Page 53 of Sleep No More

Well. Mostly open. Tybalt was seated there, his seemingly omnipresent scowl firmly on his face. He looked over as we approached, but didn’t rise to pull out our chairs, or make any other moves to help us get settled.

Normally, I would have been honored beyond measure to be seated between my father and sister. We were rarely in a position to dine at the same table, even in our tower; Mother insisted I eat in the kitchen when we were all at home together, saying that as a changeling, it was vital for me to remain aware of my place.

Apparently, on the Golden Shore, my place was directly before the royal family.

But with Tybalt glaring from across the table and Father too ashamed to meet my eyes, it was difficult to take pleasure in this rare honor. I unfolded my napkin and placed it across my lap, trying to focus on the minutiae of the moment. August elbowed me lightly. I looked up at her.

“I think that’s the food,” she said, gesturing toward a Satyr pushing a silver serving cart. A variety of entrees were presented there. He would pause at each table he passed, asking the people sitting there which meal they wanted. Each time a plate was removed, an identical one would appear in its place, meaning no one was ever denied their first choice.

Another server approached our table, a jug of spiced tea in hand. As she filled our glasses, I leaned toward her and asked, “Is it like this every night?”

“Oh, no, miss,” she said. “This is a fancy night, as we’ve fancy people visiting. A King and Queen of another demesne, our Lord and Lady say. So while we’re not full formal, we are a bit nicer than we might otherwise be.”

I blinked slowly. Changelings seated alongside the regular people was nicer than they would normally have been? I didn’t know how to process that. I leaned back in my chair, watching the room in baffled silence.

The Satyr with the serving cart reached our table, and people began selecting their entrees. Expression defiant, August took a piece of shepherd’s pie dripping in cheese and butter. Mother always told her to watch her diet. Father didn’t say a word.

I selected a plate of salmon accompanied by asparagus and some sort of risotto. Of all the dishes, it looked the least overwhelmingly rich, and thus the least likely to upset my stomach or be taken away from me when Theron and Chrysanthe realized how many changelings were seated among the members of their court.

“Your story is an interesting one, and has elements to recommend it,” said Father politely, to the Cait Sidhe on the other side of the table. “And I do appreciate the aid you’ve given us thus far in resolving the current unpleasantness. What were you hoping our October could do to help you?”

“I can’t dispel the whole world,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate. “It’s exhausting, and it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be if you had access to stronger blood,” said Ginevra. “We didn’t come here to ask October to remove the enchantment from every person in Faerie one at a time.”

“Good,” said August, voice sharp.

“We came here to ask her to help us remove it at the source.”

I dropped my fork.

The clattering sound it made seemed impossibly loud in the crowded ballroom, cutting across conversation and the more ordinary clacking of cutlery. I lifted my head and stared at Ginevra.

“According to everyone I’ve spoken to about it, this spell was probably cast by Titania,” I hissed. “The Mother of Us All.” I couldn’t articulate the way the magic itself repeated that message, wordless but understandable, at least to me.

“In name only,” said Ginevra, disturbingly serene. “Not every descendant line springs from her. Your own doesn’t.”

“She’s still the Queen of All Faerie!”

“And that gives her the right to remake us in her image? To destroy our lives and change our memories? She excised entire lines from Faerie. She exiled the Cait Sidhe to the Court of Cats and the Roane to the Undersea. What happened to the other shifters? What happened to the other fae she deemed ‘bestial’ and thus unworthy of a place in her Faerie? Where are they? The Cu Sidhe, the Swanmays, the Reynardine, they don’t have anything like the Court of Cats to protect them, but she must have put them somewhere.”

I wanted to argue. I couldn’t. “I’m just a changeling,” I said. “I’m not setting myself against Titania.”

Tybalt put down his knife and fork and stood, shoving his chair back from the table. “I can’t sit here and listen to this,” he snarled. He stalked away again, drawing looks and murmurs from the high table. Chrysanthe leaned over and said something to Arden, who nodded and opened a circle in the air, sliding through it and disappearing.

August was scowling after Tybalt. “Does he not understand how to be civil? I would have thought a King would have manners, even if he was only a King of Cats.”

Ginevra’s poker face was good. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I wouldn’t have seen the way her eyes briefly darted to me, measuring my response to Tybalt’s departure.

Too bad for her that I’d been trained to be a pureblood’s handmaid. Keeping my face from betraying me is a skill I’ve been cultivating since I was old enough to wash the dishes. I didn’t react.

Ginevra sighed. “He knows October wasn’t immune to the memory change, but I suppose he’d been hoping, rationally or not, that she’d have managed to shrug off some of the effects of Titania’s spell on her own. Or that even if she couldn’t, she would want to remember who she was before. To set things right.”

“Sucks to be him,” said August.

“August,” snapped Father.

“What?” she asked, unrepentant. “Am I supposed to be upset that my sister hasn’t been replaced by a woman I don’t know? Because I’m not.”