He stopped a foot or so in front of me, gathering himself, before reaching out to stroke my hair away from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. His hand was trembling. I reached up to catch it with my own, and realized I was shaking, too.

“I thought . . .” he whispered.

“I know,” I replied, and flung myself into his arms.

Up until that moment—up until he drew me close and his mouth closed over mine, and I could feel the hot reality of his skin through my still-damp, ice-cold clothes—part of me had been unwilling to believe that this was happening. I’d seen my share of dream realities, from Blind Michael’s dangerous homeland to my adopted niece, Karen, and her ability to pull me out of sleep and into whatever fantasy she wanted me to witness. I knew how real unreality could be. But this . . .

No dream I had ever experienced had been realistic enough to recreate the feeling of Tybalt’s hands around my waist, or detailed enough to show me the small scratches on his left cheek, abrasions that would have healed in seconds on my own skin. His lips tasted like salt. I pulled away, startled. He was crying. I raised my hand to touch my cheek.

So was I.

When we broke the kiss, I leaned my forehead against his shoulder and directed my next words toward the floor, which wouldn’t blame me for anything that I might have to say. “I tried so hard to hold onto your hands, I really did, but the wind pulled you away, and I couldn’t find you, I couldn’t find either one of you . . .”

“Toby?”

Quentin’s voice came from my left. I raised my head and found him standing there in his torn, salt-stained shirt, a pleading expression on his face and his hands twisted together in front of him. I put my hand on Tybalt’s chest, pushing him gently away as I tried to step free of his embrace, and to his credit, he let me go.

“I’m sorry,” said Quentin miserably. “I tried to hold onto you, and I tried to fall where you were falling, but it happened so fast, and then I hit the water and everything went away and I woke up here and I’m sorry, Toby, I’m so sorry, can you forgive me? Please?”

“Oh, honey,” I said, moving to put my arms around him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did the best you could, but there was no reason to think the wards were going to slap us off the Shadow Roads. Do you hear me? We were all surprised by something that shouldn’t have been able to happen. It’s not your fault you couldn’t predict the unpredictable. You did amazing. You lived.”

Now it was Quentin’s turn to bury his face in my shoulder and sob, with no trace of teenage self-consciousness or dignity. He clung to the front of my shirt with both hands, and I just held him. What else was I supposed to do? I knew how it had felt for me to think that he’d been lost. I couldn’t imagine it had been any easier for him.

Tybalt put his hand on my shoulder, not trying to pull me away from Quentin. I tilted my head back to look at him.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We fell,” he said. He couldn’t keep the bleakness from his tone, or prevent his fingers from tightening slightly, like he needed to reassure himself that I was really there in front of him. “I lost hold of you almost immediately. I thought . . .” He paused, chuckling bitterly. “I thought you would both be better swimmers, given your coastal upbringings. I stopped trying to catch your hands and positioned myself to strike the water at an angle that might allow me to retain consciousness.”

The desperate misery that had been in his eyes since I arrived suddenly made a little bit more sense. If he’d allowed me to fall without trying to get me back, and then thought I was dead . . . I couldn’t imagine living with that knowledge. I bit my lip and just looked at him, willing him to see the understanding I was trying to project. I would have done the same thing in his place. That didn’t make it any easier.

“I lost sight of both of you for a few seconds when I hit the water. Long enough, I assume, for the undertow to have changed everyone’s positions. I swam, trying to find you—I admit, much to my chagrin, that I was only looking for you, at least at first—but you were nowhere to be seen. I found Quentin tangled in the kelp. The tide was trying to take him, and I was losing strength, and so . . .”

And so, faced with the choice of drowning or finding me, Tybalt had made the only choice I would ever have been able to forgive: he’d saved himself, and in the process, he’d saved Quentin. “You opened a doorway to the Shadow Roads,” I guessed.

“There are a surprising number of shadows at the bottom of the sea,” he confirmed. “I thought I would carry your squire to safety and then return. I admit, there were . . . complications . . . that I did not anticipate.”

“Uncle Tybalt flooded two hallways,” said Raj.

I turned my head, my arms still wrapped around Quentin, and asked, “When did you turn human again?”

He shrugged.

“Fair enough.” I looked back to Tybalt. “The water came with you, huh?”

Tybalt grimaced. “Yes. Quite a lot of it, as well as some rather surprised fish. I was unprepared.”

I looked to Raj for translation. He shook his head and said, “It knocked him out. The noise was enough that a bunch of us came running and found them flat on their backs in the hall, with water everywhere. When they woke up, they both started asking where you were.”

“You were dead.” Quentin finally pushed away from me. I turned back to him. He looked at me bleakly. “I just . . . I just knew that you were dead. That I’d have to be the one who told everyone in Arden’s Court, and in Shadowed Hills, and everywhere, because Tybalt is Cait Sidhe, and they wouldn’t listen to him. I was going to have to give your eulogy a hundred times, and I was never going to see you again.”

“Hey.” I put my arms around him again. It seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. “That didn’t happen. You with me? I’m not dead, you’re not going to tell anyone that I’m dead, and if I were dead, you’d still be my squire. Sylvester would take care of all the announcements after you told him what had happened.”

Quentin hugged me for a few seconds more before pulling away and saying, “You’d better mean that.”

“You’re going to be a king someday,” said Raj. “Shouldn’t you get used to saying the names of the dead now, while you still have time to harden?”