The Unkindest Tide (October Daye, #13)

by Seanan McGuire

My family tree has a lot of thorns, and a tendency to draw blood.

What a great line

You can’t bandage someone else’s wounds while you’re bleeding to death from your own. It never works out the way you want it to.

“Some people will tell you Halloween is every day if you have the right attitude,”

“You’re not going to argue? Try to run? Any of that bullshit?” “No. Even if I thought I could get away with it—and I know enough to know that I can’t—I wouldn’t do that to you.” I looked at her as levelly as I could. “This is your family. You deserve to stop mourning for them. Go ahead and say it.”

As my squire, part of Quentin’s job is accompanying me when I do stupid shit; it’s a learning experience. Most of what he’s learning is how to get blood out of his clothes, but hey, at least it’s educational.

“You’re a little more of a surprise,” I said, turning to Marcia. She tossed her hair, which was long, blonde, and perpetually tangled, like it was considering an uprising against the tyranny of hairbrushes. “I’m always surprising.”

More Marcia weirdness

The rest of my surprise had more to do with what Marcia was than who. She was a changeling, but only technically, and needed faerie ointment to see our world properly.

Why hasn't Toby ever offered Marcia the option of changing the balance of her blood?

Under normal circumstances, she would never even have been offered the Changeling’s Choice.

Under what circumstances had dictated she be offered the choice?

The Luidaeg, meanwhile, had found another target. “What are you doing here?” she asked Marcia, more curious than cruel. “Where we’re going . . . if something happens, you’ll be a long way from human medical care.” “Don’t worry about me,” said Marcia.

Again.. weirdness

Blithely, Marcia continued, “I’ve been in Faerie for so long that I wouldn’t know what to do with a human hospital,

Didn't Toby say to Marcia you were born in 1985?

“And as Arden’s seneschal, I’m here to make sure he doesn’t get kidnapped by pirates or something,” said Cassandra.

She is the chatelaine.. not the senechal

“I meant what I said. It’s a real good thing you’re doing. There are so many broken parts to Faerie, and sometimes I don’t know if they can ever be fixed. What happened to the Roane wasn’t just a tragedy, it was . . . it was unforgivable.

Maybe this is where some of the broken bits get fixed.”

I’m not going to say I’m sorry that price fell to this generation. It always sucks to be the one who catches the bill.” “Yes, it does,” said Pete. She was talking to the Luidaeg, but her eyes were on me, deep and cold and surprisingly sympathetic. “It’s terrible to be the one who has to set things right when you didn’t play any part in breaking them.”

“Foolishness and bravery look a lot alike if you’re not paying close enough attention,” said Marcia. She watched nervously as Pete approached, but stood her ground; only her white-knuckled grasp on the tray betrayed how difficult that was.

Even more Marcia weirdness

and for the love of Oberon, don’t make me regret letting you in.” “Would we do that?” I asked. She raised an eyebrow, looking at me flatly. “You, Amandine’s daughter, hero, king-breaker? In a damn heartbeat. So let’s at least pretend you respect my authority, shall we?” “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

It turns out that while I may be pretty good at dying, I’m equally lousy at staying dead.

“She thought if she made the future unknowable, she could keep it from happening. She didn’t understand.”

How much did Amandine have to do with the loss of the Seers of Fairy? Besides Eira hating them it seems Amy is none to fond of them either.

“Second: I want blood. When this is done, you will come to my home, and I will bleed you until a full day has passed or I feel satisfied with what I’ve taken, whichever comes first. You will not ask me why I want the blood, or what I intend to do with it. Good or ill or in-between, it’s none of your concern.”

This is for later.. for when the Luidaeg fulfills her promise to kill Toby...

“And you’re Dóchas Sidhe, children of the last Ride—and

Just noticed this new title

“I’ve long since resigned myself to the idea that immortality will never be your saving grace,” he said, voice even more formal and stilted than usual. “Not because of the human blood in your veins, but because you insist—you demand—the world be less unkind.

If you’re not on dry land when your time runs out, you’ll get to experience the wonder and joy of drowning. Toby will probably survive, she’ll just wish she hadn’t. Quentin . . .” “I’m not as sturdy; I get it,” he said. “Heroes raising heroes to do heroic bullshit since the dawn of time,”

“Sure I am. I’m making sure there are consequences when you let yourself get stabbed in the stomach. Maybe that way, you’ll do it less, and I’ll have fewer nightmares. Everyone wins.” Quentin shrugged, unrepentant.

“I can’t believe you’re using the ‘I learned it from watching you,’ excuse,” I muttered. “I can’t decide whether I’m proud or pissed off.” “See, I’m happy either way,” said Quentin.

Your girl doesn’t know how lucky she is.” “Given the number of times Faerie has ruined her life, I’d say she knows exactly how lucky she is, and one day we’re all going to burn for it,” I said. “Take us to Mathias.”

“Murder is everyone’s way, given sufficient incentive,” said Tybalt. “I’ve never in my life known a person who couldn’t be moved to the killing floor.” “You know me,” protested Quentin. Tybalt fixed him with a steely eye. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“I may be able to help,” said Marcia. We all turned to stare at her. She flushed red, the color traveling all the way up the sides of her ears, and said, “Lily had custody of a Selkie skin for a few years, while she was waiting for its owner’s daughter to be old enough to claim it. The, uh, owner had been clanless, so he handled the dispensation of his own skin.”

The sealskin we’d been sent to retrieve had been neatly folded off to one side, presumably by the night-haunts themselves. It had seemed like an odd courtesy, but they loved the Luidaeg in their strange, windborne way. Maybe they’d been trying to honor her long-dead child as they took care of their latest meal.

I focused on Marcia. “What do we do?” “We’ll need a willow basket lined with wax and filled with oil,” said Marcia. “I can find the herbs I need here in the garden if someone can get me the basket.”

Even more Marcia weirdness..

She swung her gaze toward Marcia, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know you.” “I was introduced when we arrived here,” said Marcia nervously. “No, I remember that,” said Pete. “Your name is Marcia, and you travel with the Count of Goldengreen. They said all that. But I don’t know you. Something about you isn’t right. Who are you?” “I’m nobody,” said Marcia,

Pete taking notice of Marcia and her weirdness..

“No. Only something one of my daughters had said to me. That it was all right to be scared when I was lonely, because the answer would always come, given time.”

“Weren’t you tempted?” asked the Luidaeg. “A Selkie’s skin, no witnesses, and all the sea standing ready to welcome you home. I’ve seen the way you stand in the shallows, looking toward the deeps. Weren’t you tempted?” “No,” said Marcia. She met the Luidaeg’s eyes and didn’t flinch. “I have other paths to walk, and other roads to run. I can’t do them wrapped in a sealskin that isn’t mine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the woman who died, and for the people who died before her, all the way back to the boy who died to make the skin in the first place. But me being sorry doesn’t give me the right to take what isn’t mine.”

I love how Marcia knows the lineage ifnthe selkie skin and from who it came.. more weirdness

The Luidaeg put a hand on my shoulder. “Well, here we go,” she said. “The largest expansion of Faerie since Dad’s day. You feel up to this?” “No,” I said flatly. “I do not.” “Too bad,” she said. “I think it’s beautiful,” said Marcia dreamily. “Faerie should always be like this, fluid and changing and willing to work for a better world, for everyone.”

The Luidaeg glanced at her. “It’s not too late. We could find you a skin.” “No.” Marcia shook her head. “No, it’s another ballad for me. I won’t sing the song of the sea, not right now, not today.” “Suit yourself.”