Page 56 of When Sorrows Come

“It’s never been his strongest suit,” said Maida, stroking Aethlin’s forehead with one hand, “but he manages the basics well enough to be considered competent, and I find him quite impressive on occasion.”

“Then he’ll be fine,” I said. Riding the blood is one of the firstand simplest lessons young Daoine Sidhe receive, and I know that to be true in part because I’d believed Iwasa young Daoine Sidhe when Sylvester Torquill had sat down with me to teach me how to coax a memory out of a drop of blood. He’d started with dilute mixtures, a single drop in an entire glass of water, and for years I’d felt a little hurt by how frustrated he’d looked as he mixed me stronger and stronger samples, adding more blood to less water until I could hear the faint echoes of someone else’s memory.

That hadn’t been a fun summer. For either of us. At the time, I hadn’t been able to understand why he’d even bother, since it was blazingly obvious I would never have strong enough magic for it to matter. Now, I wondered how he’d been able to convince Mom to let him give me even that much training—although it could also have been her idea. I’d been a stubborn child. I know, big shock. But she’d been dedicated to the idea that if I thought I was powerless, I would be, and she’d never wanted me to understand my own potential, or the ways in which it deviated from the Daoine Sidhe norm.

If the High King had received even the most basic training, he’d be able to fight his way through my memories and back into himself in due time. And until he did, he probably shouldn’t be trusted with knives since the regenerative capabilities of my magic wouldn’t last as long as the memories did. He could easily stab himself, thinking it was something he’d be able to shrug off, only to find that most people don’t do well with knives jutting out of their bodies.

Sure, the fact that he currently thought he was me could be taken as raising some uncomfortable questions about identity in Faerie, but no more uncomfortable than the questions raised by the existence of Fetches and night-haunts. We had better things to worry about.

“We need to interview your entire staff,” I said. “And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you,’ and by ‘you’ I mean ‘someone you trust implicitly, probably with Fiac present to verify people’s responses, because if you were to find another Doppelganger, you’d probably get stabbed, too, and that’s not a fun family activity.’ ”

“Can I...” The High Queen faltered, swallowed, and then began again, asking, “Can I beg a vial of your blood to carry with me, until such time as this is resolved? I would rather not be stabbed, but if it becomes inescapable, I would like a way to not succumb to my wounds.”

It was an interesting question, and one that gave me momentary pause. I glanced to the side, where Tybalt and Cassandra were observing the scene. Tybalt gave a very small nod, indicating that he wouldn’t disapprove. Cassie was watching the air between me and the High Queen, giving no indication that she had heard a single thing we were saying.

Seers. What can you do? I looked back to Maida. “If you promise me you’re not going to give it to anyone else or save it to use against me later. Blood is a dangerous thing. We can’t just leave it lying around for anyone to find.”

“I promise,” she said swiftly. “If we get through this without issue, and I still have the blood, I will return it to you if there is any possible way to do so. By the root and the branch, the rose and the thorn, the ash, the rowan, the oak, and the yew, I swear.”

Fiac nodded when she stopped, approving her words as true. But let’s be honest. I was always going to agree to her request. She was the mother of my squire, and the same laws of sympathetic magic that would allow someone to use my blood against me would have allowed me to use her son against her. Yes, she’d only sent him away because Eira made it sound like a great idea and it’s almost impossible for Daoine Sidhe to go against her wishes, but if Maida could trust me with her entire son, I could trust her with a little bit of my blood if it would help her feel safe in her own knowe.

“The first Doppelganger, before it attacked us, was explaining how it believed King Shallcross should have been granted the title of High King even if Ash and Oak wasn’t chosen for the Kingdom seat,” I said. “It said High King Sollys was an imposter who sits upon a stolen throne.”

“The convocation was to decide both where the High Kingdom would be seated and who would wear the crown,” said Maida. “Everyone involved agreed the high crown would travel with the seat, to make matters as simple as possible. It wasn’t until his kingdom was passed over that Shallcross began making claims of illegitimacy and theft. He’d been so sure no one could chooseMuddyYork overNewYork that he never bothered to raise a complaint until the matter was settled and done.”

I nodded slowly. “I know you weren’t there,” I said. Maida had been born toward the end of the last High King’s rule, so she couldn’t possibly have been in attendance. “I also know the Luidaeg was because she told us as much, and she can’t lie. Is thereanyone else in this knowe who attended the convocation in the flesh? I’d like to speak to them, if so. I need to understand what’s going on here.”

Doppelgangers in their natural forms don’t have blood as such; they’re an undifferentiated flesh, more fungal than anything else, and while the slime they leave behind when they die might contain traces of their magic, you’re not going to catch me putting that stuff in my mouth. I looked at the slime eating its way into the carpet and nearly gagged at the thought alone. No: blood magic wasn’t going to be the answer here, save in the sense that it was going to let me give High Queen Maida the peace of mind she needed to go back to her life.

In the meantime... “How long has King Shallcross been calling the legitimacy of the throne into question?” We hadn’t heard anything about it in the Mists, but without reliable phones or Internet, news travels more slowly in Faerie than it does in the mortal world.

Not that that had been enough to stop the rumors of my king-breaking from spreading with enormous speed. I guess “October Daye will stab you until you die if you’re naughty” was a much more interesting rumor than “maybe the High King, who hasn’t really been an asshole or demanded anything unreasonable from his vassal kingdoms in over a century, was not supposed to inherit the throne after all.” People are people no matter what.

“Since the convocation,” said Fiac. “He didn’t like the answer when he asked, ‘May I have the crown?’, and so he began objecting. He insisted Ash and Oak should have been chosen despite the testimony of the Roane—called them liars and slaves to a Firstborn’s fickle fancies—even after the first signs of iron poisoning began to make themselves clear in the subjects of his own demesne. The man could have seen his courtiers melt and still claimed it was safe to remain in the kingdom.”

I looked to Fiac. “Were you there?”

“My predecessor was. My mother served the first High King as I serve his son, and she told me what had happened in precise and unyielding terms. I would have known had she lied to me.”

“Yes.” Intentionally, anyway. Recollection is imprecise. If he’d been there, I could have asked for a sample of his blood and lived the memory for myself, studying it from every angle. Blood magic allows me to be an eyewitness to events I couldn’t possibly have seen for myself, and that’s valuable.

The Luidaeg had been there, of course, but asking for her blood wasn’t an option. I’ve tasted it before, and it’s overwhelmed me every time, knocking me down and damaging my ability to manage my own life. The blood of the Firstborn is too powerful to be consumed so casually, as Simon Torquill learned to his dismay.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Daye,” said Maida. “I’m afraid this will interfere with your marriage.”

“No.” Tybalt’s voice was a wall, slamming down over the High Queen’s words and forbidding any further passage. “Wewillbe wed before the end of this visit. I refuse to consider any other outcome.”

“Is it really responsible for us to divert resources to a celebration when there’s a possible coup in progress?” asked Maida.

“Had we not agreed to come to your domain for our wedding, had we remained in the Mists and allowed Queen Windermere to perform the ceremony, as she volunteered to do, your coup would be proceeding without my lady’s intervention or assistance,” said Tybalt flatly. “We came here for diplomacy’s sake, not because we needed you. If you declare yourselves unable to host, we will of course be disappointed, and we will remove ourselves from your halls immediately. I have delayed my marriage to this woman frequently enough to allow her a great many injuries, at least one act of impossible, inadvisable magic, and more poor decisions than we have time to list right now. No. I will not delay any further.”

“He speaks truth, Lady,” said Fiac.

I said nothing. I didn’t feel the need to be married now, right now, this second as strongly as Tybalt did, but I probably would have, if he had shared my talent for getting himself stabbed every time I let him out of my sight. Much as it rankled when Tybalt got overprotective, I had to admit he’d earned the reaction, every scrap of it, and all he was doing was asking me to lie down in the bed I’d made for myself.

“I’ll go with him if he says we have to move the wedding,” I said abruptly, earning myself a wounded look from Maida and a thankful one from Tybalt. I couldn’t comment on either of them. “It’s important for us to finally get married, and we wouldn’t have been here to get involved if not for that. So while you can absolutely say you’re not comfortable hosting right now, if you do that, we’ll have to leave, and you’ll have to handle your coup on your own.”

“We could order you to stay,” said Maida. “Hero of the realm ornot, you are a knight of the Divided Courts, and you answer to our authority.”

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