Page 45 of Sleep No More

“We’re not, and since we’d like to stay that way, we stick to the Golden Shore unless we have no choice, like tonight, when we heard from one of our informants that a changeling had popped out of nowhere into an alley, been assaulted, and fought back, killing a pureblood in the process.” She shrugged, stricken look fading to be replaced by smugness. “So we nipped over and picked you up, and now you get to be alive and take a bath and put on some clean clothes before the Queen I actually answer to comes and kicks my ass.”

“But why?” I asked.

Arden sobered. “Do you remember what happened to the woman who killed my parents?”

“They found her dead, both arms missing just above the elbow, throat slit,” I said.

“The Law applies to purebloods killing each other outside of openly declared times of war, you know, meaning that she was as much a murder victim as my parents were.” She shrugged. “I’ll go get you something to wear.”

She turned and left the room before I could ask if she’d just admitted to killing Oleander, her departure clearly indicating that the conversation was over. A moment later, the door made a soft chiming sound, announcing that wards had been set from the outside.

Okay, so I was locked in. At the moment, that wasn’t all that worrisome—after all, I was locked in with the bathtub, which was what I wanted more than anything else. Except for maybe a drink, and something to eat, and those could come along in their own time.

Of all my oddly fitting mortal clothes, my jacket seemed to have weathered the day’s adventures the best; it was as filthy as the rest of me, but it was nothing a soft cloth wouldn’t be able to fix, and when I’d been stabbed, my assailant hadn’t hit the leather. I shrugged out of it, gave it a shake to knock off a layer or two of the least-attached grime, and folded it in half before placing it gently on the counter. I let my fingers linger on the lapel for just a moment. I didn’t know why I felt so possessive of the thing, but I did, and right now, I was holding on to that.

Removing everything else was a relief. The trousers, especially, were so caked in blood and filth that they clung to my skin, forcing me to roll them off a few inches at a time. There was no hamper in this room, sadly; I’d have to pick them up to take them to a laundry. Folding them wasn’t going to make that experience any more pleasant, so I took a certain bleak pleasure in tossing trousers, shirt, and undergarments onto the floor, then kicking everything into a heap in the corner before I turned my attention to the bathtub.

It had been empty when I stepped into the room, I was sure of it. Now it was filled almost to the top with steaming, apple blossom–scented water, and I wondered idly whether it chose the scents for guests based on some magical read of what would make them comfortable, or whether it was apple blossoms all the time. What would happen if someone whose magic smelled like apple blossoms came to visit? Or someone who had a lifelong feud with someone whose magic smelled like apple blossoms?

I was curious, but not curious enough to stay out of the tub, which was deep enough to require me to take two steps down before sinking fully into the water, letting it cover all but my face. I could almost float, it was so large, and I relaxed that way for a while, the water softening the worst of the muck on my skin until it fell away. I worried, very briefly, about marinating in my own filth, before I realized the water was turning clear again as quickly as it clouded.

Whoever maintained this knowe’s hearth magic probably deserved a medal of some sort. I sat up and turned around, unsurprised to find shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap waiting for me on the rim of the tub, along with a rough cloth to scrub myself down with. I had been indolent long enough. I set myself properly to the business of getting clean.

In reasonably short order, I felt almost like myself again. I rinsed the last of the conditioner out of my hair, then stood, looking up toward the ceiling.

“Thank you,” I said, formally. “I know we can’t thank each other, but I asked my father once, and he said we’re allowed to thank the knowes. So thank you, for letting me be clean and safe for a little while. It’s more than I could have asked from you.”

There had been long stretches while I was in the bath where my eyes were closed and couldn’t see the bathroom. That meant it was equally unsurprising when I found a towel waiting next to the now spotlessly clean leather jacket. The clothing I’d left on the floor was gone, along with the mess it had made.

“I would have swept that up,” I said, half-apologetically, as I touched the jacket with my right hand, clutching the towel to my chest with my left.

The knowe didn’t acknowledge my apology. I turned again. The tub was empty, and clean clothes were hanging on the back of the door. Much more suitable, familiar clothes than the ones I’d worn in the mortal world, at that: a white linen chemise, more of those scandalous underthings, and a heather green kirtle with a buckled belt to tie it over my hips. I dressed quickly, putting the incongruous jacket back on over the whole thing, and moved to knock on the door.

“I’m clean,” I called. “And clothed. May I come out now?”

“Just thought you might want a minute’s privacy to catch your breath,” said Arden, opening the door and grinning at me. Her expression turned approving when she saw what I was wearing. “Nice. Very nice. You clean up halfway decently.”

“I try not to bring shame upon my household,” I said meekly, casting my eyes toward the floor.

“Annnnd when you’re clean, you fall back on all that Mists-peddled bigotry bullshit. You don’t have to do that here.”

I glanced up. Arden wasn’t smiling anymore. She was looking at me grimly, disappointment and, oddly, grief in her eyes.

“Look, I’m supposed to take you to the King and Queen now,” she said. “They don’t mind us bringing home strays—it’s what they keep us for, since we know fuck-all about farming, and Nolan kills everything he tries to cultivate. I’ve seen that man kill mint. In the ground, even. He’s a menace to horticulture. But they like to look the strays over as soon as possible, to be sure we haven’t snagged anyone who’s meant to be spying for the Mists or Titania.”

“Titania doesn’t need spies,” I said, bewildered. “She’s glorious beyond measure, and all good things flow from her like fruits from the vine.”

“See, that’s propaganda, but it’s not espionage, and we need to be sure it stays that way,” said Arden. “Come on. This way. There’s food, if that’s a motivator.”

I hurried to follow her. She laughed.

“Thought so,” she said. “After the night you’ve had—and Nolan and I did some retracing of your steps after we got you here, so we know it was quite a night—you’re probably starving.”

“Wait. I thought you weren’t going to leave me alone.”

“And we didn’t. There are two of us. When one of us was awake, that one went and tried to put things together. I went to Dreamer’s Glass, and wow, did that answer some questions. Raised a whole bunch more, most of them beginning with ‘what’ and ending with ‘the fuck,’ but it was a start. Then Nolan went to see your friend Etienne.”

“I don’t think Sir Etienne would be very happy hearing you call me his friend,” I said.