The Unkindest Tide

by Seanan McGuire

  I stared at him in slow-dawning horror, the pieces of the puzzle slotting neatly into place around me. “Someone wants to make sure the Roane don’t come back.”

  He nodded. “I can see no other answer. Can you?”

  “Nope.” I stood. “Come on. Let’s go ruin someone’s day.”

  “Do you know whose?” he asked.

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll figure it out when people start trying to kill me. Again.”

  Tybalt rolled his eyes, but took my hands, and we stepped together into shadows.

  NINETEEN

  THE COURTYARD WHERE we’d left our friends, allies, and the body of Isla Chase was in chaos. Cephali clung to the walls, waving spears and tridents in a display that was more threat than actual aggression, while Torin’s guard threw themselves against the closed gates. The man himself was nowhere to be seen. Tybalt and I stepped out of the shadows between two of the small residence structures and stopped, pausing a moment to take it all in.

  “I swear on Oberon’s ass, I can’t leave you people alone for five minutes,” I said, not making any effort to keep my voice down.

  Quentin, who had been shoving a trident between the bars of the gate, turned at the sound of my voice. There was a shallow cut down his left cheek, deep enough to bleed, but probably not deep enough to scar. “Toby! Where the hell have you been?” There was a beat before he added, less confidently, “Why are you covered in blood again?”

  “Long story. Get away from that gate before you get hurt.” I strode forward. “Seriously, you cut your face? What’s Dean going to think of that? Where is Dean?” Only one Lorden was in evidence, Patrick, who was throwing small glass bulbs filled with violently yellow liquid over the gate and into the scrum on the other side. He was grinning nastily as he did it, and I was quite sure I didn’t want to ask what those bulbs contained. Ever.

  “Poppy and Dean hauled Peter into one of the apartments and locked the door,” said Quentin. “We were letting him fight at first, only it turns out he’s skinny enough to fit between the bars, and after he nearly got grabbed, twice, we decided it was better if we kept him out of reach.”

  “Good thinking.” I looked around again. Marcia was filling glass bulbs—that explained where Patrick was getting his armaments—and René had a vicious-looking wooden sword with jagged thorns running along its cutting edge. Nolan had produced a longbow from somewhere and was standing atop a table taking carefully nonfatal aim, with the air of someone who had all the time in the world to shoot the people who had shown the bad sense to disrupt his evening.

  Cassandra, thankfully, was cowering on the other side of Nolan—at least until she saw me. Then, her eyes widened and she rushed from her hiding place to grab hold of my arm, jerking hard enough that it nearly knocked me over.

  “Aunt Birdie! You have to stop them! You have to stop them before they do something that can’t be taken back!”

  None of the attackers had ranged weapons. The only ones who’d made it over the gate were the Cephali, and they were less “fighting” and more “going through the paces of a stage combat improv class.” The Cephali in Torin’s service were clearly less than thrilled about their so-called leader. I frowned.

  “What are you talking about, Cass? I mean, there’s reason to worry about Nolan putting an arrow in someone’s throat, but I’m pretty sure this is a skirmish of war right now, so he’s not going to get in too much trouble if he does.” The Undersea made the rules. We were just cheerfully exploiting them for our own ends.

  Cassandra shook her head, so hard her hair whipped around her cheeks. “No, no, no. Not our people—theirs. They’re going to do something they can’t undo, and you’re going to lose your temper, and things are going to get bad when that happens. Please, you have to stop them before it’s too late.”

  I hesitated. This didn’t seem like a good time to try consoling my adopted niece. But the fight was going on with or without me, and sometimes the best path through a battle is the one that doesn’t seem available. “Honey, what do you know? Did someone tell you something?”

  “I—” Cassandra hesitated. Then, in a rush, she said, “I can read the future in the movement of air sometimes. I’m an aeromancer. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really am, but Karen said not to, and she’s always been better at seeing the clear paths than I am, I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly, Arden’s interest in Cassandra made a lot more sense, and I was a lot unhappier with it. “Cassie . . . are you saying you’re a soothsayer?”

  “Yes.” She nodded firmly. “I am. Not the best, but I am. That’s why I knew I had to convince the Queen to send me on this trip, with or without Nolan. Bringing back the Roane changes things. It makes the future easier to see, but it also makes it more malleable. There are people who don’t want that to happen.”

  “What about you?”

  A glass bottle smashed against the dock; Patrick cheered. Cassandra grimaced. “I don’t think it’s mine to decide, and this has been coming for a long, long time. This is supposed to happen. Things have been broken for hundreds of years, Auntie Birdie, and the air moves too fast for me to see how the fixing ends, but I know we’re supposed to be fixing things. Nothing can be broken forever and stay stable. We have to move through this. But you, you have to stop them before they go too far.”

  “Who is ‘them,’ honey?”

  A rousing cheer rose from Torin’s guards. A chill swept over me, even before I heard the small, familiar voice whimpering under the shouts and jeers of the attackers.

  “Sir Daye, it seems I have something that belongs to you.”

  Torin’s voice was hectoring, smug. As far as he was concerned, he’d already won. The second he’d acquired the target of his little plan, he’d won.

  I turned.

  Torin was none the worse for wear from his encounter with Tybalt. There were a few scratches on his cheek, but he stood as tall and proud as ever, giving no sign that his injuries were slowing him down. The light from the hanging lamps around the courtyard’s walls glittered off the glass beads stitched to the breast of his doublet, a mocking mimicry of the way the light had glittered off Quentin’s scales when we’d been in the water.

  One of the strands of beads had snapped down the middle. I looked at the broken, glittering line, and I finally understood. I understood everything.

  He hadn’t returned alone. A hulking Cephali stood beside him, skin flashing warning bands of blue and orange. The Cephali was holding Gillian’s arms behind her back with two of his tentacles, twining them around her arms so there was no chance for her to break away. Not that she wasn’t trying. My girl was thrashing as hard as she could, a snarl on her face that I recognized all too well from my own mirror. She had never looked so much like my daughter.

  She saw me and shouted, “Toby! Get these fuckers off me!”

  The sound of her voice, of my name, was enough to break the paralysis that had settled over me. I strode toward the gate, aware that I was a blood-drenched nightmare of a woman and fully prepared to use it to my own advantage. I didn’t bother stopping outside of spearing range. Anyone who stuck one of their little toys into me was going to live to regret it.

  “It’s obvious you have her because you think you can use her,” I snarled, eyes on Torin. “You’re wrong. Let her go.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It seems to me that she’s been plenty useful already. You’re not fighting off my people anymore, when they were only here to collect what was mine by right. What will you give me for the girl, Sir Daye? Your own hand? Your own head? Or maybe the proof of my sister’s degeneracy? Give me the boys, and I’ll return your Selkie brat.”

  “My sons are not for sale,” spat Patrick. He had a glass bulb in each hand, and looked ready to start throwing again.

  I had no idea what was actually in those breakable projectiles, but given that half of Torin’s people were on
their hands and knees, vomiting, I was fairly sure it wasn’t anything I wanted getting spilled on Gillian.

  “Sale implies I believe you deserve some compensation,” Torin countered sharply. “You have no rights in the Undersea, lander. You’re a pet. A filthy, foul pet who dallied with my sister and needs to be put down for your transgressions. The children aren’t yours to claim. They’ll learn manners when they come to serve me.” He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded . . . eager, like he was excited to get started.

  The thought sent shivers along my spine, and not only because he had Gillian. At least she seemed to be unharmed, if furious. That was good. As long as he wasn’t hurting her, I wouldn’t have to take him apart.

  “This is not smart, Torin,” I said. “I’m a hero of the realm. I’m sworn in service to Duke Sylvester Torquill. He’s not going to like you threatening my daughter.”

  “You should have considered that before you dressed her in sealskin for the sake of the sea witch,” said Torin. He sounded far too pleased with himself. It made sense. He thought he’d won. I didn’t have to like it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tybalt walking toward the shadows at the side of the courtyard. He was making an effort not to draw attention to himself, and thus far, it seemed to be working.

  They don’t have Cait Sidhe in the Undersea. Unlike Dianda, Torin didn’t seem to have spent any measurable amount of time on land. It was possible neither he nor his people knew how dangerous Tybalt was. Even seeing us vanish over the edge of the dock wouldn’t necessarily have shown our hand since, apparently, people around here jump into the water all the time.

  “I’m not a particularly patient woman, you know,” I said. “Gillian doesn’t look like she’s hurt. That’s a point in your favor. Let her go, right now, and we can keep our dislike for each other at its current levels. Still not great for you, since you did stick a big-ass knife in my back, but better than it could be.”

  For the first time, Torin’s expression of smug self-satisfaction flickered. “The knife hit you, then.”

  “Yeah, it did.” I put my hands on my hips. “Where did you think all this blood came from? Blood Costco? It came out of me, when we had to pull your knife out of my body. You’ve already pissed me off today. Don’t make it worse.”

  “You’re bluffing.” His lip curled. “Or lying.”

  “Uh-huh. How did you get my daughter? She was supposed to be locked up with the other Ryan kids.”

  “She wanted to talk to you, didn’t you, poppet?” Torin turned to smirk at Gillian, who glared at him. “Thought her hero of a mother could help to calm the other Selkies, make them stop fighting among themselves. Thought she’d be safe as long as she had your name on her lips.”

  I sighed. I couldn’t help myself. “That sounds like Gillian. It doesn’t make her yours to use as a bargaining chip.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Torin produced another of those wickedly jagged knives from his belt, holding it up until the light glistened off its edge. “How about I start slicing strips off her and see how quickly you change your song?”

  Gillian struggled against the Cephali that held her, terror and bleak rage in her expression. My heart went out to her, even more than I’d expected it to. She was my daughter, yes, but she hadn’t been raised to this—hadn’t even been raised knowing this could happen. In my own way, I’d done the exact same thing to her that my mother had done to me. I’d let her grow up thinking the rules were one thing, when they had never been anything remotely close.

  At least I’d done it accidentally. My mother had done it all on purpose.

  Accidents . . . “You didn’t mean to kill Isla, did you?” I kept my voice as mild as I could, like I was making an observation about the weather.

  Torin froze. Only for an instant, but long enough for me to know my guess had been correct and my barb had struck home.

  Gilly, sweetie, please trust me, I thought. I’m doing this for you. “What happened? Were the two of you planning to run away together while everyone was distracted by the chaos in Saltmist? She’d already answered the Luidaeg’s call. She could have slipped out with the tide. So something must have changed. Did she tell you she was planning to pass her skin along after all? If you didn’t plan to keep Saltmist, someone must have paid for those troops—you were supposed to stop the resurrection of the Roane, weren’t you? Did she tell you it wasn’t going to work? Is that why you lost your temper? Or was betraying her always in the plan? You don’t seem too thrilled to have mixed-blood nephews. Maybe she wanted more than you were willing to give her, and you realized she was a liability. Or maybe you’re the one who wanted more. Did she realize you weren’t happy being her secret? Did she want to change things?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Shut up.”

  “Not denying it. Interesting. I mean, sure, killing a human isn’t against the Law, but killing your lover has to sting, no matter what she is when she falls off the edge of the world.”

  Gillian stared at me, fighting against the Cephali who held her with renewed vigor. “What do you mean, killing a human isn’t against the law? That’s sick! Faerie is sick!”

  My stomach sank as Torin’s head swung around to her, his attention finding a new target. “Faerie is sick, little girl, that much is true, and creatures like you are the sickness.” He took a step toward her, expression thoughtful. “I could make it healthier.”

  I rushed forward, grabbing the bars of the courtyard gate. One of Torin’s guards stabbed at me with her spear, but half-heartedly, like she was too confused to really commit. I grabbed the shaft and yanked it toward me, pulling it out of her hands.

  “No spears for you,” I snapped. “No swords or tridents or anything else, either. You don’t know how to use them responsibly.”

  “Rowan and thorn, you’re such a mom,” said Quentin.

  “Quiet,” I said, eyes still on Torin. “You get the fuck away from her, Torin, or you’re going to wish you’d killed me when you had the chance. Do you hear me? I’ll declare war on the Undersea all by myself, and I’ll win, unless you move away from my little girl.”

  Gillian looked like she couldn’t decide between terror and irritation, and settled for rolling her eyes, moving as far from Torin as her living chains allowed. The Cephali who was holding her pulled her a little tighter, until her back was against his chest. That just made her fight harder. It was a vicious cycle, and one that wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

  “Torin!” I shouted. “Look at me!”

  He didn’t turn around. Not as I yelled, and not as Tybalt stepped out of the shadows, moved in close behind him, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked.

  Torin shouted, confusion and fear wrapped into a tidy little package, and his guard swung around, ready to attack the invader. They were too slow. There were a lot of shadows clinging to the dock, and Tybalt was already gone, hauling Torin with him into the darkness.

  “Try not to kill him!” I shouted, probably already too late to be heard—but that part didn’t really matter, not as much as having at least pretended to try. Privately, I’d be thrilled to know that the man who had menaced my daughter, arrested Dianda, and thrown a knife at my fiancé had met his end in the freezing cold and endless dark of the Shadow Roads.

  “Mom!” wailed Gillian.

  I whipped around. The Cephali had wrapped one thick tentacle around her neck, squeezing slowly. He glared at me, hatred in his eyes.

  “Give him back,” he said. “Give him back, or I’ll—”

  Whatever he was going to say died as he made a thick gurgling sound and slumped forward, revealing the sword protruding from his back. It was long and sharp and far less dangerous than the scowling woman who stood on the deck behind him.

  Captain Pete folded her arms and glared at the lot of us. “I’m going to have to apologize to Chryseis, assuming she’s still alive, for killing
one of her descendants. Someone want to tell me why this was worth it?”

  Silence fell.

  TWENTY

  GILLIAN STRUGGLED OUT FROM under the fallen Cephali, sobbing as she pushed away the heavy tentacles that had bound her. There were sucker marks on her arms and throat. Those were going to bruise, leaving her marked for days, if not weeks. She’d have to wear even more illusions around the house as she concealed the damage from her father. It felt like my heart had become lodged in my throat, making it hard to swallow or breathe.

  It was almost anticlimactic when Tybalt tumbled out of a patch of shadow, dragging Torin’s limp, motionless form in his wake. Anticlimactic for me, anyway: not for René. The Selkie man snarled and dove for the unmoving Merrow, stopping only when Quentin and Patrick caught his arms and held him back.

  “Let me go!” he howled, following the demand with a string of curses in French. I didn’t understand any of them. Quentin did, and from the look on his face, they weren’t pleasant. René thrashed, trying to break loose, coming dangerously close to hitting one of them with his sword. “He killed my sister! You heard him! He as much as admitted to killing my sister!”

  “You just had to go and summon your Selkies to my fiefdom,” said Pete. She stepped over the fallen Cephali, the heel of her left boot coming down on the edge of one of his tentacles with a vicious squelching noise. Gillian was still struggling to stand. Pete offered her a hand and a sympathetic smile. “It’s all right, kid. No one’s going to hurt you while I’m here.”

  “I gave the Selkies permission to rob one another, not to attack the rest of your guests,” said the Luidaeg. “And self-defense has always been permissible in the Duchy. It’s the aggressor, not the victim, who gets punished.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pete frowned as Gillian stared at her outstretched hand like it was some kind of venomous serpent. “Do you like being on the deck, kid? Because barnacles like being on the deck. You want to be barnacles?”

  Gillian switched her wide-eyed stare from Pete’s hand to Pete herself. “You stabbed that man,” she accused. “The octopus man.”