The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,64

a joy.”

Dianda glared at him, jaw set, and said nothing.

“By the authority of Queen Palatyne of Leucothea, I place you, Dianda Lorden, under immediate arrest.” Torin sounded way too pleased about that. “If you come quietly, you will be treated as any other prisoner. Or you can contest the charges as a Merrow, and face the justice of the sea.”

Dean and Patrick both went pale. There was something I was missing. Dianda’s hands twitched, like she was longing to throw a punch. She glanced at her husband and son, and her shoulders sagged, leaving her looking smaller than I had ever seen her.

“What are the charges, please?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Torin scowled. “You truly intend to face justice like a weakling? Like a common—”

“What are the charges?” This time, her voice cracked like a whip, filled with all the fury and embarrassment her body could hold.

For the first time, Torin looked nervous. “Refusal to do your duty and provide the Duchy of Saltmist with a suitable heir. Sedition. Consorting with the enemy. And now, it seems, treason, for you’ve brought a king-breaker into our waters. For shame, Dianda. I regret I must call you ‘sister,’ and hope the tides will never bring us together again once this filthy work is done.”

“I am innocent of all charges; even of bringing Toby here,” said Dianda. “That was the sea witch. If you want to take it up with her, be my guest. I’d love to watch.”

Torin glared. Then he spun on his guards. “Take her,” he commanded.

The guards began to advance. Dianda turned, putting her hands on Dean’s shoulders.

“Do not fight them, any of you,” she hissed, but her eyes were fixed on her son, pleading with him to hear her, to understand. “This will all be fine. It’s a mistake, we’ll fix it, but if you fight, you acknowledge that you would rather be tried as Merrow, and he will kill you. So do not fight them. I’ll be all right. I promise.”

“Mom?” Dean suddenly sounded very young, and very lost.

Dianda pulled him into a quick hug. “Oh, my brave boy.”

Patrick touched her shoulder. She tensed, looking like she was fighting the urge to swing. Then she let Dean go and wrapped herself around Patrick, holding him so tightly that there was no space left between them, no room for a shiver or a sigh.

She whispered something in his ear as she released him and stepped away. He closed his eyes, and didn’t see the guards grab her wrists and wrap them in chains of rowan braided with silver. He didn’t see them pull her toward the exit. He didn’t even see Torin plant a hand between her shoulders and shove, laughing as she stumbled. He just stood there, voluntarily sightless, and let the moment pass him by.

I couldn’t blame him. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing any of us could do, except stand there and watch Dianda’s brother lead her away. She kept her shoulders high and her head up, and he scowled, and then they were gone, and we were alone.

TEN

PATRICK PUT HIS HANDS over his face, standing stone-still in the middle of the courtyard. Poppy flicked her wings, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly, until her feet left the ground and she was hovering a foot or so in the air, looking genuinely distraught. Dean pressed his face into Quentin’s shoulder. I was fairly sure he was crying.

I looked around the group. No one, not even Tybalt, would meet my eyes.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Sometimes I forget,” said Tybalt. His voice was soft; almost hollow. “I know your political education has been piecemeal at best, but your mother was Firstborn, and Sylvester only ever wanted to do well by you, and sometimes I forget how much you don’t know.”

“I’d know if you’d tell me,” I snapped. “Torin’s going to take Dianda to Pete, right? Or the Duchess of Ships. Who oversees Dianda’s trial? Where do we need to go?”

“Nowhere,” said a voice.

I turned.

The Luidaeg was standing just outside her apartment, back in what I thought of as her “normal” guise: overalls and tank top and pigtails and pain. Her hands were by her sides, and the sorrow in her driftglass eyes was almost painful to behold.

“The Convocation means people can enter the Duchy, but they can’t leave without Pete’s explicit permission,” said the Luidaeg. “The docks are closed. No ships sail. I’m sure a few people will sneak away in