Page 8 of The Unkindest Tide

The Luidaeg nodded. “The Selkies,” she confirmed. “Their skins—didn’t you ever wonder where they came from? Who had to be flensed to put such power into a pelt?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” murmured Dean.

“The first Selkies were the ones who brought the skins of my children back to me,” said the Luidaeg. “They had blood on their hands, but they weren’t the ones to shed it, and they said they were sorry. They said they’d do anything to assuage my wrath. So I made them my own. I draped them in sealskin and set them to the sea. I made them fae and less than fae in the same breath, because their children were still human, still mortal, and if they didn’t want to suffer the way I’d suffered, they knew they would have to pass those skins along. Conditional immortality. The first generation of Selkies thought they could stand the pain. They couldn’t. They’ve been passing the skins along ever since, sacrificing the sea for the sake of their children over and over again, always waiting for the day when I would come and tell them their time was up, their penance was paid, and now it was time for them to settle the final bill.”

“Meaning what?” asked Quentin.

“Meaning a daughter of Amandine’s line has finally stepped up to do her damn job,” said the Luidaeg. She turned to face me, and her eyes remained as dark as drowning. “Meaning I didn’t give them time because I wanted to. I did it because I didn’t have a choice. A hope chest wasn’t enough. My own father’s blood magic might not have been enough, even assuming he’d be willing to intervene on my behalf—and I couldn’t count on that. I was already half-broken. I was already halfway to becoming the monster my sister wanted me to be. But they saw the future. The Roane saw the future. They saw you.”

The blood rushed out of my head, leaving me faint, and incredibly grateful for Tybalt’s closeness. He must have felt me wobble, because he slipped an arm around my waist, holding me upright.

“Oh,” I said. “Is that all?”

The Luidaeg smiled, very slightly. “Liar’s daughter, come to turn back the tide. That’s what they called you. You’re a living hope chest. You have the blood magic I’ve been waiting for. Oh, it could have been August—could even have been your mother—but neither of them stepped up. So it’s on you. I have what I need to finish this. I told Liz to spread the word, and then I tried to wait until you’d gotten comfortable with what you had the potential to become. I really did.”

“I know,” I said. “You can’t lie.”

“I can’t,” she agreed. “But three years ago I told Liz the Selkies had a year, and I’m pushing the limits of that statement. You’re ready. You’re strong enough. I need to act, or I’m going to make a liar of myself. The consequences of that would be . . . bad.”

“How bad?” asked Quentin.

“Bad enough,” said the Luidaeg, eyes still on me. “You know what happens now.”

I sighed deeply. “Yeah. I do.”

The Luidaeg lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not going to argue? Try to run? Any of that bullshit?”

“No. Even if I thought I could get away with it—and I know enough to know that I can’t—I wouldn’t do that to you.” I looked at her as levelly as I could. “This is your family. You deserve to stop mourning for them. Go ahead and say it.”

“Very well, then.” The Luidaeg took a deep breath. The air around us slowed until it became perfectly still, like the air right before some terrible storm rolls in. It grew colder and full of static at the same time, crackling around us, heavy with the memory of lightning. The Luidaeg never took her eyes off me.

“Sir October Christine Daye, Knight of Lost Words, daughter of Amandine the Liar, sworn in service to Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, hero of the realm in the Mists, there are debts between us,” she said, and her voice was cold and hollow, and filled with ancient echoes. “Do you deny this?”

“I don’t,” I said.

Tybalt said nothing.

“I would have them settled,” she said. “I would see you free of me.”

“For five minutes, tops,” muttered Quentin.

The Luidaeg shot him a look that was somewhere between amused and annoyed before she focused on me again. “Do you accept my right to demand repayment of your debts?”

“I do,” I said.

“Then in two months’ time, when Moving Day arrives, you will come with me to the Duchy of Ships, and we will finally put paid to the debts that lie between us. By the tide and the tempest, it is said; by the water and the wave, it shall be done.”

A pulse seemed to flow through the room, striking us all, making the hair on my arms stand on end. Then it was gone, taking the chill and the electric charge in the air with it. I shivered, allowing myself to lean against Tybalt, keeping my eyes on the Luidaeg.

“That sounded fancy, but what did it mean?” I asked.

The Luidaeg looked suddenly weary. “It means on May first, you and I and whoever your Queen Windermere decides ought to be present will get on a boat and sail to the Duchy of Ships, where all the Selkies in the world will be gathering to have their skins permanently bound to their bodies. We’re bringing back the Roane, Toby. After all this time and all these deaths, we’re bringing back the Roane.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “That.”

“You knew this was coming,” said the Luidaeg. “You were there when I told Liz the bill was coming due.”

“Yes, but . . . I sort of forgot a little?” I ran a hand through my hair. “It was always something that was going to happen, something in the future. Not something happening now.”