Page 11 of Sleep No More

“I heard you were sheltering my sister,” said August, voice ringing through the quiet kitchen like a royal proclamation. “I appreciate it, but she’s my responsibility, and I’d appreciate her return.”

“No,” said Kerry, before I could rise. Her hand shot out, catching my wrist and keeping me in place. “You need to finish eating.”

“Then August will be joining us,” I said. Where I found the boldness, I may never know. I twisted in my chair to look toward the kitchen door, where August towered over Melly. Hobs tend to be fairly diminutive people; Kerry was the tallest in the kitchen by almost a full foot, and she stood easily eight inches shorter than I did. Among them, August and I were giants.

“August!” I called. “Over here!”

August’s eyes snapped to me in an instant, and her shoulders drooped with obvious relief as she hurried in my direction. “Meriel told me what Quentin did,” she said, dropping into the third chair at our little table. “How dare that little worm put his hands on you?”

No mention of my having bled. A small knot of tension untied itself within my chest. “I wasn’t hurt,” I said. “Kerry took me to get the dirt off my dress before our parents could come home and see it. I’m fine, August, truly.”

“He should never have touched you.”

“It’s worked out for the best,” said Kerry, and quailed as August shot her a sharp look. “. . . my lady,” she added.

I studied that look. Was there a disdain there that wasn’t present when my sister looked at me? Did she think of changelings the way everyone around us did, and conceal it only for my sake? The idea was repulsive, but I couldn’t stop myself from seeking signs, especially when Kerry looked so afraid.

“Why would you say that?” asked August. “My sister. He put his hands on my sister while I was distracted. He had no right.”

“Faerie says he had every right, Aug,” I said. “He’s a pureblood, I’m a changeling, I wasn’t sweeping fast enough, and he disciplined me. Without you or our parents there to tell him not to, he had every right. Please don’t yell at my friends because he did something you didn’t like, but broke no rules.”

“Maybe they’re bad rules,” August grumbled. “I still want to know what she meant by saying this was for the best.”

“Only that Toby had clearly not eaten in quite some time, and his bad behavior has allowed us to feed her,” said Kerry. “And it meant I got a break, which I appreciate, even if Meriel likely doesn’t. She’ll take it out of me tomorrow morning, when the big party begins. Will the two of you be in attendance?”

There was a caution to that question, even if she seemed to have otherwise relaxed. For me to attend the party Uncle Sylvester was hosting, someone would have to be committed to staying with me at all times. Otherwise, this could happen again, or even worse.

August shook her head. “I don’t think so this year.” She turned to me. “Have you eaten enough?”

My bowl was almost empty, and my bread was long since gone. I paused to focus on my stomach. It no longer rumbled but felt full and content. “I’m good,” I said.

“Excellent. Uncle Sylvester wanted to see us both before we returned home.”

That could be a very good thing, or a very bad one. Uncle Sylvester’s moods were famously unpredictable, calm and reasonable one moment, raging at nothing the next. Still, Kerry released my wrist as August stood, beckoning for me to follow.

“I’ll see you soon,” I told Kerry, and followed my sister out of the kitchen.

With her, I walked the main halls of the knowe, not the hidden servants’ corridors. It would have been unseemly for her to use them, and besides, she would have made the actual servants uncomfortable. Purebloods like the Hobs and the knowe’s single Bannick were one thing; they were staff. August, though . . . she might have no title of her own, but everyone knew she was going to inherit the Duchy someday. Uncle Sylvester had no other heirs.

She kept her hand tucked into the bend of my arm as we walked, making sure anyone who saw us knew that I was under her protection. “I’m sorry, Toby,” she said, once she was sure we were alone. “He’s never been that bold before.”

“He’s never been a squire before, either.” We walked a bit farther in silence before I asked, “Do you know why Uncle Sylvester wants to see us?”

“No,” she said. “I was looking for you when Sir Etienne popped in with a message. He seemed dismayed that we weren’t together.”

“Maybe he knows his new squire’s a jerk.”

“You know, you’re right. What did he see in the little weasel?”

“You were the one going on about flirting with him to watch him blush, remember?”

“Yes, but I’m a sheltered young girl of good breeding and little experience. I’m allowed to be wrong about boys. Etienne, on the other hand, is teaching the weasel how to swing a sword and uphold the rules of etiquette and all that other knight-and-squire nonsense, and he should have better judgment than that. One day, just imagine. Sir Quentin.” August shuddered theatrically. “He’ll have a family name by then, and with a name and a knighthood, he might be good enough to petition Father for my hand.”

“Thinking highly of yourself today, aren’t you?”

“Worrying about my sister,” August countered. “I’m it for the Dóchas Sidhe. You know I’ll be expected to marry long enough to have children, and you know your future depends on me taking you with me when that happens. If they marry me off to the weasel, I can’t take you. He’d have you dead inside the year.”

I grimaced. “Father would never.”