“I have a continent,” said Dad mildly.
“Ah, but I have cats, and they are so much more trouble that each of my subjects counts as ten of yours. Truly, you should bow before me, out of gratitude that my throne keeps the Cait Sidhe from your door.” Tybalt sounded almost bored. That was a lie. His eyes were sharp, and his body was angled, ever so slightly, toward Toby; he was ready to move to her defense in an instant, if he needed to.
Even if he wasn’t good enough for her, it was nice to finally have the two of them together. It made her a little more likely to live long enough to see me crowned.
“You were supposed to let me introduce you,” I said.
Tybalt looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because you’re a prince? Ask your father how much credit a cat gives to a prince of your Court. I like you better as a squire, stripling. Remember that, and ask not for what you have not earned.”
I swallowed my smile. It wouldn’t have been appropriate. “I will,” I said gravely, and turned to May, saying, “May Daye, Fetch and housemate.”
“I do the dishes a lot of the time,” said May amiably. “Toby would throw them away and buy new ones if I let her, and Quentin’s seventeen. He thinks the dishwasher is purely decorative.”
“He’s a prince,” said Dad. “He doesn’t need to know how to wash dishes.”
“No treason intended, Highness, but he lives with me, and he needs to know how not to create a biohazard every time he eats something,” said May.
Toby finally came up from her curtsy, sending a glance in my direction before she focused on my parents. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I always wondered what kind of people would let me have responsibility for their child, and you’re exactly as terrifying as I figured you’d be. So I guess the question is, are you just here to meet the woman who makes sure your son goes to bed before noon every day, or are you here because you want to decide whether or not he gets to stay with me?”
The room went still. Even Tybalt froze, the tightness in his shoulders telling me he’d known the question was coming, even as he’d expected it to be asked with slightly more delicacy. It was sort of funny sometimes, watching him discover the places where his expectations of Toby collided with the reality of her. She was both more and less delicate than he thought she was.
This wasn’t one of the funny times. Arden looked like she was holding her breath. May just looked sad. She’d also known what Toby was going to ask. Maybe she’d known before Toby did, even.
My father turned to look at me, and I knew. My parents had never been cruel to me—the opposite, in fact; even giving the bulk of my care over to my nursemaids had been a form of kindness—but everyone in our household had learned to read them as a form of self-defense, even me and Penthea. It had been years since I’d seen that expression, and that didn’t matter, because I was never going to forget that mixture of regret and determination. He’d worn it when he’d agreed to send me away, even though I’d been crying and begging him not to do it. It was a look that had never, in my lifetime, been welcome.
“The latter, I’m afraid,” he said. “Enough of you know his secret that his fosterage can no longer be considered properly blind, and without that protection, we have to question the wisdom of leaving our son and heir a continent’s width away from his parents. We came to recognize a rightful queen. We’ve stayed because it’s time to discuss the necessity and importance of bringing our son home.”
Two
The room went silent, and even more profoundly still. Toby looked like she’d just been punched in the gut—and I’ve seen that happen enough times to know what it looks like. Even though she was the one who’d asked the question, she was the only one who seemed surprised by the answer.
Mom stepped forward. Not much, barely a half step, but enough to set her skirts rustling. In the stillness and silence of the room, that was like clapping her hands for attention. All eyes went to her. “Please understand, Sir Daye, we are incredibly grateful for what you’ve done for our son. The change in his letters since he met you has been day and night. He’s blossomed. You’ve given him challenges to meet and quests to accomplish, and he’ll be a better king one day because of his time with you.”
I found my voice. “Imagine what kind of king I’d be if you let me stay,” I said. My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. It didn’t help. “I’m not ready for my knighthood yet.”
“You don’t have to be knighted to become High King,” said Dad. “When we step aside and the crown is set on your brow, no one will care if you knelt and swore before the rose and the thorn.”
“I’ll care,” I mumbled, glancing at my feet.
“What was that?”
“I said, I’ll care.” I lifted my head again, taking the risk and meeting his eyes. “I didn’t have to be a squire. I asked. I asked if I could take my training in that direction, because I wanted to. I made commitments. I made promises. Please don’t make me break them. Please don’t make me go.”
“Your first promise was to us, and you broke that willingly enough,” said my father. The warning in his voice was impossible to miss—the warning, and the confusion. When he’d sent me away, I would never have dreamed of arguing with him in front of people outside of the family.
What he didn’t understand was that these people, with the exception of Arden, were my family. Even Tybalt. Even if he did watch Toby’s ass when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“I didn’t break any promises to you,” I said.
“Didn’t you?” he asked. “When we sent you into blind fosterage, we told you the rules. They were very clear. You were to reveal your identity only if your life hung in the balance, and even then, you were to stay silent if there was any chance whatsoever that breaking your own silence would endanger your sister.”
It wasn’t as heartless as it sounded. Penthea had the same instructions. Losing one of us would be devastating. Losing both of us would have repercussions that could shatter the Westlands. There was a reason High Kings and Queens sent their children into anonymous exile, and it wasn’t because they wanted a little alone time.
“I know,” I said. I couldn’t stop my voice from dropping on the second word, withering until it was almost a whisper.
“Yet you revealed yourself anyway.”
“To his credit, he was showing forethought and wisdom when he did.” Tybalt sounded as smoothly unconcerned as ever, like he was commenting on something that was happening on television. His pupils, though, had narrowed to slits, and while his face hadn’t changed outwardly, his posture was less relaxed and more predatory.
Dad turned to frown at him. “This is none of your concern.”
“Ah, but you see, it is my concern, and more, I seem to be one of only two people in this room who may speak freely to you if I so wish—with the other being your lovely lady wife. A pity, milady, that your son did not inherit your coloring. Such beautiful hair you have, and such a charming manner.” Mom looked nonplussed again. Tybalt focused his attention back on Dad. “Your son is a credit to your house and name. All the more because, had I known his lineage, I would have refused to speak with him at all. A rose by any other name would still have thorns, and the relations between Kings and Queens of Cats and those who claim your High Thrones have never been smooth. Your boy is close friends with my nephew, who will be King in my stead one day. He is clearly a born diplomat, meant to join our disparate Kingdoms after centuries of dissent.”
Mom glanced to me. I shrugged. “He always talks like this. You sort of learn to put up with it or turn the volume up on the TV.”
“As you can see, his disrespect for me, a King of Cats, is also a credit to your house,” said Tybalt, not missing a beat. “When he revealed himself—when he broke, as you say, his word—he was not in immediate danger. No blades were held to his throat, no curses aimed at his heart. But he had something you do not, because h
e paid attention to what surrounded him.”
“And what is that?” asked Dad.
“Context,” said Tybalt. “Your son watched the world around him, and saw that should Queen Windermere refuse her throne, the nameless usurper who had stolen it from the Windermere line would not cease her efforts to destroy Sir Daye—and all who stood with her. The woman’s hatred of milady has never been explained to my satisfaction. That does not make it any less real. She had banished Sir Daye shortly before the missing heir was found. As October’s squire, Quentin would have been expected to go with her, or explain his reasons why. As the false queen was both Banshee and Siren, he would not have been able to lie to her. Allowing October’s banishment to be carried out would have made him either exile or target—and lest you think ‘exile’ would have been the kinder option, I knew this lying regent of old. She would have placed a price upon milady’s head before the border closed, that Sir Daye might never return. Your son saved his life when he spilled his secrets. Be sure of that.”
“Do you think he sits around coming up with lists of things to call each of us, in case he needs to make a speech, so he never has to use the same one twice?” asked May, leaning toward Toby. “Like, ‘lying regent’? Who thinks like that?”
“Tybalt does,” said Toby fondly. Those words seemed to break the seal on her tongue, because she took a step toward my parents, burying her hands in her skirt, and said, “And he’s right. I don’t think we’d be alive right now, either of us, if we hadn’t managed to convince Arden—I mean, Queen Windermere—to take the throne. The false Queen was running out of options by the end, and she’d hated me for years. She was going to take me down no matter what.”
“So our son is in danger when he’s with you.” Dad made the comment sound mild and absolutely damning at the same time, like it resolved the whole matter. The conversation was over: Toby had condemned herself.
She laughed.
Mom blinked, taken aback. So did Dad, although he looked more angry than confused. Toby stopped laughing.
“Are you going to try to play that card now?” she asked. “When I was asked to be his knight, I’d already escorted him on a field trip through Blind Michael’s lands and gotten him shot. Like, with a bullet that came out of a gun and put a hole in his shoulder and everything. He’s not in more danger now than he was when I agreed to take him on, and Duke Sylvester Torquill told me, in so many words, that his parents approved of me standing as his knight. So either my liege lied to me or you’re ignoring the part where he’s always been in danger because he’s in my company. I’ve never pretended otherwise.”
“She hasn’t gotten me killed yet either,” I piped up, earning myself a glare from Dad and a concerned look from Mom. It was like they’d just realized I wasn’t kidding when I wrote home about the dangerous stuff Toby and I did together—and that Toby had been serious when she’d said basically the same thing.
I decided it was better to be hanged for something I’d actually done than something they were assuming, and pressed on. “When I came to the Mists, I thought I was better than everybody. Changelings weren’t as good as purebloods, Cait Sidhe were beasts pretending at having a monarchy, and I was going to be the best king ever, because I knew what the hierarchy was. And now I know it’s not what you are, it’s what you do. Changelings are just as good as anybody. Cait Sidhe are loyal and smart and will die for the people they care about. Raj and I met in Blind Michael’s lands, and he’s my brother now. What we saw there, what we went through together? He’s my brother. Even if you take me home right now, you can’t change that. I would have been a terrible High King. I thought most of the people who are going to be my subjects were less than I was. That’s not how you lead. That’s how you start a revolution.”
Dad started to speak, and stopped as Mom reached over and placed a hand on his arm.
“He’s right,” she said gently. “You know he’s right, so don’t embarrass us both by arguing with him. When we agreed to send them into blind fosterage, it was to protect them, but it was also to show them a world outside the castle. We wanted them to mature enough to be good leaders someday. He’s doing exactly what we sent him here to do.”
“He’s revealing himself,” Dad said.
“I’m not twelve anymore,” I said. They both looked toward me again. “I know five years doesn’t seem like much when you’ve been alive for centuries—”
“Tell me about it,” muttered May.
“—but for me, five years is more than a quarter of my life. I’ve been here for a quarter of my life. I’ve learned a lot. I’m still a kid, but I’m not a little boy. When I told them who I was, I knew it was going to change things.” Those words couldn’t encompass how much I hated the way Toby sometimes looked at me now, like she was afraid of saying something that could be construed as treason. How much I hated knowing that Arden would never see me as anything but the Crown Prince. Sometimes, things have costs. “No one forced me. No one knew what I was going to say. I made my own choices.”
Raj had known, of course; Raj had known who I really was for years. A cat may look at a king, and it turns out a prince will recognize his own kind, no matter how hard that second prince is trying to hide.
I took a steadying breath. “I’d be in danger at home, too. Maybe more, because I’m not old enough to be an adult. I still need training. Duke Torquill says my blood magic and illusions are improving, but they’re not good enough to keep me alive. Sir Etienne has been helping with my fencing lessons. I’m not good enough there, either. I’m doing really well for a seventeen-year-old boy, but for a prince on home ground with all the rest of the nobility in the Westlands gunning for me? I’m not ready.”
“And there’s one thing everyone is leaving out here, which is that we love him,” said May. We all turned to look at her. She looked back, unrepentant. “He’s our Quentin. We don’t care that he’s a prince. He’s just the kid who hogs the TV on Saturday mornings, and argues with Toby about who ate the last of the Pop-Tarts. He’s your son, and please believe me when I say we would never belittle that connection, but we love him, too. We care about him, too. We only want what’s best for him, and right now, what’s best for him is staying exactly where he is.”
“It’s rare for a prince to be among those who love him for who he is, and not for who he may one day become,” said Tybalt, and there was an old sorrow in his words, almost buried in the haughty tone he always assumed among strangers. “Please believe me when I say that your son is blessed beyond words to be who he is, where he is, surrounded by people who met his revelation with shrugs and an absolute lack of concern.”
I snorted. Toby’s response to finding out I was the Crown Prince had been anything but unconcerned. But that wasn’t the point now, was it?
“I’ll probably get him shot again before his training’s over,” said Toby. “That’s sort of what I do. I’m a knight errant. It’s not even that I’m a magnet for trouble; it’s that when there’s trouble, it’s my job to go and hit it until it goes away, and right now, it’s Quentin’s job to follow me and see how not to die. If you want to know that he’ll be absolutely safe and protected and never get bruised or scarred, I’m not your girl. But I think . . . I think you knew that when you trusted him to me in the first place. And at this point, there’s no one in the world who’ll fight harder to keep him safe, except for maybe the two of you.”
“Maybe?” said Mom, raising her eyebrows.
Toby shrugged. She seemed to have gotten over her fear of insulting my parents and moved into her usual “treason is just another word for Tuesday” mode of interacting with the nobility. That was a relief, even though it meant her greatest fear had already come to pass. They were talking about taking me away from her. After that, very little held any terror in her eyes.
“I don’t quite get pureblood childrearing techniques, Your Highness,” said Toby. “I think this is one of those
cultural differences you can’t talk your way around. If Quentin were my son, I would never have been able to bring myself to send him away, not even for his own protection. It would have killed me.”
“It nearly did,” said Mom softly. She glanced at me, and her eyes were bright. Her cosmetic spells meant I couldn’t see if she was crying. She always said that was good. Gave her an edge when she was facing lesser nobles who didn’t want to do as they were told. “Sending my children away was harder than I ever thought it would be, but it was something I knew I was risking when I married the man who would be king. I love my boy, Sir Daye. You and I are alike in that. We both want what’s best for him.”
“What’s best for me is right here,” I said. “This is where my friends are. Raj, he’s a Prince of Cats, but he’s really cool. We have movie nights. And there’s Chelsea, we just found her, she was a changeling and now she’s not—”
“What?” Mom whipped around to stare at me. Dad did the same, but more sedately, like he was afraid of making a sudden motion and attracting her attention. “What did you just say?”
“Um. Chelsea? She’s a friend of mine?” I glanced helplessly at Toby, who shook her head, looking as lost as I felt. It occurred to me that maybe Mom wasn’t as blasé about changelings turning into purebloods as the rest of us. She didn’t live here, after all. “You know this Kingdom has a hope chest, right?” Which we hadn’t used, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell her that.
“Yes . . .” she said.
“If I may,” said Tybalt, interjecting himself before things could get ugly. “Young Chelsea is the daughter of a Knight of Shadowed Hills and a mortal woman. He was unaware that their brief tryst had borne fruit, and when Chelsea reached her teenage years, she manifested her powers in a rather impressive way. It was necessary to neutralize her without killing her, as she is a quite lovely girl, and didn’t deserve such a fate.”