“Exactly.” He looked up. “No matter what’s going on, Toby, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to send help.”

“But you’re sure this is an easy job.”

“I wouldn’t send Quentin if I didn’t think you’d both be safe.”

I sighed. “Right. I’ll call regularly to keep you posted.”

“And you’ll be careful?”

“I’ll take every precaution.” How many precautions did I need? Political issues aside, it was a baby-sitting assignment. Those don’t usually rank too high on the “danger” scale.

“Good. January’s the only blood family I have left in this country, except for Rayseline. Now, January’s an adult, but I’ve considered her my responsibility since her mother passed away. Please, take care of her.”

“What about—”

“I have no brother.” His expression was grim.

“I understand, Your Grace.” The last time Sylvester asked me to take care of his family, my failure cost us both: he lost Luna, and I lost fourteen years. His twin brother, Simon, was the cause of both those losses. “I’m going to try.”

“I appreciate it.” He put his cup down on a clear patch of coffee table, pulling a folder out of his coat. “This contains directions, a copy of your hotel reservations, a parking pass, and a map of the local fiefdoms. I’ll reimburse any expenses, of course.”

“Of course.” I took the folder, flipping through it. “I can’t think of anything else I’m likely to need.” I looked up. “Why are you sending Quentin with me, exactly?”

“We’re responsible for his education.” A smile ghosted across his face. “Seeing how you handle things will be nothing if not educational.”

I sighed. “Great. Where am I picking him up?”

“He’s waiting by your car.”

“He’s what?” I groaned. “Oh, oak and ash, Sylvester, it’s too damn early in the morning for this.”

“Is it?” he asked, feigning innocence. Sylvester’s wife, Luna, is one of the few truly diurnal fae I’ve ever met. After a few hundred years of marriage, he’s learned to adjust. The rest of us are just expected to cope.