When Sorrows Come

by Seanan McGuire

  “Sorry,” I said, bending and pulling the sword from his belt. It was heavy and unfamiliar in my hand, but it was still a weapon, and that made it better than nothing.

  Another arrow bounced off my bodice as I straightened. “Oh for the sake of—stop shooting at us!” I yelled, glaring at the remaining archers. There were more of them still standing than I would have expected: I could see at least five, begging the question of just how many damn Doppelgangers King Shallcross had been able to sneak into the knowe. I wasn’t going to tell them to stop shooting at me in specific: not only was I an obvious target in my pristine white dress and murderous rage, but every arrow sent my way was one not being fired at someone more vulnerable.

  “Yo, Toby!”

  I looked to my right. There was May, who was apparently angling herself according to the same principle: she was bristling with arrows, at least eight of them sticking out of her chest and stomach, while Jazz and Stacy used her for cover. Etienne was hacking away at a Doppelganger. Chelsea and Bridget were gone, Chelsea having presumably been ordered to get her mother out of there. All the Tuatha de Dannan except for Etienne were gone, in fact, and so were several of the more vulnerable guests. That was nice to see.

  “Yes?” I called.

  “Nice dress!” May had gotten close enough to one of the archers to punch them soundly in the throat. He went down gasping, and she took his bow away. “Now I have a longbow, motherfuckers, ho, ho, ho,” she chortled, and began pulling arrows out of her own torso, using her body as a makeshift quiver.

  I resumed my advance. If everyone got to stab someone on my wedding day except for me, I was going to be even more annoyed than I already was.

  Two of the archers were still standing when I reached them. “Hi,” I said blandly, as one of them tried to shoot me from far too close a distance. The arrow, like the others, bounced harmlessly off my dress. I raised my sword and swung it, hard, at his neck. He failed to duck in time.

  I hate blood. I hate ichor more. Doppelgangers, having the bad taste to bleed ichor, are my least favorite thing to stab. He went down hard, as the other archer, panicking, grabbed an arrow and jammed it into the exposed part of my chest. I looked down at it, then up at him.

  “Did no one ever teach you any manners?” I demanded, raising my sword in a threatening manner. “Stand down, right now, and maybe we let you live.”

  He dropped his bow.

  “Good man. Assuming you are one, which may not be correct. Where are the guards you duplicated?”

  “I don’t know,” he said miserably. “Going about their business, I would guess. We didn’t replace them all, we just stole a copy of the duty roster and made sure we were never in the same place at the same time, please don’t kill me, please, I’m sorry I shot arrows at your friends . . .”

  “You did more than just shoot arrows at my friends. You disrupted my wedding. Why did you do that? We already captured your King. This chess game is over.”

  I could hear a commotion behind me, as several of my friends noticed their runaway bride had one of the bad guys cornered and had somehow acquired a sword. Honestly, with as surprised as they always were to see me armed, you’d think none of them had ever met me before.

  “I’m a reasonable person,” I said. “You can reason with me. And right now, you can give me a reason not to kill you, or let my fiancé kill you, since he was supposed to be my husband by now, and he’s probably pretty annoyed that he’s not.”

  The Doppelganger stared at me in all my blood-drenched, unstained glory, mouth moving soundlessly. Finally, he swallowed. “You’re terrifying,” he said.

  “I’ve heard that before. Talk.”

  The Doppelganger took a deep breath. “We’re intelligent beings. We have families, we have feelings, we want things, but because we don’t have a Firstborn, you treat us like vermin. Like we’re pixies.” He spat the last word with disgusted vehemence. “Shallcross offered us another way. Swore if we helped him take the High Throne, he would grant us the dominion of Ash and Oak and all its ruined glories. We could open our own knowes, live in peace and safety, and stop being used as spies and assassins by every court that needs something done but doesn’t want to get their hands dirty. If he stopped checking in, we were supposed to disrupt the wedding. Cause as much chaos and as many deaths as possible.”

  I stiffened before whipping around. Sylvester and Etienne were closing the distance between us quickly. That was good. I needed a teleporter.

  “May!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Come watch this guy, make sure he doesn’t try to escape.” I looked back to the Doppelganger. “You’re not going to try to escape, are you?”

  He swallowed hard. “You’re terrifying, but the lady in the angry neon dress just hit a bunch of people with the actual ocean, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good boy.” I turned around again. “Etienne, I need you to take me to the dungeons right now.”

  He blinked. “Why would I—”

  “Because there’s about to be a jailbreak, and I’d like to stop it.” I moved toward them. “Now, Etienne.”

  “Sire, I—”

  “You heard Sir Daye,” interjected Sylvester. “She would like to go to the dungeons.”

  “Yes, sire,” said Etienne, and waved his hand through the air, leaving the scent of smoke and limes in his wake. A hole appeared, showing a dark, dingy room. I dove through, and they followed me.

  “Tybalt is going to kill you,” muttered Etienne. “And then he’s going to kill me. This had best be worth it.”

  “The attack on the wedding was planned for if King Shallcross was captured,” I said softly. We were standing right at a corner. I inched forward, looking around the edge to the line of cells. They were certainly less palatial than the little mini-apartments where the first Doppelgangers had been tucked away. I didn’t have a problem with that.

  What I did have a problem with was the group of guards standing outside one of the cells, unlocking it at the apparent direction of a very familiar bronze-haired teen who couldn’t possibly be here in that form, since he was currently a Banshee, and back at my thoroughly disrupted wedding. How the hell did they even know that face, much less steal it? I stepped around the corner, sword up and at the ready.

  “That isn’t the Crown Prince, and you shouldn’t open that door,” I said.

  The guards turned. Most of them, anyway. One grabbed for the keys, while another moved to put himself in front of their pseudo-Quentin.

  “Doppelgangers don’t bleed,” I said, and ran my hand along the blade of my sword, laying my palm open. I held it up to show the guards that I was bleeding. “Really me, really the visiting hero who’s been flushing out Doppelgangers all over the knowe, really telling you that I know for an absolute fact that that is not your Crown Prince.”

  The guards—who had behaved the way guards were supposed to behave—paused, looking at the pseudo-Quentin and the two guards flanking him. He responded by shooting me a look full of fury and snapping, “Get her!”

  “Oh, now, the voice is all wrong,” I said, bracing myself.

  Two charging Doppelgangers pretending to be royal guards were no match for an enraged Duke, the captain of his guard, and a hero who just wanted to get things over with so she could get back to her own damn wedding. They went down hard and slimy, and we advanced on the sole remaining Doppelganger and the actual guards.

  “He’s not your prince,” I said, keeping my tone as light as possible. “He’s trying to make you release an enemy of the crown.”

  “You would listen to this bloody urchin over me?” demanded the Doppelganger. “I’m going to be your King!”

  “That’s the future, and right now, I represent a much shorter, more painful potential future,” I snapped. “Stand down.”

  The guards looked at the Doppelganger, clearly anxious, before s
tepping away. The Doppelganger snarled and lunged for the closer one, trying to grab his keys. The man reacted without thinking, slapping “Quentin’s” hand away. Everyone froze.

  Now I had to be right, because otherwise, he had just laid hands on the Crown Prince.

  Etienne abruptly appeared behind “Quentin,” knife already drawn. He slashed the Doppelganger’s shoulder with the blade. Ichor welled forth. The Doppelganger roared, swatting Etienne away. Etienne went sprawling but kept his grip on the knife.

  “Well,” I said, lowering my sword. I had nowhere to sheath it, and so I just held it. “Guess that’s that, then. Etienne, can I get a ride back to the wedding?”

  “Of course,” he said, picking himself up from the floor and offering me his arm. I took it gratefully.

  “I’ll remain here to see to the formalities,” said Sylvester, with a note of regret. “October . . .”

  “Yes?”

  He smiled, and it was the best wedding present I could have asked for. “You make a beautiful bride,” he said.

  Then Etienne waved his hand, and we were gone.

  twenty

  The courtyard was still in chaos when we returned. Several members of the guard were dead, and several of the guests were hurt, although the worst injury seemed to be Tybalt’s shoulder. Someone had helped him remove the arrow, at least. He was pacing back and forth in front of the platform when we arrived, looking like he couldn’t decide between furious and distraught.

  I dropped my borrowed sword and ran for him, almost slipping in the blood and ichor on the ground. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, relief washing everything else away, and I threw myself into his arms.

  “I love this dress,” I informed him. “Can we do this to all my clothes?”

  “Sadly, no,” he said, lifting me up and twirling me once around. Then he winced, almost dropping me as the motion pulled on his shoulder. “I see you’ve managed to get blood in your hair again.”

  “You knew what you were marrying before we got here,” I said. “We are still getting married, aren’t we?”

  “That seems to be up to you,” said the Luidaeg. “You chose your path. You stood before me with a willing heart. You came back. So, are you getting married?”

  “Assuming my groom’s still interested,” I said firmly.

  Tybalt snarled wordlessly, letting go of all but my hand, which he held onto so tightly it was like he feared I might vanish into mist.

  There would be plenty of boring political cleanup after this, which might complicate sneaking away for our honeymoon, but I had plans, and we were going to find the time if I had to stab someone to get it. Right here and now, we were getting married.

  “Good,” said the Luidaeg, and she whistled, high and long and shrill. All around the clearing, people stopped addressing their wounds and complaining about the blood on their formal clothes, turning to face her instead.

  She gave a little wave.

  “Hi,” she said, and her voice carried through every inch of the space, even though she wasn’t yelling. “My name is Antigone of Albany, better known as the sea witch, and as I am the highest-ranking child of Oberon currently awake on this continent, I claim the right to perform this marriage. Does anyone wish to contest me?”

  She paused then, longer than it felt like she needed to, and I realized she was looking at her father, still motionless at the back of the crowd, untouched by the blood and chaos. She was waiting to see if he was willing to actually step up and do something.

  Oberon didn’t move. She sighed. “I thought not. Very well, then. Rand Stratford, better known as Tybalt, King of Dreaming Cats, do you come here of your own free will, with good intentions and the desire to leave with a willing bride?”

  “Yes,” said Tybalt.

  “October Daye, latest of the Dóchas Sidhe, child of Simon Torquill of the Daoine Sidhe, Knight of Lost Words, do you come here of your own free will, with good intentions and the desire to leave with a willing husband?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. I was fairly sure she’d find a way to drown me if I gave her any other answer.

  Instead, she smiled. “You know, I never thought we’d make it this far. I always expected something to get in the way before we could get here. That some disaster or other would step in—and look around, it tried. The world has thrown every obstacle it could think of in your path, and you’ve just gone over them all, haven’t you? Because here we are, the least likely of families, and I can’t say we’re giving anything away or gaining anything today, because you both belong here already. Where we are is your home and has been for a long time. Do you understand how impossible that is? How ridiculous this all is? This can’t have happened, and yet it did, and now we get to see what happens next.”

  She raised her head and looked around the courtyard, full of bruised, bloody people and the shed ichor of the downed Doppelgangers. “Whatever happens next is probably going to require the services of a dry cleaner.”

  A few people laughed. The Luidaeg smiled. Guess she wasn’t used to people laughing at her jokes anymore. “This is where I’m supposed to talk about how well-suited the couple are to each other, but let’s be real here: they’re not. This should never have worked. They should never have found enough common ground to be friends, much less fall in love. I wouldn’t have been voting for this.” She shifted her gaze to me. “If you’d asked me when we met, I wouldn’t have placed my bet on today. And that’s okay. We live in stories, but we’re not stories, and sometimes the best endings are the ones no one sees coming. I’ve already asked if anyone wants to argue with me being the one to perform this wedding. Does anyone want to argue with these people being wed? If you do, now’s the time to say it.”

  So this was another commonality between fae and human marriages, and one I didn’t really care for. I looked over my shoulder at the crowd, narrow-eyed, waiting for someone to think it would be funny to object. Sylvester and Etienne were back in their places; seeing them untied a knot around my heart.

  About two rows ahead of them, on the other side of August and Patrick Lorden, Gillian met my eyes and gave a very small nod. I tore my gaze away from her and looked back to the Luidaeg, who sighed as she looked at me.

  “That’s as long as I’m expected to wait, and I’ll be honest, if anyone was going to object, I expected it to be the bride.” Again, laughter. Somehow, it didn’t sting. “All right. My father Oberon, and my mother Maeve, both agreed that their children should have the ability to bind our descendants together, to keep the lines of succession clear. In their name, and in the names of your Firstborn, Malvic, first King among Cats, and Amandine the Liar, I, Antigone of Albany, better known as the Luidaeg, say you are wed in the eyes of all of Faerie. May the rose and the root shelter you; may the thorn and the oak protect you; may the branch and the tree grant you peace. Your bloodlines are joined, now and always, even if you choose to part.”

  She stopped then, raising an eyebrow, and waited. When neither of us moved, she shrugged and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? We steal a lot of things from the humans. This is where you kiss your wife.”

  Tybalt was smiling a smile I’d never seen before as he turned to face me, took my hands, and did as the sea witch said. I returned the kiss with interest, surrounded by the smell of blood and roses, and the sound of what felt like everyone we’d ever known applauding.

  We had finally made it here. Despite all the obstacles and all the reasons we’d been given not to succeed, we’d made it.

  We were going to make it all the way.

  Read on for a brand-new novella by Seanan McGuire:

  AND WITH REVELING

  I woo’d thee with my sword,

  And won thy love, doing thee injuries;

  But I will wed thee in another key,

  With pomp, with triumph, and with reveling.

  —William Shake
speare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  April 14th, 2015

  Having been given permission—or possibly a command, depending on how you wanted to look at it—to kiss his wife for the first time, Tybalt clearly had no interest in breaking off our embrace. He continued kissing me long past the point that should have been appropriate, and I knew if I were able to pull away long enough to look over to Quentin, I’d see my squire approximately the color of the roses still dripping from the train of my dress, all the blood having rushed into his face. The boy is going to have to learn to control his blush reflex before he becomes King of the Westlands, or his head is actually going to explode one of these days.

  Can Daoine Sidhe suffer from hypertension? Maybe that’s something to look into.

  But not in the moment, since Tybalt was still kissing me, and when I pulled back—just a little, enough to breathe—he pulled me close again, giving me better things to worry about. And people were still applauding, like we’d done something truly impressive, not just stood in front of a Firstborn daughter of Oberon in a blood-drenched glade and pledged our troth to one another.

  No, wait. That was reasonably impressive of us. We were reasonably impressive people. Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about all those other things we had to worry about, like the fact that we were married now. Divorce is extremely easy in Faerie if you don’t have kids, but we had both gone into this intending it would be forever; that made the reality of our marriage feel oddly weighty and permanent, like I’d made a promise that literally couldn’t be taken back. We’d been working toward this moment for so long that I didn’t know how to feel about it anymore now that it was finally here. Happy, obviously, but also terrified of how the world was going to change. We’d talked about our expectations for our coming lives together, but was there something that hadn’t been said? Or something neither of us had realized would be transformed by the simple alchemy of being pronounced husband and wife? Was he sure he was okay with me picking fights with every asshole noble who crossed my path?