Page 61 of When Sorrows Come

“I don’t know if it’s a tradition where you come from, ma’am, but when a stranger commandeers part of my kitchen, I do whatever seems likely to keep them calm and not damaging things and might convince them to leave slightly sooner than they would be otherwise inclined to do.” The Hob shook her head. “The High Queen herself requested we allow the use of our space, and so we allow it, but permission is not the same as approval. Please. Your friends are waiting.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, no matter how politely it was couched. “Gotcha,” I said, with a small mock salute. I grabbed Tybalt’s hand, pulling him along with me as I followed the Hob’s gesture toward the back of the banquet hall-sized room.

“Haveyouseen the cake?” I asked, once I judged we were safely out of hearing range. “She’s not, like, sculpting an animated model of Godzilla out of fondant or something, right?”

“Not as such,” he said, sounding a little shaken. “We discussed flavors and design once, and I showed her the early sketches of your gown, and then she said she would take care of everything and I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about it and went away. Should I have pressed the matter further? I wasn’t concerned until this moment.”

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.” It felt frivolous, to be concerned about my wedding cake in the middle of a possible coup, but for the first time, it wasn’t my responsibility to stabilize a kingdom alone. There were other people with the skills and authority to handle the current phase of the problem, and while they would probably call on me once we reached the “people getting stabbed and doing lots of bleeding” part of the proceedings, the fact of the matter is that I’m a blunt instrument. Sometimes a situation needs a scalpel.

We kept walking toward the indicated back of the room, continuing for what seemed like an utterly unreasonable amount of time for us to still be in a kitchen. Almost every workstation was occupied, even down to a row of dishwashers scrubbing serving platters and rinsing out goblets. They all watched us suspiciously as we passed, but none of them asked where we were going or challenged our right to be there.

I remembered the way Oleander de Merelands had been able toinfiltrate Shadowed Hills, under the guise of a serving girl, and the Barrow Wight girl who had stood as servant of the former King and Queen of Highmountain. In both cases, they had been able to cause a remarkable amount of trouble by being beneath the notice of the people they were trying to hurt. I made a note to myself to remind Aethlin that interrogating the staff had to includeallthe staff, not just the ones he thought were important enough to matter.

Everyone matters. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from how hard Evening and her ilk have tried to convince me Idon’tmatter, it’s that everyone matters. The alternative is a world where no one matters, and since I know that isn’t true, “everyone” is the only option we have left.

Finally, after far more walking than was reasonable, we reached a corner and turned it to see a series of rough-hewn essentially picnic tables, probably set up for the use of the kitchen staff themselves when they took breaks from their work, or as a staging area for banquets in the process of being delivered. The tables were far from full, being extensive enough to easily seat at least fifty people, but as they held the rest of our party, plus Nessa, and a remarkable number of serving trays of cold cuts, cheese, and sliced fruit, I didn’t care.

“Toby!” called Stacy, catching sight of us. Then she got a better look at me, and sighed. “Where in the world is your dress? You shouldn’t have taken that off without help.”

“Idoknow how to work a zipper,” said Tybalt, in a primly offended tone.

I laughed, patting him on the arm. “I had help, and my jeans seemed like a better choice if people were going to be stabbing me.” Which meant they were always a better choice for me, given how much time I spent bleeding.

As a child, the idea of wearing comfortable, mundane clothing inside a royal knowe would have been unthinkable, not least because the false Queen had been so fond of transforming whatever I was wearing into something she liked better. Even when I showed up in gowns originally commissioned by my mother, intricate assemblies of rare fabric and layered enchantment, there had been a decent chance the false Queen would change them around me, asserting her control of the situation through the cut and color of my underpants. It was amazing how long I’d gone thinking thatwas normal, that monarchs were always careless and capricious with the lives of their subjects.

And then I’d met Arden, who hadn’t been a queen for long, but who had learned the art at the feet of her father, who was widely regarded as the best king the Mists has ever had. Arden, who didn’t abuse her people for fun, and who wore jeans and sweatshirts when she wasn’t officially on-duty. Not that a queen was ever distinct from her throne, but sometimes she was speaking officially as the crown and sometimes she was just Arden, amused and exasperated by her attempts to teach her staff about toaster pastries.

If Arden could wear jeans, so could I.

“I left it in the dressing room,” I said, before Stacy could get even more upset over its absence. “It’s beautiful, and I’m sure the staff Bannicks will be able to get the blood out. If they can’t, we just take it home with us, and Elliot will be delighted to take care of it.” I brought Elliot’s fiancée—now wife—back from the dead. He’d be happy to do my laundry for the rest of my life if I asked him to. Then I paused, blinking. “Andwhatis that on yourhead?”

She was wearing a headband of sorts, one festooned with red plastic roses, sequins, and tiny plastic pearls, with a short veil glued down in the middle. It was tacky. It was ridiculous. May beamed across the table at me.

She didn’t have a headband, but she did have a gaudy button that said, in large, cheerful letters, “Here comes the bride!” “Do you like it?” she asked. “We got one of the Tuatha to open a gate to the local party supply store for us and got bachelorette party swag for all the decoys.”

I sighed, not having the heart to tell her that after an assassination attempt on the High King, we probably weren’t going to need any decoy brides. When May gets the opportunity to decorate something, she tends to go all in.

Stacy huffed, sitting back on the bench where she’d settled herself and folding her arms. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she asked, “Where’s my daughter?”

“Cassie is with the High King and Queen, assisting in the interrogation of their private guard,” I said. She narrowed her eyes further, and I sighed. “She’s a Seer, Stace. I know you don’t want her to be, I know you don’t want her to be anything that attracts the attention of the nobility, but she’s my niece, she’s brilliant, and she’s a Seer. All the wanting in the world won’t change that.”

“I don’t like this,” said Stacy. “Mitch is coming with the rest of the children. You’re not going to letthemgo off with the High King, are you?”

“She can’t stop Karen if she wants to go, since that girl is under my protection, and I outrank you both last time I looked,” said the Luidaeg, gesturing with a pickle spear. Not to be left out of the bad style choices, she had several strands of Mardi Gras beads around her neck, and a stack of cheap bangles on one arm. That party supply store had enjoyed its time with May’s credit card.

“And the rest aren’t Seers, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. Stacy looked away, not meeting my eyes. I blinked, hard, and decided that cornering her on the issue in front of everyone else wasn’t going to do us any good. But we weregoingto have a conversation about this as soon as I could get her alone.

Poppy snorted and waved at me from the other side of the table, chirping, “Get a plate and make a sandwich. You’ve not eaten since before I ate last, and I’ve had three!”

“She hasn’t eaten,andshe’s been bleeding again,” said Tybalt, nudging me toward the trays. I looked between the two of them and sighed, moving to pick up two slices of bread.

“I don’t need the entire world telling me I need to eat more,” I objected. “I’m a grown woman and I can feed myself just fine.”

Tybalt made a scoffing noise. “Perhaps it’s for the best the court Adhene has gone off with his liege lord for the interrogations,” he said. “Since a lie that blatant would surely have roused him to attempted murder.”

“I’m pretty hard to kill,” I said, stuffing roast beef and sliced melon between the bread.

“Hence the ‘attempted.’ ”

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