“Running short on calendar months by now, aren’t you?” asked Dianda.

  “February seems an unkind name for a child, but it hasn’t been used,” I said. “Neither March, nor June, nor July in truest sense of the statement—October’s Gillian is a sideways July, not a direct one. November and December remain as yet unclaimed.”

  “What of October?” she pressed.

  “She has no intention to name her second child for the calendar; I believe she’ll be looking to Shakespeare, if anything. She’s made her additions to the tradition, with Gillian and May, and she never knew September.”

  “Then why don’t we?” asked Dianda. “Until the presentation these babies have no name outside of this room, but we’ll need something to call them until the time arrives. The end of the year seems like a decent enough place to find a name, and there’s two of them together, for two months as yet unclaimed.”

  My breath caught. Amandine had allowed August in part because it began with the letter “A,” which had allowed her to claim it was in her own honor that our child was named, and in part because August came before September, and she’d seen it as a way of replacing my sister in my affections, forgetting that the year is a wheel, and nothing is truly before or behind anything else. It has an end and a beginning, but even as October will ever follow August, the reverse is also true.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “November and December seem like fine additions to our family tree,” she said, and smiled at me, as warm as she was exhausted. “Let me have this.”

  “I can deny you nothing,” I said, taking her free hand and kissing it, aware all the time of the babe in my arms, the babe in hers, the space between us that had once been so empty and now grew so very, beautifully full.

  Then November, firstborn and darker-haired, began to wail, and the momentary peace was shattered as we saw to the needs of babes, as parents have done since time began, as parents will continue to do until all time is ended.

  * * *

  The presentation to the sea did not exactly match any tradition of the land, which made sense, as the needs of the environments were not the same. For a week after any birth, parent and child would be sequestered from the rest of the Undersea, taking that time to rest and recover. Even the notoriously warlike Merrow respected that period: no Merrow would attack someone who was in seclusion following childbirth. Dianda was not allowed to appear at court functions or outside the private areas of the palace. Patrick and I were afforded a bit more freedom, and we were expected to coordinate with the staff and guests to ensure that everything would be just right for the presentation itself.

  Not that Helmi was letting us do much in the way of coordination. This was far from her first, and she was worried, in her brisk, efficient way, that we would make a disaster of it if we were allowed to do much more than expand the guest list and keep Dianda from throwing things in frustrated boredom.

  We were two days into the preparations before she thought to inform me that, had Dianda died in childbirth, Patrick and I would be expected to stay in isolation with the babies. It made sense, but it was also slightly horrifying that they had plans and patterns for the death of the mother. I could have gone centuries without hearing that the Undersea was so prepared for sacrifice.

  Dianda explained later that the tradition dated from the early days of the Undersea, when there had been fewer palaces beneath the waves, and more childbirth had happened in open waters, where sharks and worse could intervene. It was still a horror.

  I had called October that same night, or tried to, anyway; she wasn’t answering her phone. She wasn’t answering the next day, either, or the day after that. Now, two days after the arrival of her sisters, I was sitting at my workbench and trying again, forcing down the narrow column of fear that threatened to expand and overwhelm me. It never means anything good when October isn’t answering her phone.

  To my relief and delight, she picked up. “Hello. October Daye speaking. Did you not get the memo that I’m on medical leave for the next three weeks?”

  “Medical—October, what are you talking about?”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, it’s me. Are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, honest. Just got kidnapped a little, and iron poisoning, a little, and cut open, kind of a lot. You know. Normal stuff.” The way she said it, it sounded like her definition of “normal stuff” was perfectly reasonable, even though I knew it wasn’t. I was fairly sure she was counting on that tone to keep me from getting upset by the sheer horror of what she was actually saying.

  Sadly for her, that “oh no don’t worry everything’s fine” tone was something that had persisted during Titania’s version of our world, and I was well-familiar with what it meant. “October. What happened?”

  “Oh. Um. Dame Altair turned out to be Dugan Harrow’s sister, and was working for Janet, who wanted my baby as a replacement for Amandine or maybe Gillian, it’s not completely clear which one it was, and she had me restrained with iron, which made me really sick, and um, May had to deliver my baby in a secret underground warehouse full of stolen magical items in order to keep us both from dying? Congratulations, Granddad, it’s a girl.”

  Joy and horror briefly warred for ownership of the moment. I sat in silence, open-mouthed and unable to formulate a single coherent reply.

  “Simon? Are you still there?”

  “I … yes, October, I’m still here. You’re all right now? And the baby?”

  “Oh, we’re both fine. She’s with May at the moment, since May’s more comfortable wearing an infant around the house, and everyone’s sort of afraid I’m going to go do something stupid and heroic at any moment.”

  “They’ve met you, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sound happy.”

  “Oh, I’m exhausted, but I’m thrilled. Last time I did this, I only healed a little faster than most humans, and my baby was so much more human than I was that we never seemed to sleep on the same schedule. Not that she really has a schedule yet, as such.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re calling? To set up a visit.”

  “Yes, dear, but not in the direction you’re thinking. Duchess Dianda Lorden of Saltmist has been delivered of two healthy baby girls. Both are thriving, and are to be presented to the sea in five tides’ time. I was hoping you might come to the presentation.”

  “I know Tybalt can use the Shadow Roads to get to you, but I don’t think he’s going to be willing to take the baby through a space that doesn’t do air,” she said, slowly. “And she certainly can’t swim it yet…”

  “We’ve invited the sea witch to attend, and I know her apartment is able to open a door directly into our receiving room,” I offered. “If you could accompany her, you might be able to ease the journey.”

  “Oh, excellent point. Five tides—is that five days?”

  “It is. Around four o’clock in the afternoon, I think. Come and let me meet my granddaughter, and meet your new sisters at the same time.”

  “And that won’t be rude? Like announcing your pregnancy at someone else’s engagement dinner?”

  “Family is always welcome here, even if the timing is less than absolutely perfect,” I assured her. “Our girls will share the treasure of their childhood, and grow up as tangled as briars.”

  “That sounds like a promise.”

  “Because it is.”

  In the background, a baby yowled. October made a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.

  “Miranda’s hungry, and I have to go,” she said.

  “You named the baby Miranda?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Janet was using the name, but it was never hers. Shakespeare was the one who decided it should be a first name, and she snatched it so quickly that as far as we can tell, it’s never been truly used in Faerie.”

  “So not a month this time.”

  “No. No more months for me.”

  That was a relief. I smiled. “I’ll see you in five days, October.”

  “If the sea witch lets us use her door, yes, you will.”

  “I believe she will,” I said. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, really gotta go, she has some lungs on her,” said October, and the line went dead.

  I put the phone down, still smiling. Time to resume preparations for the presentation, which was, after all, a party the size of which I did not commonly involve myself in.

  * * *

  The evening of the presentation arrived cool and dark, as evenings in the deep sea usually were. I had no talent for reading the tides, and had to take my time from the clocks scattered around the knowe. Dianda had emerged from isolation an hour or so prior, returning to her rooms to dress and prepare for the gathering to come. Helmi had the girls, as she was wont to do any time Dianda let her guard down; Helmi took her responsibilities as nurse to the household’s children very seriously indeed.

  According to Patrick, people were beginning to arrive, and the grand reception hall had been opened for the occasion, giving them a place to gather. The space had been decorated in garlands of kelp and flowering sea plants, all wrapped in veils of living water to keep them moist and thriving. Arrangements of dryland flowers dotted the tables, a nod to myself and Patrick, scenting the air with whitebeam and rowan. Water lilies and lotuses dotted the surface of small pools, and I wondered how October and her hydrophobia would handle the décor. Not that it mattered; it was too late to change anything now.

  Darker-haired daughter in my arms and Dianda by my side, I walked toward the receiving room. Patrick walked to Dianda’s other side, our brighter child held against his breast. Both girls were awake but quiet, watching the world around them with wide eyes. They had so much yet to see.

  We entered the receiving room as a door that wasn’t normally present opened and the sea witch stepped through. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and her dress was sliced from shallow water, clear and ever-shifting as ripples of foam and tide ran across its surface. Despite its clarity, she wasn’t exposed in the least. She looked at the five of us and smirked, then stepped to the side to let October and Tybalt enter.

  October was holding a baby bundled in her arms, and Quentin and Dean came close behind them, walking hand in hand.

  Dean brightened at the sight of his parents. “Mom!”

  “Come meet your sisters,” said Dianda.

  He beamed and dropped Quentin’s hand, hurrying to coo over the babies. October walked forward at a more sedate pace, stopping a few feet in front of me as Dean took the infant from my arms.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said.

  “Hello, my pigeon,” I replied, unable to look away from the child she carried. The little girl had thin, pale hair, banded with darker streaks. It was almost certainly her father’s heritage expressing itself, but it looked less like a tabby’s fur than it did like the feathers of an eagle owl’s wings. Her eyes were open, taking in the room around her, and pale as her mother’s, the color of morning mist.

  October followed my gaze to her little girl and smiled. “This is Miranda.”

  “We can’t offer your sisters’ names in return,” I said apologetically. “Not until they’re given to the whole sea.”

  “We haven’t told Peter or August,” said Patrick. “They’re in the main reception room.”

  The Luidaeg cleared her throat. “And are we about done ignoring the undying sea witch, or should I patiently ignore etiquette for a little longer?”

  “Apologies,” said Dianda, and curtseyed deeply. She was the only one of us who could do that without risking dropping a baby in the process. “We are honored by your attendance.”

  “Damn right you are.” She looked at the girls with sharp-eyed interest. “Pretty things. Glad they’re your problem and not mine. Kind of missing the days when you met me with worship and adulation, but I guess familiarity breeds contempt even when it shouldn’t.”

  “Mháthair?” asked a voice behind us.

  I turned. Mary was standing in the doorway, one hand clasping it like she was fighting to keep herself upright, eyes fixed on the Luidaeg. I looked back. The Luidaeg was staring at her, eyes bleeding slowly to Roane green, cheeks pale.

  “Máire?” she asked.

  “Always and still,” said Mary. She let go of the doorframe. “I waited. I said I would wait, and I stayed clear of your path as I waited, and now the moment is here, and you’re here, and I’m here, and we’re both here together.”

  “Máire,” the Luidaeg repeated, in a voice filled with wonder. She jerked away from us, moving unsteadily, and lurched across the room to collapse into Mary’s arms. The two women clung to each other, and watching them felt vaguely obscene, like this was something we should never have witnessed. I turned back to the others.

  “We should go,” I said. “Mary knows the way, if they want to attend. I get the feeling they may not.”

  The group of us shuffled awkwardly out of the room, leaving Mary and the Luidaeg where they were, and made our way through the knowe to the reception room. When we arrived, it was indeed full of people, some familiar, most not. Representatives from all the local Undersea domains had come, and those who couldn’t fit inside the hall were poking their heads up through the pools in the floor. Cephali hung from the ceiling, a forest of bright colors and waving tentacles.

  Peter and August moved quickly to join us as we entered, followed at a more leisurely pace by Amphitrite, now fully in her Captain Pete guise, complete with oversized plume in her overlarge pirate hat. She eyed us, then the babies.

  “Two?” she asked.

  “Three, if you count mine,” said October.

  Pete shook her head. “Yeah, but yours isn’t my problem.”

  “We may need to discuss our bargain in more detail,” I said.

  “Yeah, looks like it,” said Pete. “But we have time.”

  We did. We had all the time in the sea. Dianda turned to me and Patrick, holding out her arms, and we tucked the babies into them, letting her carry them with her to the top of the coral dais that had been established for just this purpose.

  “I know you all want cake, so we’ll keep this simple,” she said, to a ripple of laughter from the room. “By reef and rock, by tempest and tide, I, Dianda Lorden, Duchess of Saltmist, bring my daughters now before you. Welcome to our waters November and December Lorden, born of our union, beloved of our halls, and heirs to all the glory of the sea.”

  This time the ripple was applause, rather than laughter. She held the babies higher for all to see, and whispers and cheers joined the sound of hands clapping together.

  October smacked me in the shoulder. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” she asked.

  “It was Dianda’s idea,” I said. “But I think it suits them.”

  “It does,” said Patrick, putting an arm around my waist and pulling me closer.

  “I was promised cake,” said August. “And I need to meet my niece.” She took October by the arm, pulling her into the crowd with Tybalt following predictably behind, and this was my family, this was my future, this was everything I’d ever wanted in the world.

  This was home.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  And here we go again: book nineteen. We’re almost out of our teens, we’ve been through a parallel reality, a lot of blood, a wedding, and a pregnancy. This series now has as many volumes as I had years when I started writing it: I was nineteen and didn’t know much about what I was going to grow up to be, but I knew it would involve writing. (The books were not sold or published when I was nineteen: I never gave up on Toby, and Rosemary and Rue was released when I was thirty-one.)

  I am so incredibly grateful that we’re still able to keep on going, nineteen books and two publishers in. These are challenging times, and being someone who tells stories for a living can be hard when it feels like reality weighs more than the atmosphere of the entire world. Biggest of thanks to everyone who’s supported and tolerated me through this process, including my D&D group (We blend! We really do!), the Machete Squad, the entire team at Tor Books, and everyone who reached out during our year-long break from the series to tell me how much they hoped it wasn’t ending, that I would return to October and her friends and finish out the story. Thank you for having faith in me. It means the world.

  Thank you to my most beloved Amy, who remains one of the rocks of my reality; to Terri, who manages the administrative side of my life as best as possible; to all the bookstores and conventions who have welcomed me in the past year; and to Dr. Gauley, for her incredible veterinary medical care. Thanks to everyone who’s tolerated my current unending need to drag them to & Juliet, especially Scotchy and Marnie, who were with me for the discovery of the show, and to the entire crew at Dispel Dice. Thanks to Shawn and Jay and Tea, to Margaret and Mary and Natalie and Roy and Kate and everyone else who needs to be mentioned here. I adore you all.

  Thanks to my editorial team at Tor, Lee Harris and Oliver Dougherty, for making the adjustment to a new publisher as smooth as it could possibly have been. To Diana Fox, my agent, who probably understands how to manage me better than anyone else, while Chris McGrath’s covers and Tara O’Shea’s dingbats just get better and better. All my cats are doing well, although Kelpie is continuing to grow all out of reasonable expectations. Finally, thank you to my pit crew: Christopher Mangum, Tara O’Shea, Terri Ash, and Alec Fowler.

  My soundtrack while writing Silver and Lead consisted mostly of & Juliet, Cinderella’s Castle, Ruin by The Amazing Devil, endless live concert recordings of the Counting Crows, and all the Ludo a girl could hope to have (eternally waiting for a new album). Any errors in this book are entirely my own. The errors that aren’t here are the ones that all these people helped me fix.

  Let me show you what’s waiting down by the edge of the water. I think you’re going to enjoy it.