Page 64 of The Innocent Sleep

“Monarchs on the Golden Shore,” I said. “The last time I saw you was at the convocation to decide whether the cure to elf-shot that had been discovered could be distributed. You argued against it, to the shock of much of the room, on the basis of the fact that if elf-shot could be cured, purebloods would be more careless with it, and more changelings would die.”

“That does sound like us, dear,” said Chrysanthe.

“I suppose this is where you claim to be our closest friend and confidante,” said Theron.

I shook my head. “I barely know you. Either one of you, to my shame, given how long we’ve been near neighbors, and given that it seems you have managed to remain decent people in the face of Titania’s enchantments. I would never have thought to come to you when I heard October was in trouble.”

“Your interest in the changeling girl arises from this ‘other world’?” asked Chrysanthe.

“She is my wife.” I looked levelly at the monarchs on the Golden Shore. “We were married in the seat of the Westlands, in sight of the High King and Queen. No authority in this world or any other has the right to separate us. We have been bound and blessed, and I will have her home, safe and well, or I will burn this twisted mockery of Faerie to the ground.”

Chrysanthe blinked. “You wed a changeling?”

“Yes.”

“But . . .”

“We act as if mortality and death were always the same thing in the same instant,” I said, allowing my frustration to spill over. “She’s mortal, yes, and one day, she’ll die, unless we do something to change that—unless she chooses to make that change. But an hour in her company is worth a decade with another, or a century without her. I would rather face eternity as a widower than have gone without pledging my devotion to her before our friends and family.”

August watched me silently as I spoke. When I was done, she turned away, saying nothing. I remained focused on Theron and Chrysanthe, waiting for one of them to say something—anything—to tell me whether they understood, or whether I was about to emulate my wife and start attacking monarchs of the Divided Courts.

“What about me?” asked Nolan, defusing the growing tension. I looked toward him. He was leaning against the edge of the dais, lounging and unconcerned, but there was a tension in him that spoke to a life lived running, to knives in the dark and blood on his hands. He was a hard man who looked like a soft one. It was a masquerade I knew quite well. “And my sister, of course. She’s a nonsense creature, but I can’t imagine we’re not together in your version of reality. Not that I’m saying I believe you—it’s quite a lot to credit, you must admit—just that I’m curious as to whether you’re going to brush us all off as strangers to keep us from poking holes in your fantasy world.”

“I don’t know you so well as I might like,” I began, and Nolan scoffed, apparently having expected that answer. He sobered as I continued: “I’m much better acquainted with your sister, October having helped to put her back upon your father’s throne, deposing that dreadful pretender in the process. In my reality, your parents never publicly announced their union, and so Gilad, may his dreams rest easy in the wind, stopped his dancing without a known heir. The Countess Winterrose was able to put her own figurehead in place while the Kingdom was in chaos. That woman might have held her position forever, had she not decided to banish October from the Mists for the crime of arguing with her, and forced her to find a way to stay. Arden was in hiding. The sea witch confirmed her survival, and October found her and restored her to her proper place. We’re not precisely friends, but we’re well acquainted, and I enjoy her company.”

“And me?”

“You were elf-shot by the false Queen to intimidate your sister into silence, and waking you was part of the purpose of the convocation where I last saw Their Majesties.” I gestured toward Theron and Chrysanthe. “Since then, you have been a loyal part of your sister’s Court, and named as her heir, should she ever step aside. You have always seemed an honorable man, to me, and well inclined to the protection and enrichment of the Mists. Pray, how did you come to the Golden Shore?”

He glanced to Theron, as if asking permission. Theron nodded, and Nolan looked back to me.

“As Baron Torquill was so quick to note, there is no extradition between the Mists and Golden Shore. A crime committed in one Kingdom is not enough to lever a perpetrator from the embrace of the other.”

I nodded slowly, not sure what that had to do with anything.

Nolan continued: “When our parents were killed, the woman responsible came after me, and Arden. She would have done the same to us, but Arden intervened, and killed her. My sister had to flee, or face persecution under the Law. I fled with her, rather than be left entirely alone. We’ve been here ever since. We collect changelings from up and down the coast when they flee from the homes they’ve been kept in.”

August gasped. It was a small sound, but still enough to snap my head around, staring at her.

“You’re the snatchers,” she said, almost accusingly.

Nolan laughed. “Very well reasoned, little monthling. Yes, my sister and I, we’re the infamous and terrifying snatchers. Our range is quite extensive—a gift from our mother’s side of the family—and we know the Mists very well, for obvious reasons. We can be in and out like the wind blowing through a keyhole, and we have our ways of finding out when people need help. We’ve been bouncing all over the place since the bell rang on Moving Day, finding the ones who were ready to run and getting them safely away.”

“It’s Moving Day,” said August. “They shouldn’t need any help. They’re allowed to leave.”

“Spoken like a true pureblood,” said Nolan. “Tell me, do you believe everything the nobles tell you, or do you just like swallowing shit?”

“Nolan,” said Chrysanthe mildly.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” he said. “Swallowing manure, how’s that?”

“It’s not— They wouldn’t— Changelings are treated well! They get to live in Faerie, they get to be taken care of, they get to have everything they need provided for them!”

“How old was your sister when your parents started teaching her how to take care of the household?” asked Nolan, idly. “Does she do the laundry? The cooking? Sweep the floors and wash the windows? Do you do any of those things? If she wants to leave, is she allowed? If your parents order her to go work in someone else’s house, can she say no, or does she have to go?”

August looked more and more uncomfortable as he went on. “It’s not like that for her.”

“Not for her? Good for you. How about for every other changeling in your Kingdom? Your sister’s been arrested for murder, but if the tables were turned, you wouldn’t be. You’d walk away without even a slap on the wrist, because changelings are possessions, and breaking a piece of property isn’t half the crime that murder is.”