Crown of Salt, page 22
part #4 of Faerie Lords Series
“Agreed, of course,” said Percy. “I’ve already made a call. One of my family’s associates has set aside some rooms for us. I must say, Monsieur, your incredible reputation does not do you enough credit. I will be pleased to fulfill what favors I owe you when you come calling — but until then, I hope the accommodations will give you some sense of my gratitude.”
La Voûte paused, and Valentine thought she caught a hint of annoyance in his manner. “Ah,” he said. “That is very generous, Mister Atheling.” Valentine hid a wry smile. The lawyer might well have covered drinks for the evening, but she was sure that Percy had far outdone him with whatever lodgings he’d arranged for the night.
What a stupid game, she thought. I’m pleased to be caught in the middle of it.
“Ooh,” said Zoe. “That sounds promising.” She stumbled slightly as she stood up, but caught herself against the table.
La Voûte sighed again, and flagged down a server. “Take my card please,” he said. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”
The hotel to which Percy took them felt more like a museum than a place to rest one’s head. Valentine couldn’t see their surroundings, but she heard the tap of marble beneath her feet — mainly because there was no other sound in the lobby. There was a weird, hushed reverence there that she normally associated with churches and libraries.
“Mister Wessex, of course,” greeted a woman at the desk as they approached. She slid something across the counter toward him. “With your sister’s compliments.”
“Oh, Sissy,” Percy murmured. “There’s no getting anything past you, is there?” He handed something to Monsieur Moreau, and took Valentine by the arm. “Well, it has certainly been an evening. I shall see you both better-rested tomorrow night, I hope.”
“I think this is real gold,” Zoe whispered to her employer, in a whisper that was once more not very quiet at all. “Who makes keys out of solid gold? Wait, I work for a faerie. I can’t talk, I’m sure this is just her style.”
Percy cleared his throat, but Valentine was quite sure he was only doing it to cover a snort. “Goodnight, Miss Carter,” he said.
He kept his arm around Valentine’s shoulders on their way up the lift and into their room. By the time they got there, she found herself mostly exhausted — and she had the feeling she wasn’t the only one.
“Lord,” Percy murmured. “Sissy seems to have arranged for a honeymoon suite. It’s her way of saying she knows what I’ve been up to all along.”
“Rich people are so bloody strange,” Valentine mumbled into his shoulder. “Is it common to spend so much money just to make a petty point?”
Percy contemplated that. He closed the door behind them and began to tug Valentine’s coat gently from her shoulders. “I suppose it is quite common,” he admitted finally. “It’s been a while since I thought of it that way.”
There was a special care in his touch — as though he was worried about breaking her. Valentine suspected he was still worried about her reaction to everything that had happened with Sidney that evening.
Maybe he’s right to be, she thought. Alcohol had dulled the pain, but her eyes throbbed, and her head felt as though it had been stuffed full of cotton. That terrible sense of unfairness kept swimming back to her whenever she dared to think of that room. Sidney’s voice echoed in her mind, whimpering out the Lord’s Prayer with that self-righteous certainty—
Percy kissed the corner of her mouth, and she blinked back to the present. “There will come a day when you barely remember all of that,” he said softly. “I know it won’t be tonight... but someday. He won’t have hold of you forever.”
His fingers flicked open the buttons on the blouse she’d borrowed from Halstead, lingering gingerly on each one. Valentine caught his hand in hers uncertainly. “I’m sure I’m not supposed to be sulkin’ on my weddin’ night,” she muttered.
“I’ve always been very bad at doing what I’m supposed to do,” Percy told her. He kissed the other corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t be averse to sulking with you, if you’d like. I’m still quite upset myself.”
Valentine managed a slight smile at that. She released his hand, and he continued helping her undress. He kissed her absently now and then as he worked, but there was more affection there than heat.
“There’s an utterly ridiculous bathtub,” he told her. “How would you feel about washing off the day while we drink all of these little bottles of alcohol and run up Sissy’s tab?”
Valentine’s smile inched further upward. “You’re beggin’ for a hangover, Percy,” she said.
“I’ve already exercised my second thought for the day,” he informed her airily. “I’m not allowed to have another.” She heard him pop open the top of a bottle. “Cheers, my dear Valentine.”
It was indeed a ridiculous bathtub. They spent a good deal of time fulfilling Percy’s proposition — he insisted on handing tiny bottles to Valentine so frequently that she stopped bothering to ask what they were in between sips. And if the occasional dark thought came back to bother her, it was always quickly dashed away again with soft kisses and languid laughter.
As soon as they stumbled into bed, Percy tugged her into his arms and sighed against her. “I hope that wasn’t too terrible a wedding night,” he murmured. “I’m afraid I’ve got no practice to go on.”
Valentine smiled dimly. “It was fine, to my mind,” she said. “I ‘aven’t got any practice either, though.”
She felt Percy blink slowly against the back of her neck. “I’m a bit drunk,” he admitted. “So perhaps my mind isn’t working as it should. You did, er, have a first wedding?”
Valentine yawned broadly. “I had a weddin’,” she agreed. “No weddin’ night, though. Got sold off fairly quick afterward. This time’s been far preferable.”
Percy’s brow knitted. He seemed to be struggling through some difficult train of thought. “You hadn’t, then... er...”
“Had relations?” she asked dryly. “No, I can’t say as I did.”
Percy groaned and pressed his forehead to her back. “I deflowered a virgin,” he mumbled drunkenly. “Everyone always said I would, and I never believed them—”
“It’s not th’ nineteen hundreds anymore, Percy,” Valentine told him, with a roll of her eyes.
“—I didn’t even think to ask. And now I can’t remember if I hurt you, I... a thousand apologies, I feel just awful—”
A thousand apologies?
Valentine sucked in her breath sharply. “Percy!” she snapped. “You unbelievable, drunken knob! Are you mad?”
Percy stopped himself, blinking. Slowly, he recounted his words, one by one.
And he began to laugh.
“That isn’t funny!” Valentine protested. She turned in his arms, scowling. “You could do me a favor a day an’ it’d still be years before you worked that off—”
He pressed his lips to hers, still choking on laughter.
Slowly, she acquiesced to the kiss. For the briefest moment, Valentine felt a hint of sympathy for Cecilia Atheling for having dealt with the madman in front of her for a whole century.
“Years,” said Percy, in between laughs. “I like the sound of that. Years sound lovely, my dear Valentine.”
Valentine’s traitorous heart melted. She growled against his mouth. “I’m not even sure I can come up with a thousand favors, you daft sod.”
He threaded his fingers through hers, and she felt their rings tangle again. “Maybe you should spend a favor,” Percy said, with a grin in his voice. “And I’ll come up with a few for you in return.”
I give up. Valentine sighed, and shoved him beneath her. “I only know one way to shut you up,” she informed him. “You’ve brought this on yourself, so you know.”
Percy’s hands slid up her thighs. She didn’t have to see him to know that he was still smiling. “I shall endure somehow,” he assured her nobly.
By the time Valentine fell asleep, in a very satisfied tangle of limbs, the only husband on her mind was the one with his arms around her and his soft breath upon her neck.
Chapter 20
Miss Zoe Carter had a dainty, embarrassed little headache when they met downstairs the next evening. This was nothing compared to the chisels someone had taken to the inside of Valentine’s skull — but at least, she consoled herself, Percy was equally miserable.
“Oh, please don’t look at me like that, Monsieur,” Percy complained, on their way out of the hotel. “You have an impressively disapproving expression, I must say.”
“I would never deign to judge my clients’ choices one way or another,” La Voûte said in a deadpan voice.
“It must just be your normal expression, then,” Percy muttered. “I swear, it feels sometimes as though you’re peeling away at my soul.”
“It’s just his normal expression,” Zoe confirmed in a mumble. “If he was really upset, he’d be fiddling with his pen or something.” She paused, and Valentine had the distinct impression that La Voûte had turned those cold eyes upon his own secretary. “See? Now he’s upset. That’s what it looks like.”
“If we could return to practical matters, Zoe,” Monsieur Moreau said in a clipped tone, “perhaps you might recommend a path through Arcadia that would keep our party together for the majority of the distance.”
“Oh. Yeah, I think so. I’ll have to get us into the Hedge first, but I can orient us from there.” La Voûte’s secretary rummaged in a pocket, and Valentine felt a familiar warmth enfold her. Even without her Witchsight open, she knew the touch of Simon Leclair’s comforting magic.
He gave her his compass? Valentine wondered. She hadn’t gotten an up-close look at the talisman, but she was sure it must have been one of the most valuable things the Wanderer owned.
“I think we’ll want to take the Hidden Path we came through yesterday,” Zoe said, after a moment. “This way, everyone — and, uh. Let’s try to keep it quiet. I didn’t think to ask for any Advil before we left.”
Valentine let out a soft sigh of relief as they entered the Hedge. Vivid smears of color blossomed against her Witchsight, painting a slightly better picture of the path in front of her. Percy kept her arm, but she felt confident now that she wouldn’t need to lean on him for the most part.
In fact, Valentine probably could have taken the lead and gotten them all home in a relatively short length of time — but she had to admit that La Voûte’s secretary had things well in hand all on her own. The Hedge had always played favorites with the Lady of Briars and her warlocks, and it was clear that whatever time Zoe had been spending with the Wanderer of Arcadia, it hadn’t been going to waste.
Probably, this was why Zoe managed to spot the problem before any of the rest of them did.
Percy tightened his grip on Valentine’s arm, holding her back — she recognized an instant later that their group had paused, at Zoe’s insistence.
“Things are moving,” said Zoe quietly. “Arcadia just shifted.”
“I’m sorry?” Percy said, puzzled. “You don’t mean to say the entire world just moved around on us?”
“Yeah,” Zoe said slowly. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I mean. One of the faerie lords just moved their realm. The Briars got shoved aside. The Lady is not going to be happy about that.”
A spike of foreboding went through Valentine at that. Was it just her imagination, or had some dark echo whispered to the empty place in her soul where the Deeps had once settled? “What does the Hedge tell you?” she asked, with a great deal more calm than she actually felt.
“I’ll have a chat with it,” Zoe said. “One second.” The wild seed of the Briars that curled within the other woman’s soul slowly unfurled, coaxed out of hiding like a sunflower turning toward the sun. There was a tinge of something darker to that power — a flavor that Valentine had to furrow her brow to put her finger on. There was an extra hunger to that magic, a bloody red desire...
La Voûte’s secretary is a Scorpio, Valentine thought in surprise. Is she the one that did his office wards? How on earth did I never notice that before?
She didn’t have much time to dwell on the idea, though — the Briars snapped back from the Hedge abruptly, and Zoe hissed in her breath. “You were right,” she said to La Voûte. “He’s coming.”
Valentine tensed against Percy, her heart in her throat. She didn’t need to ask for clarification. The dark whisper in her soul hadn’t been an illusion.
He’s coming for Percy. The Drowned Lord.
“Th’ year isn’t up,” Valentine rasped. Her throat was suddenly dry with fear.
“The moment Sidney Ellis ended his deal, the Drowned Lord became very interested in our affairs,” said Monsieur Moreau. “If he was keeping track of Mister Ellis’ whereabouts, he’ll know our general path. He intends to force the matter, no doubt.” The lawyer didn’t sound at all taken aback by this turn of events — though, given his general lack of expression, he might have been utterly terrified and none of them would know the difference.
“We can’t stay here,” Valentine hissed. “We’re not ready, are we?”
“Mister Atheling’s case is as strong as it will ever be,” said Monsieur Moreau. “His success will hinge on one last factor, and we have prepared for that as best we can. Even if we were to escape now, it would only give the Drowned Lord longer to think about the implications of this development so he can prepare for it himself.”
Percy’s hand tightened on Valentine’s arm. Before, when she’d had her eyes, she might have believed he was just as blithe and unconcerned about the coming confrontation as he was about everything else. But the sunlight in his aura had abruptly dimmed, and his body wound with tension next to her, and she knew he was truly, appropriately afraid.
He had made the wager anyway.
Valentine set her jaw. “Don’t,” she muttered to Percy.
“Don’t what?” he asked lightly. “I promise, I haven’t got any harebrained ideas this time.”
“Don’t worry,” Valentine clarified. “I’ll kill him ‘afore I let him lay a single rotten finger on you.”
“We’ll call that Plan B, if you please, Madame Valentine,” said Monsieur Moreau dryly.
The waiting was interminable. Valentine’s mind buzzed frantically. She had plenty of ivory on her, but she’d never been able to fight off the Drowned Lord before. The Drowned Lord was older and more powerful than she was. She should have become Lord Blackfrost’s warlock after all — at least then, she’d have some sort of faerie magic to use against him—
Brackish water surged against her boots. The black, inky power of the Deeps bled into the vibrant hues of the Hedge, sucking away at its roots.
A terrible, familiar presence swept down upon them — so great and foreboding that Valentine had to close her Witchsight. The world plunged back into blind blackness, just as she heard his rasping voice.
“Little Atheling,” said the Drowned Lord. “You have broken the terms of our wager. I have come to claim your soul as mine.”
The words stunned the air from Valentine’s lungs. Nothing is broken, she thought. We were so careful—
“Ah, well.” Percy cleared his throat. “On that count, I’m afraid you’ll have to speak with my legal counsel. I believe you know one another already?”
The Drowned Lord’s heavy attention swept away from them, and Valentine knew that he was sizing up the placid lawyer next to them. “The secret-keeper,” he hissed. “I should have realized. You are in the process of making a deadly mistake.”
La Voûte remained utterly calm, somehow, in the face of that otherworldly power. “I was paid commensurately,” he said. “I don’t recall you complaining about my availabilities when I sold you other people’s secrets.”
The Drowned Lord laughed harshly. “A man with no loyalties also has no true allies,” he said. “You have greatly miscalculated by walking into Arcadia. Now that I have pried Lord Blackfrost’s secrets from you, it can only benefit me to end you before you sell my secrets in turn.”
“You what?” Zoe’s voice rang out in shocked indignation. “Dorian, how could you—”
“I am bound by rules,” Monsieur Moreau said icily. “And I have followed them to the letter... even when I would rather not do so.”
Some distant part of Valentine found that strange. The Lady of Briars hates Lord Blackfrost. Why would her warlock be upset at his secrets being sold? There was something deeper going on here, she had begun to realize. All of Lord Blackfrost’s overtures to the other faerie lords themselves had gone unanswered... but maybe, Valentine thought, he hadn’t been trying to ally himself with the faerie lords at all.
All warlocks know our masters’ secrets, Valentine thought. And so many of us hate them.
“Your rules do not concern me, Secret-keeper,” said the Drowned Lord. “You have set yourself against me, and I shall crush you for the nuisance.”
Valentine turned her blind eyes in his direction. “Any crushin’ will need to wait until you’ve proved your claim,” she said, with a cold calm that she didn’t really feel. “Percy didn’t violate any terms.”
The Drowned Lord laughed humorlessly. “How brave you are,” he hissed. “A witch with half a soul and no eyes. I do not fear you, ragged little Valentine. I would not take you back if you begged me. You have helped the Atheling, as evidenced by your presence here. Thus, has he broken his wager. I will take him with me — but I will leave you here, pathetic and alone, to live with your failure.”
“Until such time as our wager concludes, you shall neither see nor speak to my warlock,” quoted Monsieur Moreau. “Madame Valentine is no longer your warlock. As such, your restriction does not apply.”
“That is a matter of interpretation,” the Drowned Lord said. “And I do not agree.”
“In which case,” said La Voûte, “we shall need to consult the nearest unallied faerie lord... or their agent.” He shifted on his feet. “Madame Carter is present. And, as she is a warlock of the Lady of Briars, she may offer a decision on the matter.”
