Page 19 of The Unkindest Tide

“Good. Because your first test is almost here.”

The great ship had sailed closer as we talked among ourselves; now it was almost to the pier. It shouldn’t have been able to fit there. It should have run up against hidden obstacles, ancient, rotting support beams and fresh-poured concrete pylons. It did no such thing. It sailed, straight and true, until it pulled up along the pier and a voice called from above, “’Ware below!”

“That means step back,” said the Luidaeg.

We stepped back, watching as a gangplank dropped from the side of the ship and landed, neat as anything, against the pier. It was perfectly dry, with ropes along the sides to keep passengers from falling off the ship and into the water as they boarded.

A Satyr appeared at the top of the gangplank, dressed in a long black coat that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a pirate ship, with a tricornered hat perched jauntily on his head. His hooves seemed to have been treated with something that helped them grip the deck, because his steps were steady and sure, even as he bowed deeply to the lot of us.

“All who come in peace are welcome aboard,” he called, as he straightened. “How many are you?”

“Ten,” called the Luidaeg. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“I was dispatched to take a gathering to the Duchy of Ships,” the Satyr replied, seemingly unoffended by her question. “If I’m not your ship, I’m not your ship, but I’ll not be taking passengers anywhere else.”

“We’re going to the same place,” said the Luidaeg. “Poppy?”

“Here, here,” said Poppy, hurrying to stand beside her.

The two of them walked up the gangplank. At the top, the Luidaeg offered the Satyr a shallow nod, which he returned. Poppy bounced onto her toes, then hugged him, leaving him looking nonplussed as she followed the Luidaeg onto the ship.

I exchanged a glance with Tybalt, shrugged, and started up the gangplank myself. He hurried to match his steps to mine, and Quentin followed behind us. Dean and Marcia seemed to take that as their cue; they joined us on the gangplank, with Nolan and Cassandra behind them, and Gillian bringing up the rear.

At the top, the Satyr offered me a thin-lipped smile. “Whom do I have the honor of meeting?” he asked.

“Sir October Daye of Shadowed Hills, Knight of Lost Words, hero of the realm,” I said, as blandly as I could manage. “I’m accompanied by Tybalt, King of Dreaming Cats, and my squire, Quentin.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Tybalt, with a thin-lipped smile of his own.

Quentin waved.

The Satyr blinked—once—and looked me up and down. “You’re Sir Daye?” he asked.

“Last time I checked,” I said. “Why?”

“No offense, I beg, but I thought you’d be . . . well, taller. And larger. And terrifying. I expected substantially more in the way of teeth.”

“Sorry. No extra teeth here.” I shrugged. “Do we need to pay you or anything?”

“No!” Now he looked horrified. “My name’s Rodrick; I sail at the pleasure of Captain Pete; your fare has already been paid by the Duchy of Ships. It would be rude, if not immoral, for us to take anything more from you. We’d be naught but common pirates if we did that.”

“Got it. Come on, Quentin. Mind your step. The deck might be slippery.” I stepped off the gangplank, onto the ship proper, and barely managed to catch myself on Tybalt’s arm before I toppled over in disorientation and shock.

The world spun around me, a sudden carousel of light, color, and sickeningly irregular motion. Then it passed, and I was standing on the deck of the ship—but the sky above us was shot through with veins of glittering purple and spectacularly bright gold, and I could count at least eight moons without really trying. We were in the Summerlands. I looked frantically around, settling my gaze on the Luidaeg, who shrugged almost sympathetically.

“The Duchy of Ships is a unique case,” she said. “The ships that go back and forth between the coastal kingdoms and the ducal waters are functionally floating knowes. You crossed over when you willingly stepped onboard.”

“You could have warned me,” I snapped.

She smirked. “Where would have been the fun in that?”

“Right.” I forced myself to loosen my grasp on Tybalt’s arm, shooting him a wan smile to balance the alarm in his expression. “I’m fine. You know transitions can be hard on me.”

“I haven’t seen one hit you that hard in a very long time,” he said solemnly.

“It’s always harder when there haven’t been other people with human blood making the transition,” I said. My eyes widened as a sudden, horrifying realization hit me. “Marcia!”

“What?”