Page 77 of When Sorrows Come

I knew the woman in Absalom’s memories, had known her my entire life. Of course I did. There’s nothing beautiful in this world that can’t be corrupted by the touch of Eira Rosynhwyr. She hadn’t even bothered to change the face she wore between Vesper Shallcross and Evening Winterrose. She was still the woman I’d always known. In more ways than one.

The kingdom is fallen. Iron in the water, iron in the ground, and those damn Roane saw it coming, but not the way it could be set aside. There are no more Roane in the harbors of New York, regardless of the kingdom, but that is small consolation for havinglost so much. My lady has left me, and all because the Roane could not speak plainly, could not say “give the throne and the land to Shallcross, for he has been deeded tainted land, and deserves better than his lot.” This is all their fault...

I gasped and took another mouthful, forcing myself below the memories.

My rival goes to the night-haunts, his son to ascend in his place... the boy is weak, his reign will crumble, and the throne will pass to me as it should have from the beginning... my lady will return when she sees me holding power again, as I should have done from the beginning. My sweet Vesper will whisper my fears away as she has always done. In her company, I can be a better, stronger man. In her presence, I can be as glorious as our First commanded me to be.

That was because Vesperwashis First, so of course she’d know how to follow the rules she herself had set down for her descendants. His memories of her were surprisingly carnal for the formal nature of the rest of his thoughts, and I could have gone my entire life without seeing Evening like that, even through someone else’s eyes.

But the son holds the throne and finds a bride, although no one seems to remember her mother; she springs from nowhere, like Venus from the tide, and she is beloved, because she is the Queen. I hate him all the more for having her by his side, when my own Queen is absent, gone to parts and places unknown until such time as I can be a man for her.

Is there anything Evening can’t make worse? More, is there anyone in Faerie whodoesn’tneed therapy?

Time is the only coin I have to spend in plenty. Time, and what remains of the treasury of Ash and Oak, which is no longer replenished, but is no longer needed for the care and comfort of my people. So I gather my strength.

I gather my supporters from among the lowest of the fae, the ones who think like men but are thought of as monsters, all because they were made by the Three rather than born from the bodies of their children. The Doppelgangers thrive in the absence of the Courts and are less troubled by the touch of iron than are so many of us. They have taken the lands that once were mine, and while they answer to no lord, they are willing to negotiate.

The plan is a slow one. The tinder is gathered, the bonfires readyto burn, and we build for years. I humble myself before the pretender, keep myself below his notice, serve at his table, sup on his scraps, and dream of the day when he kneels before me, beaten and broken and brought low, as he should have been since the beginning.

I gasped, breaking loose for a moment, not quite shaking the memory away. “Still don’t know if Fiac’s alive or not,” I said, almost apologetically, before pressing my mouth to Absalom’s wrist again. “This would go faster if you’d think about him, and not about how awesome and cool your grand plan is. It’s like sitting through the arthouse film version of some asshole’s evil monologue.”

Tybalt shot me a concerned look. I offered him a quick, wan smile, and dove into the memory again.

The kitchens are abuzz. There is to be a wedding, and the bride is apparently a monster who has insisted on bringing her private pastry chef to make the cake. It’s easy, in the offense this generates, to slip away and move my people into place.

Oh, Kerry was going to be thrilled about that.

Things improve; the bride is a known king-breaker and self-styled hero who causes chaos wherever she trespasses. She will provide the perfect scapegoat for the fall of a king. Some say she may have the missing Crown Prince in her company. If this is true, he’ll die with his father, and the High Kingdom will be settled on me with no possible complications. No one will question me when I appear, heroic savior from the past, to stop a changeling king-breaker from destroying the proper order of things. I need only get myself into position—

The Seer’s place will do—

I gasped again, breaking free completely. The shards of Absalom’s thoughts cluttered the corners of my mind, unctuous and somehow slimy, like they’d been as tainted as his land by years of exposure to ambient iron. I retched, trying to get the taste of his blood out of my mouth, but had the presence of mind—barely—not to spit on the carpet. Instead, I turned to Yenay.

“Do you have anything with a stronger flavor than water?” I asked. “Coffee, whiskey, strawberry soda,anything?”

“I have a Cherry Coke in the fridge,” said Yenay, sounding a little baffled. “Why do you—”

“Because I don’t actually like the taste of blood,” I said. “And this fucker didn’t taste very good, what with all the hatred andbigotry and ambient iron he’s carrying around with him.” I shot Absalom a glare. “On the plus side, I think I know where to find Fiac, and it looks like this asshole was serious about trying to pull off a coup without any actual violations of the Law. With Oberon missing, if he killed the Sollys family and claimed the throne, he’d be able to pardon himself. Who’s going to pursue a High King for his crimes? Whocan? So he didn’t want to muddy the waters with deaths people could say were unnecessary.”

It’s been a while since assassination was the most common means of succession. I’ve always wondered how that was supposed to work, since we’re not supposed to kill each other except in times of war, but there have been periods where we knew, or at least strongly suspected, that literally everyone with a crown on their brow had committed murder to get it. Maybe all sitting monarchs are considered at war with one another, and it’s something they all know so absolutely that they’ve never felt the need to tell any of the lesser denizens of Faerie about their perpetual, loophole-creating conflict?

“His Doppelgangers were more than happy to kill in his name,” snarled Tybalt.

Yenay, who had ducked away into the stacks, came back without the ledger, and with a bottle of Cherry Coke in her hand, which she offered to me without saying a word. I removed the cap and took a long, fizzy drink, washing the taste of blood away, before looking back to Tybalt.

“They were, and he deserves to be punished for that. Which he will be, once we’ve finished flushing out the people he still has loose in the knowe—I don’t know how many, which I have to assume is because he was intentionally thinking about other things, like how much he missed fucking his wife,” I said, eyeing Absalom. He looked unaccountably smug. “But Fiac is alive, and we should be able to get to him before that changes. And the High King is alive, and this one will never take the throne. Now that we know the loophole he was planning to exploit, the foundation documents can be appropriately updated.”

Absalom glared at me, Tybalt’s hands holding him in place. I smiled sweetly back at him. He glared harder. Villains don’t like it when you act like their threats aren’t threatening.

“We can update the decree if the High King okays it,” I said, in the calm, patient tone of someone who was being forced to explainsomething to a small child who didn’t want to listen. “That’s why people don’t point these things out when they happen. They’re keeping them as weapons to be used later.”

Well, this weapon had been used, and while it was bloodied, it had failed to strike its actual target.

I shifted my smile to Tybalt, allowing it to melt around the edges and turn sincere.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Let’s get married.”

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