Page 47 of Sleep No More

“No, the apologies are mine to make,” he said. “I should have seen that the timing was too convenient, the request too specific; this was an engineered attempt to get you away from us. Duchess Zhou confirmed it when I confronted her.”

“She told me, too,” I said, finally lifting my head and blinking up at him. He looked stern but not angry, like he was more concerned for my wellbeing than he was upset about my misbehavior. That was something of a relief. I hadn’t realized how afraid I was that I had disappointed my father until this very moment. “She . . . she . . .”

And to my shame and chagrin, I started crying again.

August was still clinging to me, and Father wrapped his arms around us both, lowering his head so that even as he lowered his voice, we could hear him clearly.

“She told me everything,” he said. “She told me what she asked of you, and what you did for her, and what it cost you. I am angry but not with you. Never with you. Now, wonderful as it is to know that both my girls are hale and whole, we have an audience to attend. October, do you think you can compose yourself?”

I sniffled and pulled away, wiping my eyes with the side of my hand. The one disadvantage of the leather jacket: it wasn’t absorbent enough to be a good handkerchief, but at least the sleeves were long enough to keep me from using my chemise. Mother would be pleased. She hated it when I used my sleeves to wipe my face, said that it made me look like no one loved me.

August always glared at her when she said that, but she didn’t argue. We all knew better than to argue with Mother, even Father, who would just look quietly disappointed and sneak us off for cake and lemonade as soon as he reasonably could.

August let go of me, then pinched me, hard, on the back of the hand.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get,” she said, hotly. “Blood magic? Letting yourself be taken somewhere other than Dreamer’s Glass? Getting arrested?”

I noticed she didn’t include “murder” on my list of crimes. Maybe she didn’t know. I managed a wavering smile. “Yeah, it was lousy,” I said. “Too bad you missed it.”

“Never do that again.” She looped her arm through mine. “Now come on. There are people who want to talk to you.”

“What? Why would anyone want to talk to me?” I looked over my shoulder at Father, seeking confirmation, and he nodded, lips pressed into a thin line as he schooled his expression to something neutral.

We proceeded across the room to the dais at a more reasonable pace, August holding on to my arm until we were approaching the thrones. There, she let go and stepped a short distance away from the dais, allowing me to continue without her. Father stayed behind me and slightly to the side, as was appropriate for a pureblood parent when presenting a changeling child to royalty.

Grasping the sides of my kirtle, I curtseyed, and wondered why it felt so odd. My body seemed to want to bow, which would have been entirely inappropriate. I nudged that urge aside and sank deeper into my position, face turned toward the floor.

“May I present my daughter, October Torquill,” said Father. Despite the way the phrase was framed, it wasn’t a question: he was presenting me, and now the question was what they would do in response.

I almost looked up at him in surprise. I had no right to his last name, and we both knew it. For him to be applying it to me now, in front of royalty, no less . . . it should have been exhilarating.

Instead, it was borderline terrifying.

“Not your child born, I assume, Simon?” asked Theron. His voice was light, and surprisingly pleased.

“To my honorable wife, after a trip to the human world to fulfill her obligation to Fair Titania,” he said. “Legally, she’s as much my child as August has ever been. If you ask my heart, it will answer you the same. She’s mine, and I claim her in all regards.”

“So you don’t regret your wife’s decision to follow Titania’s command?” asked Theron.

“I was sorry when Amandine was ordered to lie with someone she didn’t love,” said Father. “Commanding the creation of children is cruel, commanding the creation of children solely for their service is worse, but it seems to me that commanding a conception out of obligation rather than love is also cruel, if not as strongly so. How could it be anything other than wrong, when every step is couched in cruelty?”

My calves were starting to burn from holding myself in position. Still, I didn’t waver. To waver would shame my father, and while this was a longer form of the usual interrogation when a changeling was presented, I had heard Uncle Sylvester ask similar questions. I had never heard an answer skirt so closely to criticizing Titania, however, and I feared for him.

“Let the girl stand,” said Chrysanthe, in a faintly chiding tone. “She’s still recovering from everything she’s been through. You may rise, October.”

Grateful and afraid, I straightened, dropping my kirtle as I did, and looked down at the steps of the dais, not wanting to risk giving offense without intending it.

“Mmm, ‘girl’ is a bit dismissive, I think, upon seeing her better,” said Chrysanthe. “Woman, then, but still allowed to stand up straight in our presence. You may look at us, October. We don’t demand that you avert your eyes.”

I glanced up, too startled not to. Chrysanthe was smiling. Theron looked a bit more dubious, but both of them were settled comfortably in their thrones, showing no signs of displeasure at my presence. That was something of a relief.

Not as big a relief as the presence of my family. “Forgive me, Majesty, but how is it that my father and sister are here?”

“Ah. That is a tale, and not theirs alone; they came with companions, who we have ignored for too long already.” Chrysanthe gestured to the other people who’d been in the room when we arrived.

I looked at them for the first time.