Page 63 of The Innocent Sleep

The two guards turned, and opened the doors the remainder of the way, allowing us into the receiving room. It was possibly the gaudiest thing I had seen in a very long time. Every surface that could be gilded had been gilded, until it was like walking into a fairytale idea of a bee’s hive, everything gleaming, everything gold. The roof was very high, and the ceiling rafters were exposed, lending a rustic element to the architecture that I wouldn’t have expected, based on everything else around us. Two of the walls were made almost entirely of windows, and through them I could see the rolling hills and verdant orchards of Golden Shore. It was a beautiful Kingdom, a perfect, magical countryside that went on for what seemed like forever.

As was usually the case in such rooms, a dais sat at one end, occupied in this instance by two golden thrones. Despite the precious metal that had been used to make them, they were more functional than ostentatious, with no jewels set into the carvings and no effort made to make them loom larger than their actual size. In each of them sat a crowned Ceryneian Hind.

In form, they were much like Satyrs or Silene, but with the lower bodies of golden deer instead of goats or horses. Theron had antlers, small but pronounced, while Chrysanthe’s brow was smooth below the circle of her crown. It was a simple thing, matching her husband’s, both crowns crafted to look like they had been woven from stalks of flawless golden wheat.

The monarchs’ skin was golden tan, and their fur was simply golden, matching the hair on their heads—golden as wheat, in his case, and gold as cornsilk in hers. Their eyes were a matching burnished gold, the same color as their hooves. Really, it was unrelentingly gilded.

Arden was seated on the edge of the dais, having been joined by her male counterpart. Nolan looked as comfortable in his surroundings as she did, and neither of them seemed aware that this wasn’t where they belonged.

Theron rose as we approached, staring at me, then at Ginevra.

“The Cait Sidhe live,” he said, in a low voice that shook with wonder. “The culling was a failure, and the Cait Sidhe live. But why have you hidden from us for so very long?”

Simon shot me a quelling look, clearly signaling that he didn’t want me to start in on my wild story of other worlds and sealed-off memories. “Your Majesties,” he said. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but time is of the essence. I am Simon Torquill, Baron of Kettled Time, and my youngest daughter, October, has been arrested by the nameless Queen to the north, placed in prison for the crime of murder. Whether she committed the crime is a matter for discussion, with her, and before a trained adjudicator. We both know she won’t have any justice in the Mists.”

“Why not?” asked Chrysanthe, looking to him with sharp, canny eyes. I suspected she already knew the answer. She just wanted to make him say it out loud, to make him own the culture he was part of.

“My daughter is a changeling born,” said Simon. “The man she stands accused of killing was a pureblood. She may have acted out of self-defense. It may have been an accident. The Queen of the Mists will make no allowances for either possibility. October will stand, and October will be sentenced, and October will die. Please. I need to save her.”

August made a small sound of dismay. I suppose she hadn’t considered that execution would be the end of any changeling who broke the Law. That hadn’t changed between my world and this one.

“How would you propose to do that?” asked Theron.

Simon gestured toward the Windermeres. “They know the Queen’s dungeons. If they were to go and retrieve my daughter, they could enter and exit quickly, without being seen by any of the guard. There is no extradition agreement between the Mists and Golden Shore. She would be unable to return to our home, but a life in exile is better than execution. I doubt the Queen of the Mists is going to challenge a long-standing diplomatic relationship over a single changeling.”

“Mmmm, problem, Captain Ginger,” said Nolan. “Those dungeons are laced with iron. We won’t be able to get inside.”

“If I can have access to an alchemical lab for a short period, I can solve that problem,” said Simon. He dipped a hand into his pocket, coming out with a small crystal vial of blood, which he held up for the room to see. “This was given to me by a Gremlin acquaintance of my patron, in payment for some services I had rendered to her. If I blend it properly with my own blood, and quicken it with the blood of the one intending to use it, it will allow their magic to cut through iron even as a Gremlin’s could.”

“Tuatha de Dannan are not able to borrow the power of others through potionry,” said Chrysanthe.

“Hence the inclusion of my own blood, to bridge the gap,” said Simon. “I’ve done this for others. It will work.”

“It has to be their choice,” said Theron. “They work for us. They don’t serve us.”

Arden and Nolan exchanged a complicated look. I saw part of their rewritten history in that exchange: this was a world where he had never been elf-shot, where they had never been apart, where they had grown up and to adulthood in and out of each other’s pockets, unable to distinguish between one life and the other—not truly needing to. Arden turned to face Simon and the King.

“We’ll do it,” she said. “On one condition.”

“What is it?” asked Simon.

“We want a second dose of the stuff that lets us access the dungeons. October isn’t the first changeling to have been seized by the false Queen’s guard, and she probably won’t be the last. They won’t be expecting us to get her out, and they’ll probably try to blame it on her having some sort of special magic they didn’t know to ward against, since she’s a Firstborn’s daughter. We’ll be able to get in the next time someone needs to be rescued. No more bodies burning on the Tree.”

Simon looked faintly ill at the reminder of the fate that awaited October if we didn’t hurry, but nodded. “I should have enough blood to manufacture a second dose.”

“Then a lab shall be made available for your use,” said Theron. “Arden, take him to the Lady Yui’s laboratory. She won’t object to his borrowing her space for a time, and she’s out on harvesting duty tonight anyway.”

Arden nodded and bounced to her feet, bustling over to grab Simon by the arm and pull him through the portal that opened in the air in front of her. He didn’t have time to say anything before he was gone, the portal winking shut and leaving us alone.

Theron turned his attention back to me. “Forgive me, but we thought you lost forever, all of you. We have grieved for you, who stopped your dancing.”

“The world is not precisely as it seems, nor ever has been,” I said. “Four months ago, Titania returned.”

Chrysanthe frowned. “Returned from where?”

“Returned from her long exile,” I said. “She vanished shortly after Maeve did, sealed away by Oberon to maintain the balance of Faerie. Four months ago, she came back, and she remade the world in her own image, to suit her own desires. The aspects she didn’t care for were removed, but she couldn’t kill us, due to Oberon’s injunction, so she simply sealed us away. The Cait Sidhe and the Court of Cats remain where we have always been, and if I have my way, this false world will be vanishing soon.”

“And who are we, in the ‘real’ world you would restore?” asked Theron.