Page 42 of Sleep No More

I took the bottle. When I removed the cap, it smelled like chocolate oranges. Frowning, I glanced at Arden.

She smiled encouragingly. “First impressions can be deceiving. For example, I think you’re petulant and annoying, and you probably think I’m the worst. Let’s try to fix that, shall we?”

Right. Well, she might be irritating, but pulling me out of an unbreachable dungeon in order to poison me in a field seemed a little over the top, even for a pair of bored purebloods. I pressed the bottle to my lips, letting gravity do the bulk of the work as I drank.

That was a good thing, because it meant I couldn’t stop drinking when the taste registered. It was also a bad thing, because it meant I couldn’t control how fast the stuff filled my mouth. I swallowed frantically, trying not to choke, and when it was gone, I sat up and scowled at Arden.

“What the hell was that?” Yelling at purebloods seemed to be turning into a bad habit of mine. At least this time I had a good reason for it.

“An interesting question,” said Nolan, bouncing into my field of view. “We’ve been taking notes, trying to find any predictable pattern in the flavor. What was it for you?”

“Oysters and mint chocolate,” I said, wishing I had something I could use to rinse the taste away, or at least something I could wipe my tongue on. “Ew.”

“Wow, that’s the worst one I’ve heard yet.” Arden offered me her canteen. “There’s still water in there, and don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. That would be a mean trick, wouldn’t it? Get you out of there and then murder you?”

I took the canteen, trying not to show how closely her thoughts had paralleled my own.

The water was sweet and fresh, and possibly the best thing I had ever tasted. I forced myself to drink slowly, aware of just how much I’d been abusing my body, and how angry it was going to be once it had a moment to get over the shock of going from a dungeon to wherever the hell we were now.

Speaking of which . . .“Where are we?” I asked.

“Ah-ha!” Nolan spread his arms in a gesture of what looked like triumph. “At last, a sensible question! Welcome, fair maiden, to the Kingdom on the Golden Shore! Bright protectorate of Chrysanthe and Theron, kindest monarchs in all the Westlands!”

“What—how?” Etienne had one of the farthest teleportation ranges I knew of among the Tuatha, and he could barely manage the jump from Shadowed Hills to Briarholme. Getting January to Dreamer’s Glass had almost certainly involved a stop somewhere in the middle. Opening gates requires a firm image of the destination, and the strength to bridge the two points. Going all the way from the Queen’s knowe—the dungeons, no less—to Golden Shore should have been impossible.

“All will be made clear when you come before the King and Queen,” said Nolan, grandly.

“Meaning we’ll explain when we get there,” said Arden. “Most important thing you need to know right now is that Golden Shore doesn’t have an extradition agreement with our neighbors.”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“Meaning unless the frosted bitch who runs the Mists wants to rouse Fair Titania from whatever she’s currently doing, they can’t just send guards to take you back to stand trial,” she said. “Agreements were drawn up ages ago, to keep shitty nobles from crossing the border to snatch back ‘their’ changelings after they managed to get here. You’re safe. And if you wanted a more specific location, we’re in the Duchy of Cattails, in the main field of Dame vch Gwenlan’s farm. She’s out right now, overseeing the next stage of the harvest, but if you feel compelled to make a good showing with the local nobility, we could go and find her.”

Normally, I would have demanded the chance to present myself before the local noble and apologize for entering their lands without consent. In the moment, I was hungry, exhausted, still thirsty even after emptying the canteen, and relatively sure that if I tried to talk to any sort of pureblood authority, I would vomit foul-tasting tincture all over their shoes. I wasn’t sure it was possible for me to be in any more trouble than I already was. That seemed like a good way to find out.

“Can’t you see she’s dead on her feet?” asked Nolan. “Emphasis on the ‘dead.’ I’ve seen more appealing corpses. We’re going to be in trouble if we don’t let her sleep some of this off.”

“In trouble with the bosses, or with the bosses’ guests?”

“Both, probably, and if not both, then with the guests.”

“Fine.” Arden sighed heavily. “No rest for the wicked and none for us, either, I suppose. Well, October Torquill, stabber of muggers and disrupter of evenings, which would you prefer? Straight to the longest and most annoying meeting of your life, or a nice nap in a room where no one’s going to hurt you?”

“Um. That second one?” I said, hesitantly.

“Good choice,” said Arden, and grabbed my wrist as she sketched a circle in the air with her other hand. She pulled me along as she stepped through, and Nolan followed close behind, looking entirely nonchalant about the process.

We emerged into a round room almost as large as the base of Mother’s tower, dominated by two massive canopied beds whose curtains were currently open. There was a single window, with neither glass nor shutters. Everything smelled of redwood, and not just due to Arden’s magic; the smell was all but overwhelming, too strong to be anything but live tree.

Pulling away from her, I moved to the window and looked out. Vertigo gripped me as I realized how ridiculously far we were above the ground, and I swayed. A hand fell on my shoulder, steadying me. I glanced back.

Nolan was behind me, a more sympathetic look on his face than I would have expected. “My sister and I lived in a place called Muir Woods when we were younger; we got used to the smell of the redwoods. They smell like home.” He guided me away from the window as he spoke. “So when we needed to find a new place to live, and decided on Golden Shore as the best place to settle, we went looking for a place among the trees.”

“This tree grows in the mortal world and the Summerlands; the humans call it ‘Hercules,’” said Arden. “One of them cut a room into the base, for the other humans to enjoy. Well, we figured, if the humans can do it, why can’t we? Only we did our building on the Summerlands side, using the tree itself as our anchor, and we asked nicely before we did anything that might have hurt it.”

“Some of the local Hamadryads helped us,” said Nolan.

Dryads and their kin just kept cropping up, didn’t they? I nodded as if any of this made any sense to me.