Page 4 of Sleep No More

“Up to my chambers, to sleep,” I said. When Mother was about, we were expected to be properly mannerly with one another, she speaking to me however she chose, I casting my eyes down and accepting every barb and insult as my due. When we were alone, we were freer with one another, something which Father had always encouraged. He liked his daughters to get along, and as we were already inclined to enjoy each other’s company, it was easier to behave as if we were truly sisters. “Day has dawned, and my night’s duties are finished. Eight tappings at the door, and eight parties turned away, for we are no one’s place to rest, not near to Moving Day.”

“So you know the rules well enough to parrot them at me and make them sound almost natural, instead of like trite poetry,” said August. “Nice. Anyway, you’re not going to bed.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m not?”

“No.”

When she didn’t immediately explain further, I folded my arms and glared at her. “Then I suppose I’m going down to the kitchen to start the bread?”

“No!”

“Out to the garden, to gather herbs?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Don’t call me ridiculous, you walnut, it’s not polite.”

“I’m only impolite because you were rotten first.”

“Criticism accepted,” I said. “So tell me, sybil sister of mine, what am I doing?”

August’s expression turned instantly wary, and she stepped closer, palms still pressed flat against the walls. “Don’t even joke, October, you know better.”

I did. Shame washed through me like a wave. “I’m sorry, I was just—where am I going?”

Seers are forbidden in Faerie, and have been since the sea witch’s cruel children orchestrated Maeve’s betrayal and abandonment of the rest of us. They were rounded up and taken to the Iron Tree centuries ago, and mercifully, none has been seen among us since. The Dóchas Sidhe, consisting only of myself and August, are as yet a young descendant line. No one knows what we might eventually become. If there were even the slightest rumor that one of us had had so much as a prophetic dream . . .

It could as easily be the end of us as the truth of Mother’s magic. Fair Titania would think nothing of having us snatched away in the middle of the day and taken to the Iron Tree for the crime of our existence, and even Father’s patron would raise no hand to stop her. Some things are not to be spoken of.

August glared at me before hoisting her chin and sweeping grandly down the stairs, at least lifting her arms as she passed me, so that I was not knocked back against the wall. She had learned that level of exaggerated grandeur from watching our mother, I was sure. Mother could enter a room as if she were the Queen of all Faerie, and we no longer attended Court functions where Titania was expected to appear, out of the rumor that some unwise courtiers had looked between them and found Mother to be the fairer of the two. Best not to tempt fate. Best not to bait the powerful.

“Out,” August declared, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “There was a ball at Shadowed Hills last night. Obviously, we did not attend, for we are good girls, and Mother bade us attend no such events without her to chaperone us. There will, however, be much of the refreshment table left for good girls to scavenge from, and I had no dinner last night. Did you?”

In answer, my stomach grumbled. I pressed a hand against it and frowned at her.

“When she told us to avoid the parties without her as our escort, she didn’t mean for us to go picking through the remains like common urchins, Aug, and you know that.”

“Do I? Do you? Can you read Mother’s mind now? Oh, can you read mine?” She smiled, a fierce, manic smile, and while I couldn’t read her thoughts, I could read her face like a sonnet addressed to me. There would be no dissuading her. She had been left to her own devices for hours, and this was the price to be paid.

August does poorly with idleness, always has, and I quite suspect she always will. When she has a household of her own, I expect it to be one of those where the skies are awash with light every night, and the halls are never silent. It will be a contrast to the life we live now, no question, but I find myself oddly eager for the change. Not that I’m in any hurry to leave Father, or the tower, behind. He’ll be so lonely when we’re gone.

I sighed. “August. Please. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You never want to get in trouble.” She pouted at me. “Please, Toby? Please, please? I just want a slice of cake without Mother standing over me muttering about stains on my clothing—as if they would show if she allowed me a speck of color! I heard Sir Etienne took a new squire. I want to flirt with him and see what colors his cheeks turn! I want—”

“Fine, fine,” I said, laughter overflowing my lips and spilling down my chin. If I didn’t cut her off, she could keep listing her desires until they formed a pile tall and untidy enough to reach the stars. “I will chaperone your adventure.”

“Because you are the best sister,” she said, and darted forward to kiss my cheeks, first one and then the other. “The best and the kindest of sisters. I could search all of Faerie forever, and never find a sweeter sister than yourself.”

“As if I’ve ever told you no,” I grumbled, wiping her kisses away with swipes of my hand and trying not to look as if I enjoyed her attentions. It was a small fiction, but one of the few I was allowed.

“Why would you?” She beamed. “You can’t search all of Faerie and find yourself, for you are unique in all the worlds. You’ll have to settle for me, the second sweetest. I’ll get my cloak.”

Then she was away, bounding to the cloakroom with all the vigor and enthusiasm that she brought to everything she actually wanted to do. I had never seen her bound to do the dishes, for example, or to tidy her room, but then, why should she? She had me to do those things. She always would.

I smiled as I trailed after her, more slowly. The idea of adventure was August’s, but the benefits would belong to both of us. Food would be pleasant. Company more pleasant still. For all of August’s jokes about flirting with the squires, we both knew her attention would be focused on Sir Grianne, who was much more entertaining to make blush than any stripling squire.

Not that I’d be flirting with anyone. I had friends below the stairs who would be perfectly delighted to see me, especially if I offered to chip in on the chores, and my relatively indestructible nature makes me ideally suited for fishing dropped flatware out of scalding wash water. My talents are scant and strange. Might as well take advantage of the ones I have.