Page 22 of The Innocent Sleep

“I know him, although more by sight and reputation than personal acquaintance,” I said, and was amazed at how steady my voice was. “And knowing what I do of him, it seemed unwise to inquire too deeply into the matter of his family. I’m sure you can see that I’m not the sort who spends a great deal of time around the High Courts—I’ve had few enough opportunities to meet the Lady Amandine, and fewer still to see her with her husband. I don’t think I’ve ever seen their children.”

“October is not often welcomed at Court,” admitted Etienne, seeming to resume a bit of his lost relaxation. “She was born to fulfill the household’s obligation to Titania’s Law and, as such, is not considered fit for much polite company.”

“I see.” I didn’t, not in the slightest, but as this was the first I had heard of obligations or of Titania making laws, I had to be careful not to give myself away. “Is there a way I might see your Duke?”

It no longer mattered, not really—I knew October wasn’t here, and I knew where I needed to go in order to find her—but if I wanted Shadowed Hills to remain a possible refuge, I needed to preserve the fiction that I was still looking for a missing woman, and I might learn more by meeting Sylvester.

Etienne hesitated. “The Duke is . . . not always prepared for unexpected audiences,” he said. “If you’ll follow me, we can see whether this is one of the occasions when he is, and if he’s not . . .”

“If he’s not, I can return later,” I said, hoping not to seem too eager.

Etienne nodded and, gesturing for the other guards to turn, began to lead me out of the woods, toward the doors to Shadowed Hills.

Away, I now knew, from October.

SEVEN

THERE WERE NO FLOWERS inside the knowe, no garlands of greenery around the windows or hanging from the rafters. Apart from that, it seemed exactly as it had always been. I recognized some of the household staff who passed us in the halls, although others were new to me, and most of the courtiers who moved silently through, barely acknowledging Etienne and the guards. A few shot curious looks my way, clearly interested in the new face.

We were almost to the receiving room when a familiar voice called from a nearby doorway: “Sir Etienne! I waited for you!”

Familiar, excepting for a note of hectoring entitlement that I hadn’t heard in years, not since we were strangers to each other. I turned, fighting to control my scowl, and frowned a little at the sight of a bronze-haired boy in ducal livery standing there, hands on his hips, clearly indignant. He was making no attempt to control his scowl. He looked at Etienne like the man was his inferior in all ways, and he had no shame in showing it.

“Was I meant to meet you?” asked Etienne, with deceptive mildness. He had been, and based on that tone, he knew it.

“You promised me a lesson in swordsmanship! If you’re to stand as my knight, you should really show up when you say you’re going to!”

Quentin expected Etienne to stand as his knight? That was fascinating, and confirmed some of what I already suspected about October’s station in this rewritten world. I had no doubt she was untitled. What few changelings I had seen within the knowe had been wearing servant’s clothing, and none of them had raised their heads or met our eyes.

My suspicions about this world were beginning to crystallize, and I didn’t like them in the least.

“My apologies,” said Etienne, less mildly, but with no actual apology in his tone. “I received word of a stranger on the grounds, and went to see what he needed.”

“And?” Quentin’s eyes flicked over me, taking my measure and dismissing me in the same moment. “He looks like a vagrant. Send him to bother someone else and give me my lessons.”

“A stranger in traveling clothes who asks for hospitality is to be met with kindness and care, not turned away,” said Etienne. “He could be a powerful wizard in disguise.”

“Or he could be one of the Firstborn,” taunted Quentin. “You know he’s not. ‘Could be’ is just an excuse for not keeping your word when you didn’t want to give it in the first place.”

“That’s no way to speak to a knight,” snapped Etienne.

“I’m not a squire yet, I’ll speak any way I want to,” said Quentin. “You can’t stop me unless you agree to take me, and that means keeping your word when you say you’ll teach me.”

Etienne sighed, starting to turn in my direction. “My apologies for the failure of my hospitality, but will you take deep offense if one of my men escorts you the remainder of the way? The Duke may still not be prepared to see you, but you can arrange a time to return, if so. It seems I have other obligations.”

“Vital ones,” I said, in a neutral tone. “I can finish this quest on my own, and hope that we will meet again under less . . . hurried circumstances.”

“Very well. Garm.” He turned to one of the guards. “See our guest to the Duke, and ask if he’s up for an audience.”

“If he’s not, I can return another day,” I said hurriedly. I was willing to see this pantomime to its natural conclusion, but had no wish to draw it out longer than absolutely necessary.

“Of course, sir,” said Garm. He bowed to Etienne, then turned to beckon me along the hall, heading for the receiving room. I followed, watching him as we walked.

He was Gwragen, tall and thin, with gray skin and eyes the color of the full moon at midnight. I had seen him around the knowe before; he wasn’t a creation of Titania’s illusion, which didn’t mean much when peoples’ very selves had been rewritten. Then, as we approached the receiving room door, he stopped and turned to face me, a small frown tugging down the corners of his thin-lipped mouth.

“Everyone I’ve ever seen has walked in a thin haze of light, claimed by the illusions which define and delineate our world,” he said, voice calm and steady. “Everyone but you. Why is that?”

I blinked before I settled, once again, on honesty. He was Gwragen; his magic was focused in illusion, spinning images so precise they could fool even the Firstborn. There was nothing he could do to me, not with Titania already wrapping the world in illusions like smothering cotton. “It’s because I’m the first person you can remember meeting who wasn’t part of the shared illusion that holds you all.”