Page 81 of The Unkindest Tide

The Luidaeg’s voice chased after me, holding a hint of wild laughter in its depths: “And change your damn shirt! You look like a slaughterhouse!”

The more things change, I guess.

The courtyard had calmed into something resembling order when I emerged a few minutes later, wearing a clean shirt and carrying a long twist of rope over one shoulder. Torin’s guards were all standing to one side, divested of their weapons, eyes cast toward the dock. Helmi, Kirsi, and the male Cephali whose name I still didn’t know were positioned in front of them, holding tridents and scowling in a way that seemed more performative than anything else. They were showing off how good they were at their jobs.

It was easy to guess who they were showing off for: Captain Pete was standing near the mouth of the courtyard, speaking with Patrick and his sons. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her expression was grave, and Patrick was nodding. Dean looked awestruck and confused. Peter just looked angry. I was getting the feeling that was pretty standard, for him.

Cassandra and Nolan were sitting at one of the courtyard tables. Oddly enough, Nolan acknowledged me first.

“Sir Daye!” he called jubilantly. “I hope you’re prepared to tell my sister of the glorious battle we fought here!”

“Yeah, because ‘hey, I took your brother to an accidental war zone’ is going to really endear me to the queen,” I said.

“She knew you were a scorpion when she picked you up,” said Cassandra, and clutched the side of her head with one hand. “I wish you could offshore some of that ridiculous healing of yours.”

“Sorry,” I said, turning my attention toward the fallen figure of Torin. The Luidaeg and René were standing nearby. She had a firm grip on the Selkie’s elbow, preventing him from doing anything she was going to make me regret later. That was nice. I liked it when my allies didn’t wind up inexplicably covered in blood. Tybalt wasn’t there.

I blinked, getting ready to start demanding a location for my fiancé, only to relax as the dark circle on Torin’s chest raised its head and yawned, showing me a mouthful of extremely sharp white teeth.

“Got tired of having thumbs again, huh?” I asked, as I approached the pair.

Tybalt closed his eyes and purred audibly.

“I think it was more ‘he got tired of people trying to ask him why you were covered in blood,’” said Marcia, falling into step beside me. Her hands were filled with green things, mint and rosemary and basil and feverfew. I didn’t want to ask, and so I didn’t. Sometimes silence is the best weapon of them all. “I tried telling them that it’s an occupational hazard with you, but mostly they weren’t listening.”

“The Luidaeg knows I get covered in blood the way some people get rained on,” I said.

“Yes, but it was more fun watching your kitty squirm,” said the Luidaeg. She looked approvingly at my rope. “Good. Now hogtie this fucker so we can move on.”

“Couldn’t you melt his wrists together or something?” I asked.

“Child of Titania, remember?” The Luidaeg glared at Torin, making no effort to soften the venom in her gaze. If looks could kill, her geas would have been broken on the spot. “Nothing that would do him any harm, unless he comes to me and pays for the privilege of his own pain. Nothing that would inconvenience him. You, on the other hand, have no such limitations. Feel free to cut off his circulation.”

“Or not.” Pete strolled over, thumbs hooked into her belt, looking more like a Jack Sparrow impersonator than ever. She had more of an honest nautical air about her than Johnny Depp ever had—an impression that was only amplified as she hooked the toe of one low-heeled boot into Torin’s side. “I’m glad he’s not dead, cat. I would have hated to need to stand against you for the crime of hurting my descendants.”

Tybalt yawned again, showing his teeth in jagged array. Pete chuckled.

“I love Cait Sidhe. If there’s one thing I regret about being naturally nautical, it’s the paucity of cats. It would be nice to have more people around being shitty to me.” She swung her gaze toward Marcia, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know you.”

“I was introduced when we arrived here,” said Marcia nervously.

“No, I remember that,” said Pete. “Your name is Marcia, and you travel with the Count of Goldengreen. They said all that. But I don’t know you. Something about you isn’t right. Who are you?”

“I’m nobody,” said Marcia, taking a half-step backward, like she was getting ready to run. She seemed to think better of the motion and stopped, trembling, clutching her pilfered greenery to her chest. “I work for . . . I work for Dean Lorden, I’m not . . . I’m sorry . . .”

“She was my seneschal when I was Countess of Goldengreen,” I said, pulling Pete’s attention to me. I knelt next to Torin, rolling him onto his side and roughly grabbing his wrists. “I was the one who insisted Dean hire her when I stepped down.”

Tybalt jumped off of Torin’s chest, making a disapproving grumbling noise. I snorted.

“You want to be a cat, you get treated like a cat, and that means sometimes you’ll have to move when you don’t want to. If you don’t like it, get bipedal.”

“I’m amazed a King of Cats tolerates being spoken to in that manner,” said Pete.

I shrugged. “He’s planning to marry me. I think he’s figured out that I don’t do ‘respectful’ unless someone’s holding a sword to my throat. Please don’t hold a sword to my throat. It’s hard to tie people up when I’m being threatened.”

“You would know,” said the Luidaeg.

I wrinkled my nose at her and turned my attention to tying Torin’s hands. Not a moment too soon, either. As I was finishing the third knot, he twitched, then bucked against the rope, nearly banging the back of his head into my nose. I recoiled.