The Unkindest Tide (October Daye)

by Seanan McGuire

  Gillian switched her wide-eyed stare from Pete’s hand to Pete herself. “You stabbed that man,” she accused. “The octopus man.”

  “The one who was strangling you, yes, I did,” Pete agreed. She glanced at me. “She’s not super bright, is she? But you love her, and that’s what matters.”

  “Can someone unlock this damn gate?” I shook the bars. “Please?”

  “Um, sorry. That’s my bad,” said Marcia, stepping timidly forward. She glanced at the Luidaeg and then shied away, like a frightened animal trying not to attract the attention of a larger predator. “I locked them. When the—you know. Angry people with spears showed up.” She hesitated, looking at Torin’s remaining guards. They were standing frozen, clearly unsure of what they were supposed to do now. “Are they going to stab me when I unlock the gates?”

  “Only if they really, really want to be barnacles,” said Pete, with a vicious good cheer that I was all too familiar with, thanks to my long association with the Luidaeg.

  One of the Merrow whimpered. It was forgivable; she was being menaced by her own Firstborn, after all.

  “Okay,” said Marcia. She grabbed a sprig of rosemary from behind her ear and ran it down the seam between the gates, murmuring something under her breath. The gates sprang open, nearly dumping me on my face as I found myself without anything to hang onto.

  No matter. Quentin and Patrick had René contained, Tybalt was taking care of Torin, and I needed to get to my daughter. I half-ran, half-staggered the short distance to where she was still sprawled on the dock, dropping to my knees and sweeping her into my arms.

  For one short moment, she returned my embrace, burying her face against my shoulder and closing her arms around my chest, holding me as close as I was holding her. It was everything I’d ever wanted in this world, and it was all I could do not to cry when she finished by pushing me away, looking from me to Pete, not even pretending to conceal her fear and fury.

  “I wanted to ask you to make the sea witch tell the other Selkies to stop fighting,” she said. “I wanted to ask you to help. But instead, these people grabbed me, again, and they hurt me, all so they could make you do what they wanted you to do. Is that how this is always going to be? Am I always going to be a target because people want to make you suffer? I can’t do this, Mo—Toby. I can’t.”

  She scrambled to her feet, gathering her bruised dignity around herself like another form of sealskin, and looked imperiously down her nose at me and Pete in the same motion. Gillian hadn’t been a part of Faerie for long enough to understand what it meant to snub a pureblood ruler in their own domain—and she didn’t even realize Pete was Firstborn. She had no idea how brave she was being. My wonderful, foolish daughter.

  “I’m done,” she said. “I’m part of Faerie now, and I know that means I can’t walk away entirely, but I’m still done. I can’t take this. I am . . . I’m so sorry I was mad at you for all those years, for leaving. You didn’t have a choice. Now I’m mad at you because you won’t stay away. So please, stay away. Whatever the hell it is you’re a part of, leave me out of it. I don’t want it.”

  She turned and stalked away, deeper into the Duchy of Ships. I gaped at her, barely able to comprehend what had happened. Then I turned to the crowd in the courtyard, fixing my attention on the first person I saw who wasn’t in the middle of doing something terribly important.

  “Quentin, go after her.”

  He looked at me like I’d just said something entirely unreasonable. “Sort of busy here,” he said, still hanging off René’s arm. René, for his part, had yet to stop screaming at the unmoving Torin. I couldn’t tell whether Dianda’s brother was dead, but even if he was, René seemed perfectly willing to stab him a couple of times on general principle.

  “I’ve got the man,” said Tybalt, standing and moving to grab hold of René. “Do as your knight tells you. Aren’t squires meant to be obedient?”

  Quentin rolled his eyes, let go of René, and trotted after Gillian. I turned back to Pete and the Luidaeg.

  “So,” I said. “You came back.”

  “So,” said Pete. “You decided that in our absence you could, what, throw a massive rager of a party? Enterprising. I mean, I’m not your mother or anything, but this is pretty classic, I’ll admit.”

  “You’re technically my aunt,” I said. “If I’m trashing the place, it’s probably allowed.”

  “Only in a John Hughes movie.”

  I decided not to ask why Pete knew who John Hughes was. The answer would only hurt my head, and Firstborn are allowed to have cable. I didn’t know how she got it to work out here. Piracy, probably, which was both fitting and mind-boggling.

  “Right.” I took a deep breath, trying to recover some sense of my equilibrium. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to go find out whether the man who caused all this trouble is dead.”

  “If he is, see if you can bring him back.” The Luidaeg’s smile bristled with teeth far too sharp to be friendly. “It’ll be good practice for later.”

  I shivered, doing my best to hide it, and turned away.

  René was running out of steam. While he was still jerking against Tybalt and Patrick, he was starting to repeat himself; I recognized most of the words he was using, even if I didn’t know what they meant. I ignored him as much as I could as I moved to kneel next to Torin, pressing the first two fingers of my right hand against his throat.

  “We have a pulse,” I announced. Glancing at Tybalt, I asked, “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “Pulled him into shadow, as I’ve done many times before with those who needed to be calmed somewhat.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s possible I also hit him a few times in the stomach, to remove any oxygen he might have thought to set aside for later use.” Tybalt looked down his nose at Torin. “I doubt his gills served him very well in a place with neither air nor water.”

  “Gills, of course.” I rolled Torin’s head to the side. His gills were raw and inflamed, standing slightly open despite the fact that he was in the open air. They looked like they’d suffered a bad case of frostbite. “He must have panicked and tried to breathe any way he could. He probably did some damage to his throat.”

  “Good,” snarled René, and spat, before resuming his struggles.

  This was getting old. I stood, stepping forward until we were nose-to-nose, and said calmly, “The sea witch is right there. I’m standing in front of you. I think I speak for both of us when I say you’re embarrassing yourself, and I need you to stop, right now. Please. Unless you want her to explain to you why you need to stop.”

  “Happy to,” called the Luidaeg.

  René stared at me, mouth working silently. Then he sagged, apparently trusting Tybalt and Patrick to hold him up. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him like a branch being broken, leaving him wrung-out and empty.

  “She was my sister,” he said. “My sister. She knew me better than anyone else in the world. She took my place when I wanted to marry Mathias. She was my sister, and she’s dead, and nothing is going to bring her back to me, but he’s still breathing. He’s still here. It’s not right, that he’s still here and she’s gone. I should be allowed to make things right.”

  “You should, but you’re not,” said the Luidaeg, walking toward him. She touched Tybalt on the shoulder; he let go of René’s arm and stepped aside. She moved smoothly into his place, taking René’s hand in hers. My breath caught. I’d never seen her voluntarily touch a Selkie. Not even Liz. She’d played at being their cousin, but she had always held herself apart from them, keeping her distance, in anticipation of this day.

  “This isn’t your task, and it isn’t your duty,” she said, voice gentle. “This is something people older and more burdened than you have to take care of. You honor her by holding her memory. You honor her by passing her skin. You honor her with love,
and life, and not letting this man drag you down. Let him go. Set him aside. I promise you, justice will be done.”

  René turned to look at her, eyes brimming over with unshed tears. “Did you . . . did you know she was gone?” he asked.

  “Not until I saw you,” she said. “But I know every Selkie. I know who carries every skin. I know you, René, and I know Isla, and I know there are only two deaths in the entire world that could push you to this point.” Her smile was fleeting. “I also know that if Mathias were dead, we’d have needed an army to keep you from slitting this fool’s throat. Not because you loved her any less than you love him. Because you made him promises you never had to make to her. Let go, René. Let us avenge her for you.”

  He broke, sagging against the Luidaeg, burying his face against her shoulder and sobbing so loudly that it hurt my heart. Gillian had rejected me—again—my squire was chasing her through the Duchy of Ships without backup, and somehow none of that was as terrible, in that moment, as René’s sorrow.

  “I know,” said the Luidaeg, stroking his hair with one hand. “I do. I’m sorry.” She looked over his head to me, raising an eyebrow. “Well? What are you waiting for? Tie that fucker up before he comes to and I have to slit his throat for looking at me funny.”

  “On it,” I said, and bolted for my apartment, where I knew I’d find rope.

  The Luidaeg’s voice chased after me, holding a hint of wild laughter in its depths: “And change your damn shirt! You look like a slaughterhouse!”

  The more things change, I guess.

  The courtyard had calmed into something resembling order when I emerged a few minutes later, wearing a clean shirt and carrying a long twist of rope over one shoulder. Torin’s guards were all standing to one side, divested of their weapons, eyes cast toward the dock. Helmi, Kirsi, and the male Cephali whose name I still didn’t know were positioned in front of them, holding tridents and scowling in a way that seemed more performative than anything else. They were showing off how good they were at their jobs.

  It was easy to guess who they were showing off for: Captain Pete was standing near the mouth of the courtyard, speaking with Patrick and his sons. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her expression was grave, and Patrick was nodding. Dean looked awestruck and confused. Peter just looked angry. I was getting the feeling that was pretty standard, for him.

  Cassandra and Nolan were sitting at one of the courtyard tables. Oddly enough, Nolan acknowledged me first.

  “Sir Daye!” he called jubilantly. “I hope you’re prepared to tell my sister of the glorious battle we fought here!”

  “Yeah, because ‘hey, I took your brother to an accidental war zone’ is going to really endear me to the queen,” I said.

  “She knew you were a scorpion when she picked you up,” said Cassandra, and clutched the side of her head with one hand. “I wish you could offshore some of that ridiculous healing of yours.”

  “Sorry,” I said, turning my attention toward the fallen figure of Torin. The Luidaeg and René were standing nearby. She had a firm grip on the Selkie’s elbow, preventing him from doing anything she was going to make me regret later. That was nice. I liked it when my allies didn’t wind up inexplicably covered in blood. Tybalt wasn’t there.

  I blinked, getting ready to start demanding a location for my fiancé, only to relax as the dark circle on Torin’s chest raised its head and yawned, showing me a mouthful of extremely sharp white teeth.

  “Got tired of having thumbs again, huh?” I asked, as I approached the pair.

  Tybalt closed his eyes and purred audibly.

  “I think it was more ‘he got tired of people trying to ask him why you were covered in blood,’” said Marcia, falling into step beside me. Her hands were filled with green things, mint and rosemary and basil and feverfew. I didn’t want to ask, and so I didn’t. Sometimes silence is the best weapon of them all. “I tried telling them that it’s an occupational hazard with you, but mostly they weren’t listening.”

  “The Luidaeg knows I get covered in blood the way some people get rained on,” I said.

  “Yes, but it was more fun watching your kitty squirm,” said the Luidaeg. She looked approvingly at my rope. “Good. Now hogtie this fucker so we can move on.”

  “Couldn’t you melt his wrists together or something?” I asked.

  “Child of Titania, remember?” The Luidaeg glared at Torin, making no effort to soften the venom in her gaze. If looks could kill, her geas would have been broken on the spot. “Nothing that would do him any harm, unless he comes to me and pays for the privilege of his own pain. Nothing that would inconvenience him. You, on the other hand, have no such limitations. Feel free to cut off his circulation.”

  “Or not.” Pete strolled over, thumbs hooked into her belt, looking more like a Jack Sparrow impersonator than ever. She had more of an honest nautical air about her than Johnny Depp ever had—an impression that was only amplified as she hooked the toe of one low-heeled boot into Torin’s side. “I’m glad he’s not dead, cat. I would have hated to need to stand against you for the crime of hurting my descendants.”

  Tybalt yawned again, showing his teeth in jagged array. Pete chuckled.

  “I love Cait Sidhe. If there’s one thing I regret about being naturally nautical, it’s the paucity of cats. It would be nice to have more people around being shitty to me.” She swung her gaze toward Marcia, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know you.”

  “I was introduced when we arrived here,” said Marcia nervously.

  “No, I remember that,” said Pete. “Your name is Marcia, and you travel with the Count of Goldengreen. They said all that. But I don’t know you. Something about you isn’t right. Who are you?”

  “I’m nobody,” said Marcia, taking a half-step backward, like she was getting ready to run. She seemed to think better of the motion and stopped, trembling, clutching her pilfered greenery to her chest. “I work for . . . I work for Dean Lorden, I’m not . . . I’m sorry . . .”

  “She was my seneschal when I was Countess of Goldengreen,” I said, pulling Pete’s attention to me. I knelt next to Torin, rolling him onto his side and roughly grabbing his wrists. “I was the one who insisted Dean hire her when I stepped down.”

  Tybalt jumped off of Torin’s chest, making a disapproving grumbling noise. I snorted.

  “You want to be a cat, you get treated like a cat, and that means sometimes you’ll have to move when you don’t want to. If you don’t like it, get bipedal.”

  “I’m amazed a King of Cats tolerates being spoken to in that manner,” said Pete.

  I shrugged. “He’s planning to marry me. I think he’s figured out that I don’t do ‘respectful’ unless someone’s holding a sword to my throat. Please don’t hold a sword to my throat. It’s hard to tie people up when I’m being threatened.”

  “You would know,” said the Luidaeg.

  I wrinkled my nose at her and turned my attention to tying Torin’s hands. Not a moment too soon, either. As I was finishing the third knot, he twitched, then bucked against the rope, nearly banging the back of his head into my nose. I recoiled.

  Tybalt was there, back on two legs, to hold down Torin’s feet. I flashed him a smile and moved to finish tying the man up before he could get to his feet or cause us any further trouble.

  “Filth!” Torin shouted, voice rough and ragged from the damage to his throat. “Unhand me this instant! Release me, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Pete leaned over him, expression curious and predatory at the same time, like some deep sea creature trying to decide whether it wanted to play or plunder. Torin went very, very still. It was possibly the smartest thing I’d seen him do since the moment we’d met.

  “Hi,” said Pete, in a companionable tone. “My name’s Captain Pete. I’m in charge of this place. Everything around you belongs to me. I hear you’ve been a bad,
bad boy. Want to talk about it?”

  She smiled.

  Torin screamed.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED that Pete’s receiving room was located in the main room of the lighthouse. It was the core of the fiefdom, the single stable structure around which everything else had been constructed. The anchor, in other words. It only made sense that as the anchor, it should be the focal point of the knowe.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Having solid ground beneath my feet again was a silent reminder of how very far we were from home, and how much farther I’d have to go in order to return to the comforting and the familiar. I stood at the center of the open space in front of Pete’s chair—which was less a “throne” and more “a large, ornate, excessively gilded prop that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Disney World”—and tried not to squirm.

  It wasn’t easy. There were things about the situation that helped, like my being back in my own fully blood-free clothes, including my leather jacket, and my allies being in eyeshot, even if they weren’t all standing with me. Tybalt and Quentin flanked me. The Luidaeg and Patrick stood nearby, the one looking faintly bored, the other stone-faced and silent. Everyone else was at the edge of the crowd, watching. Waiting to see what was going to happen next.

  And it was quite a crowd. What seemed like everyone in the entire Duchy of Ships had turned up, summoned by some silent signal to gather on all sides. There were people in the rafters and perching on the windowsills. Poppy and her Aes Sidhe friend were sitting together on one of the higher perches, their wings half-open, so that they became almost tangled. It was an interesting form of intimacy, and one I’d have to think about more later.

  Pete herself was nowhere to be seen, having peeled off shortly before we took up our places in front of the dais. I shifted from one foot to the other, trying not to look at either Torin or the empty space where Pete should have been.

  Torin was looking somewhat the worse for wear. His former guards had been given the task of standing guard over him, and whatever Pete had said when she ordered them to do it, they were taking her seriously. They had untied his feet, but his hands were still firmly bound behind his back. His gills were still red and raw. Even if he transformed back into his fishier form, I somehow doubted he was going to be swimming easy for a while.