queen. She’ll be so relieved.”
He howled and stabbed for me again. This time, I didn’t dodge fast enough; one of the tines scratched my upper arm before I could get out of the way, opening a line of pain along the slope of my bicep. I didn’t yell. I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I danced away again, glancing to the side as Helmi swarmed up the wall, Peter clutched firmly in her arms.
Cephali don’t think about gravity the way most people do. They don’t consider it optional, like the air fae, but they do consider it negotiable, and are equally happy sticking to the floor or the ceiling. If my unwitting opponent wanted a chance of beating me, he needed to