Page 84 of When Sorrows Come

The Luidaeg turned, eyes once again solidly black from side to side, hair starting to rise around her head like she was floating in the deep waters of the abyss, where no light could reach and no warmth could penetrate. There was an arrow jutting out of her belly, and as I watched, the dark sky of her dress wrapped around it and pulled it under, and it was gone.

Oh, and she waspissed.

“You would dare?” she asked, in a tone that was light, almost philosophical, and completely out of line with her appearance. She raised one hand, almost lazily, and a literal wall of black, brackishwater appeared in front of her. She lowered her hand and the wall surged forward, a tidal wave knocking the first row of archers away.

She wasn’t the only one reacting with violence. Simon was on his feet, hands working rapidly as the smell of smoke and apple cider rose in the air. One of the archers screamed and collapsed, body convulsing as it twisted into a new shape. Next to him, Patrick was shielding Dean and Peter with his body, keeping his sons away from the fight. Of the four, only Simon was injured, an arrow jutting from his side, and he was using the blood, dipping his fingers into it before gesturing again.

Sylvester, sword in hand, was leading a small group of knights and other physical fighters toward the archers, who were starting to look unsure about their choices. Someone was going to get hurt, worse than many of my guests already had.

As if that thought was an invitation, one of the courtiers blurred and vanished, becoming a vast red-and-white–furred dog that flung itself into the row of archers, snapping his jaws down on the throat of the nearest. Two more dropped their bows and drew their short swords, advancing on him.

I looked toward the back of the crowd. Only a few seconds had passed, and Oberon hadn’t moved. He was watching the scene, an expression of deep sorrow on his face. All the rage I used to harbor for the man came rushing back. How dare he leave us alone? How dare he say “just don’t kill each other” and walk away, like that was going to be enough to keep his children safe from each other?

He could have stopped so much pain, so much death, so much suffering, and instead, he’d left us to our own devices. And now that he was back, he still wasn’t stepping in to protect the people who needed him.

“Well, fuckthat,” I said, and stormed away from the platform, heading for the archers. Two of them managed to notch arrows and fire them at me. They bounced off the fabric of my dress, clattering harmlessly away. I smiled grimly to myself as I kept advancing. Apparently, if something is sufficiently stain-resistant, it’s also puncture-resistant. I was going to have some bruises, but those would heal even faster than arrow wounds would have. Bonus: they would keep my blood on the inside of my body, which Tybalt seemed to find reassuring. This was his wedding night as well. He deserved a little reassurance.

Roars and snarls marked the progress of the Cait Sidhe contingent. I kept pressing forward, nearly stumbling over the body of a man in royal livery. A member of the actual guard, then, and not one of the protean imposters. An arrow jutted from his throat at an almost jaunty angle, and his eyes were open, staring at the sky.

“Sorry,” I said, bending and pulling the sword from his belt. It was heavy and unfamiliar in my hand, but it was still a weapon, and that made it better than nothing.

Another arrow bounced off my bodice as I straightened. “Oh for the sake of—stop shooting at us!” I yelled, glaring at the remaining archers. There were more of them still standing than I would have expected: I could see at least five, begging the question of just how many damn Doppelgangers King Shallcross had been able to sneak into the knowe. I wasn’t going to tell them to stop shooting at me in specific: not only was I an obvious target in my pristine white dress and murderous rage, but every arrow sent my way was one not being fired at someone more vulnerable.

“Yo, Toby!”

I looked to my right. There was May, who was apparently angling herself according to the same principle: she was bristling with arrows, at least eight of them sticking out of her chest and stomach, while Jazz and Stacy used her for cover. Etienne was hacking away at a Doppelganger. Chelsea and Bridget were gone, Chelsea having presumably been ordered to get her mother out of there. All the Tuatha de Dannan except for Etienne were gone, in fact, and so were several of the more vulnerable guests. That was nice to see.

“Yes?” I called.

“Nice dress!” May had gotten close enough to one of the archers to punch them soundly in the throat. He went down gasping, and she took his bow away. “Now I have a longbow, motherfuckers, ho, ho, ho,” she chortled, and began pulling arrows out of her own torso, using her body as a makeshift quiver.

I resumed my advance. If everyone got to stab someone on my wedding day except for me, I was going to be even more annoyed than I already was.

Two of the archers were still standing when I reached them. “Hi,” I said blandly, as one of them tried to shoot me from far too close a distance. The arrow, like the others, bounced harmlessly off my dress. I raised my sword and swung it, hard, at his neck. He failed to duck in time.

I hate blood. I hate ichor more. Doppelgangers, having the bad taste to bleed ichor, are my least favorite thing to stab. He went down hard, as the other archer, panicking, grabbed an arrow and jammed it into the exposed part of my chest. I looked down at it, then up at him.

“Did no one ever teach you anymanners?” I demanded, raising my sword in a threatening manner. “Stand down, right now, and maybe we let you live.”

He dropped his bow.

“Good man. Assuming you are one, which may not be correct. Where are the guards you duplicated?”

“I don’t know,” he said miserably. “Going about their business, I would guess. We didn’t replace them all, we just stole a copy of the duty roster and made sure we were never in the same place at the same time, please don’t kill me, please, I’m sorry I shot arrows at your friends...”

“You did more than just shoot arrows at my friends. You disrupted mywedding. Why did you do that? We already captured your King. This chess game is over.”

I could hear a commotion behind me, as several of my friends noticed their runaway bride had one of the bad guys cornered and had somehow acquired a sword. Honestly, with as surprised as they always were to see me armed, you’d think none of them had ever met me before.

“I’m a reasonable person,” I said. “You can reason with me. And right now, you can give me a reason not to kill you, or let my fiancé kill you, since he was supposed to be my husband by now, and he’s probably pretty annoyed that he’s not.”

The Doppelganger stared at me in all my blood-drenched, unstained glory, mouth moving soundlessly. Finally, he swallowed. “You’re terrifying,” he said.

“I’ve heard that before. Talk.”

The Doppelganger took a deep breath. “We’re intelligent beings. We have families, we have feelings, we want things, but because we don’t have a Firstborn, you treat us like vermin. Like we’repixies.” He spat the last word with disgusted vehemence. “Shallcross offered us another way. Swore if we helped him take the High Throne, he would grant us the dominion of Ash and Oak and all its ruined glories. We could open our own knowes, live in peace and safety, and stop being used as spies and assassins byevery court that needs something done but doesn’t want to get their hands dirty. If he stopped checking in, we were supposed to disrupt the wedding. Cause as much chaos and as many deaths as possible.”

I stiffened before whipping around. Sylvester and Etienne were closing the distance between us quickly. That was good. I needed a teleporter.

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