Ashes of Honor

“You will come with us,” said one of them, voice barely loud enough to be audible.

When the wind orders me to do something, I do it. “We will come with you,” I agreed, and gestured to Quentin and Li Qin to follow as I walked out of the room.

The translucent bodies of the Folletti distorted the tapestries and crown molding as they led the three of us down the hall. It was like being accompanied by two giant funhouse mirrors, both set permanently to “warp.”

We stopped at a large set of double doors, surrounded by more of that ubiquitous crown molding, and built on a scale that made me wonder if Riordan had looked at the doors in Shadowed Hills and thought, “Mine should be bigger.” They were so massive that I wasn’t even sure they could be opened. One of the Folletti ghosted forward and turned what looked like another bit of crown molding in a full circle. One of the bottom panels in the right-hand door swung outward.

“I guess they can’t be,” I murmured.

The other Folletti turned to frown at me. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Still frowning, the Folletti led us through the panel and into Riordan’s receiving room.

After the rest of the knowe, I’d been expecting something over the top and almost laughable. I definitely hadn’t been expecting what was there. The room was large, easily on a par with the ballroom at Shadowed Hills. Globes of witchlight floated near the ceiling. There were no chandeliers, and the globes moved freely, according to some undefined pattern. The floor was simple stone, and the walls were bare, except for a banner at the very far end of the hall, directly behind Riordan’s throne. It showed the arms of Dreamer’s Glass—a crack running through silver fabric, with a lily on one side and a spindle on the other. I’ve never studied heraldry, but I know enough to know that the lily was probably a reference to the Lady of Shalott, who had her issues with mirrors. It was an odd choice for a Ducal coat of arms, but hey, not my business.

Riordan herself was seated on the throne beneath the banner, waiting for us. She came into clearer focus as we approached, and I realized that she’d changed her clothes. Her college girl chic was gone, replaced by a green floor-length gown that looked much more in tune with what Li Qin was wearing. Only her ruby choker remained; she wore no other jewelry. An unornamented silver circlet rested on her brow. If I hadn’t seen her knowe, I would have looked at her and assumed she was a little old-fashioned, a little humble.

Since I had seen her knowe, I had to wonder what her angle was and what she expected to get out of it.

Riordan raised a hand, waving it languidly. The Folletti ghosted away again, becoming breezes that ruffled our hair as they flew past. The door slammed behind us. Quentin glanced at me. I nodded reassuringly, and we kept walking.

We stopped the polite ten paces before her throne. Li Qin curtsied. Quentin and I bowed. We all held our positions at the lowest point, supplicating ourselves. It was the appropriate thing to do; we were guests in Riordan’s home. It still rankled, especially given what I’d heard her saying while I was in the hall—and since I wasn’t supposed to have been there, it wasn’t like I could reasonably ask her about it. Not unless I wanted to find out whether her hospitality extended to dungeons.

My back was just starting to hurt from having been folded over so long when Riordan said, with practiced sweetness, “You may rise.”

“Your Grace,” I said, straightening. “We appreciate your granting us this audience.”

“It’s the least I could do, sugar. You’ve never come to see me before, and it’d be plain rude to send you packing without letting you experience the grandeur of a formal reception.” She giggled. It was probably meant to sound girlish and carefree. Instead, it sounded overly practiced, like the host of a bad PBS kid’s show. “How are you finding Dreamer’s Glass?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Quentin, with absolute honesty.

Riordan beamed, clearly choosing to interpret his answer as a good thing. “I’ve worked very hard on this place. I’ll have you know, I had a hand in decorating every single room.”

“Really?” I asked. “That must have taken a lot of time.”

“It was worth it.” Riordan settled back in her throne, smile turning into something smug and dangerous. “Now. Why don’t you explain just who it is you’re looking for?”

“A changeling girl named Chelsea is missing. She hasn’t had her Choice yet; she was still living with her mortal parent when her powers manifested.” It wasn’t a completely true statement. It was close enough, especially given my growing suspicion that Riordan was involved. “Her magic smells like sycamore smoke and calla lilies. She’s shown a pretty impressive range on her gates—we don’t know how far she might have traveled by now.”