Page 3 of When Sorrows Come

The majority of fae, if asked to label themselves by modern human terms, will go with “bisexual,” because the gender of their partners matters a lot less than the fact that everyone is there to have a good time. With shapeshifters and transformation magic and people who are literally trees for half the year running around, even “gender” can get a little bit vague and is rarely discussed outside of private conversations. Marriages may be two people, or three, or more—the largest stable marriage I’ve ever encountered was five people, all of them perfectly content with the arrangement.

It doesn’t make much sense to me. I’m still human enough to be an absolute prude by fae standards, and I don’t share. But as long as everyone’s happy, or at least satisfied, Faerie doesn’t care, and so I do my best not to care either.

But one thing Faeriedoestend to be fairly strict about is loyalty. When the fae make promises, we expect them to be kept, and we don’t handle it well when they’re not. Dean and Quentin had never mentioned being in an open relationship to me, and we talked enough that I was sure I’d know if they were seeing other people.

My stepbrother was cheating on my squire on my own kitchen step, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

The two of them pulled apart, and I found my voice, demanding stridently, “What thehelldo you think you’re doing?”

They turned to face me, Dean’s eyes going wide as he realized they had an audience, the stranger’s cheeks flushing a surprisingly vibrant red. He was paler even than my mother, almost the same shade as a sheet of paper, with dust-colored hair and brown eyes that managed to be a few shades lighter, like grimy cobwebs. His ears were sharply pointed, although not at an angle that would have betrayed Daoine Sidhe heritage. I breathed in, tasting the balance of his blood on the evening breeze.

Banshee, from one end to the other, with no traces of anything else.

“Sorry,” said Dean. “We thought you’d be out.”

“Oh, so you’ve done this before?”

The two of them exchanged a look, Dean’s eyes getting even wider—if that was even possible—before the blood drained out of his cheeks. He whipped back around to face me.

“This isn’t what you think,” he said, words coming out in a staccato burst with no real space for breath between them.

“Really? Because what I think is that you want me to slap you upside the head before I call my father and tell him to tell your mother what you’re doing.”

The stranger burst out laughing. It was a high, musical sound, and when he spoke a moment later, it matched the bright tenor of his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “We should have considered how this would look, but we reallydidn’tthink you’d be home.”

I blinked at him.

“Talk faster,” I suggested. “I don’t have a very long temper right now.”

“Isn’t it the fuse that’s normally measured in length?” asked the stranger. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be good at human idiom.”

Dean was still pale, but stayed quiet, watching his new fling grill me. I scowled at both of them.

“Right now it’s everything, so explain yourselves before I start stabbing.”

“Fine, fine, but you have to let me mess with May when she gets home.” The stranger held his hands up, palms toward me. “I know you want me to be able to come to the wedding without causing a major diplomatic incident, so I went to the Luidaeg and asked her if she could help me. I owe her a favor now, but this is permanent until she gives me the counteragent, so now I can come and see you get married like a good squire. I just have to be careful not to stub my toe and yell too loudly, or I could shatter all the crystal in Toronto.”

I blinked. Slowly. Counted to ten and blinked again. “Quentin?”

He shrugged and lowered his hands, looking only faintly abashed. “Surprise?”

“Both of you get inside so I can kill you,” I said and stepped outof the doorway, making room for them to pass me. Dean grabbed hold of his hand as soon as he lowered it, seeming to take some comfort in the contact. I was gladsomeonewas taking comfort in the day.

Holding hands, they walked past me into the kitchen, and I closed the door behind them.

two

With the door shutand them safely trapped inside with me, the boys seemed to lose a little of their previous bravado. The one I suspected of being Quentin, despite being the wrong height, build, and bloodline, turned to look at me. He was still clinging to Dean’s hand like a lifeline, and for the first time, he looked genuinely concerned.

Dean, on the other hand, looked like he was going to lose his most recent meal all over my kitchen floor. I favored him with a brief smile as I walked past them to the pile of baked goods May had left on the counter.

“I think these are scones,” I said. “Anyone care to guess the flavor? May’s been getting experimental recently. So it could be blueberry or plum or apple, but it could also be ham and raspberry or ginger and whatever the hell she’s decided is a complementary flavor this week.”

“Toby...” began the boy who might be Quentin.

“Nope,” I said, with all the good cheer I could muster. It was a surprising amount. This was too ridiculous to be anything but abstractly funny. Either my squire had made an ill-advised deal with the sea witch for reasons I did not yet fully understand, or his boyfriend had discovered the single stupidest possible way to try to get out of the consequences of his own actions. And it didn’t matter which was true because I was going to have a thrice-cursed scone before I dealt with it. “I just got up. Breakfast, then horrifying drama.”

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