Page 67 of The Innocent Sleep

August recoiled. “What?”

“I saw your sister, August. I saw her dressed in bridal attire, moving to his side. The sea witch stood before them as officiant. More than that, though, I saw my parents. I saw all my parents.” He glanced at me, and there was terror in his face.

Simon had never been one to speak freely of his origins, of the fact that while both Septimius Torquill and his legal wife, Glynis, had been Daoine Sidhe, the woman who actually gave birth to him had been mortal. Opening their marriage to include another had been nothing strange, and wouldn’t have excluded the Torquills from polite company, if not for the fact that their third, Celaeno, had been human-born.

The boys hadn’t been changelings for long, and in a world where changelings were less powerful but not an inherent servant class, it hadn’t mattered in the slightest. Here, it must be the secret he most feared having escape into the world.

August frowned, not seeming to understand the significance of his last statement. “And? They died, didn’t they?”

“A very long time ago,” said Simon. He straightened, finally turning to fully face me, and bowed at the waist, deep and solemn. “I apologize for doubting you, and for forgetting our clearly long acquaintance.”

Theron sat up a little straighter. “He’s telling the truth?”

“Either we are currently wrapped in the largest illusion I’ve ever seen—”

“We are,” interjected Garm.

“—which seems likely, given the cooperation of the Gwragen and the fact that the man, who belongs to a supposedly extinct descendant line, has been allowed free access to the Library for months, or his memories have been rewritten with such precision that it spills over into the blood, and I don’t think that’s possible.” Simon glanced to me again. “Blood memory, once set, is locked in place, and the blood remembers everything, forever.”

“Ah, so,” said Chrysanthe, settling deeper in her throne. “Then it seems we’re to set ourselves against Titania. Won’t this be fun? Won’t this be a delightful way to find out what it feels like to fly with the night-haunts? We’ll do it, we just need to remember what it costs to go against the Summer Queen. She defeated Maeve. And I would wager none of us is anywhere near that level of power.”

I was about to answer when the air opened and Nolan Windermere stepped through. He was slightly rumpled, hair askew, but didn’t appear to have been in a fight.

“Got the girl,” he said. “Gave her the anti-iron agent. What the hell do you put in that stuff, pure bottled gross? It tastes like every nasty thing in the universe, all mixed together.”

“That means it’s working,” said Simon, unruffled. “Where is my daughter?”

“She’s iron-sick and exhausted, and has been running for hours,” said Nolan. “Arden took her to our room and put her to bed. She really needs a nap. I figured you’d be getting antsy, so came to tell you what’s up before I go nap with her, and Arden takes off.”

“‘Take off’?” asked Chrysanthe. “Where is she ‘taking off’ to?”

“Don’t worry, Mom, she’ll be back by curfew, and she’s not doing any snatching solo, we both know I’d kill her myself if she got herself caught. She’s just going to pop over to Dreamer’s Glass and see if she can get this Duchess Zhou to confirm a few things October said while she was lucid. Either she has a concussion or something really weird is going on here.”

“Weird,” said Grianne.

The rest of us nodded, supporting her decree.

Nolan shrugged. “Okay, so it’s the weird one. Arden still needs to talk to Duchess Zhou—we’re trying to figure out exactly how a changeling house pet wound up committing murder in the streets of San Francisco. One or both of us will be back.”

He waved his hand and was gone again before any of us could object. Ginevra placed a hand on my arm, and I glanced at her, startled.

“You’re growling,” she said. “Maybe work on that?”

I glared at her. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because these people aren’t used to Cait Sidhe, and if we want them to take us seriously, we need to make it hard to dismiss us as animals.” She shrugged as she took her hand away. “Just a thought.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Yes. Of course.”

Once again, October was so close and still so far away. This entire ridiculous situation seemed to have been designed to test my patience—or to make me learn more of it, which was as unnecessary as it was cruel. I have plenty of patience. I just choose, for the most part, not to exercise it.

Still, if the Windermeres wished to do some basic reconnaissance while my little fish was sleeping off her recent adventures, at least that meant she was sleeping, and hadn’t been left entirely alone. I didn’t know these versions of them very well, but I knew the real ones well enough to trust in their ethics and their honesty. They would keep her safe, and soon enough, I would be able to resume keeping her safe, the way I should have been doing all along.

The way I was going to do from now on.

Chrysanthe rose. “It seems we’ll all be here for a while,” she said. “I’m going to arrange for a dinner to be held after she wakes and you settle what needs to be worked out between the lot of you—food is important, even in the middle of a crisis, and I won’t have anyone questioning the hospitality on the Golden Shore. Can I call for anything to be brought in for you? I have rosehip tea made with a varietal originally cultivated on Tír Tairngire that’s quite popular with visitors, if any of you are thirsty . . .”

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to say that until October knew comfort, I would be fine as I was. Before I could, Grianne said, “Tea’s nice,” and a small outbreak of agreement and murmuring followed, everyone chiming in one by one until I was the last one standing silent. At that point, there seemed little reason to say anything beyond: