Quiet voices were coming from the kitchen as I walked down the hall. I had to smother a smile as I realized that Raj was tutoring Tybalt on the way I like my coffee. That would have been funny no matter what. It was made funnier by the fact that I wasn’t sure Tybalt knew how much time Raj has spent at my place since I saved him from Blind Michael. He wasn’t around as much as, say, Quentin, but he still spent enough time sitting on my couch and hogging the TV remote that I’ve occasionally threatened to charge him rent.

I stopped in the kitchen doorway, watching Tybalt pour way too much sugar into a mug of coffee. “That’s good,” I said, before he could experiment with adding anything else. “You can stop there. Unless you’re making coffee for a hummingbird.”

Tybalt whipped around like he’d done something wrong, mild disappointment crossing his face when he saw my clothes. He picked up the mug and held it out in offering, saying awkwardly, “I made you coffee.”

“I see that.” I stopped fussing with my hair long enough to take the mug. Tybalt still looked uncomfortable. I took a sip of coffee to reassure him, and managed not to choke as the hot sugar sweetness of it hit the back of my throat. “It’s very good,” I said, coughing into my hand.

Tybalt looked relieved. “The principle was simple.”

“Ye-ah.” I put the mug on the counter in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. For a moment, the three of us just stood there, looking at each other. I blinked, finally registering how underdressed Tybalt was, even by his own eclectic standards. His jeans were tattered, and there were stains on his white silk shirt that could have been pasta sauce but were more likely to be . . . for my own peace of mind, I decided to view them as pasta sauce.

“So why are you really here?” I asked. “I understand worrying about the war, but shouldn’t you be consulting with someone who has, I don’t know, an army?”

“That is why I’m here,” said Tybalt. “Goldengreen is on the coast. How were you planning to defend your people?”

My stomach flipped over. “. . . Oh.”

Mortal geography and Summerlands geography aren’t always a perfect match, but the major things, like coastlines, usually translate. The mortal doors to Goldengreen are anchored on the edge of the cliff behind the Palace of the Legion of Honor, and the actual buildings that make up the estate are right on the water. The knowe has no natural defenses, and the inhabitants aren’t exactly warriors.

“My people will stand with yours, if you’ll have us. One Cait Sidhe is worth ten of any other breed.”

I gaped for a stunned moment before stammering, “Oak and ash, Tybalt, why? I’m not turning you down. I just don’t understand why you’re offering.”

“We’ll have to fight, no matter what, if this war gets bad enough. We have too many friends among the Courts to simply close our doors until the chaos passes,” Tybalt said. “If we fight with you, at least we’re fighting for something.”

“And your people are okay with this?”

He blinked, looking bemused. “Why wouldn’t they be? I’m their King.”

“Right.” I rubbed my forehead. “The offer is very kind.”

“Will you accept?” he asked.

Tybalt wasn’t bothering to conceal his anxiety. I blinked, glancing at Raj. His expression matched his uncle’s line for line—and I suddenly understood why Tybalt was so concerned. They expected me to refuse. They thought I was going to try to hold Goldengreen alone, all because I was mad at Tybalt for ignoring me.

They were here because they didn’t want me to die.

I forced a smile and said, “Of course I will. Thank you.”

Tybalt’s offer was almost a binding contract in and of itself, but my “thank you” eliminated the “almost.” It wasn’t the first time I’d thanked him for something—that happened in a dark alleyway, years and miles from where we were standing now—but it was the first time I’d meant what I was saying.

He blinked once, clearly surprised. Then he smiled, all the awkwardness and hauteur vanishing, so that only Tybalt was left. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

The last time he looked at me like that, I’d just recovered from iron poisoning after being rescued from the Queen’s jail. Then he disappeared on me for a month. I took a breath, not sure what I was going to say, but certain that I needed to say something—anything—to keep him from vanishing again.

The phone rang.

I caught myself. I’d just come frighteningly close to reaching out to a man whose motives had never been clear to me, and still weren’t. With everything that was going on, that was the last thing I could afford to do. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping quickly away. “I need to get that.”

I turned my back on them as I grabbed the phone. Bucer’s voice was immediately in my ear, announcing, “I cost two hundred an hour, cash on the barrel, and I don’t do anything that might get violent.”

“Hello to you, too, Bucer,” I said. “How about I give you fifty dollars for answering some questions, and I don’t get violent?”

“Sounds fair,” he said, without hesitating. “How’s it been, Toby? Long time no hear. Word on the street says you’ve moved on to pissing off bigger and better folks.”

“If you mean the Queen of the Mists, yeah, I’ve managed to get on her bad side a time or two. What do you know about what’s going on with the Undersea?”

“I know I’m hopping on the next bus bound for Denver. I figure the fish ain’t likely to push it all the way up into the mountains.”

“The kidnappings, Bucer. Somebody’s kidnapped the sons of the Duke and Duchess of Saltmist, and that’s why we’re having all this trouble. Do you have any idea who that might have been?” It wasn’t a surprise that he was already planning to get out of Dodge. That sort of self-interest was exactly what Devin tried to instill in us when we worked for him. Obviously, it worked on some of us better than on others.

Bucer hesitated. “I don’t know if I should—”

“A hundred dollars, cash. Tonight.”

He sighed. “Word on the street is that it wasn’t any of the crew that’s been working this Kingdom in the last couple years.”