Page 88 of The Innocent Sleep

“Any sign of them?” asked one.

“No,” said another.

“But we know they came this way,” said the first.

I narrowed my eyes. How did they know? None among their number appeared to be Candela, and even if they had been, Grianne had given no indication of being able to follow my movements through the shadows. If they were tracking us somehow, it would have to be through other means.

More motion in the trees presaged three more guards entering the clearing. I knew one of them: Lowri, a Glastig who had been serving the false Queen when first I made her acquaintance. Her clothing was shabbier than that of her companions, her hooves unpolished and her gear generally run-down. They were doubtless offering her the treatment they felt she deserved as a descendant of Maeve, something that seemed confirmed when she ducked her head and waited to be addressed.

“Yes?” asked the first guard, brusquely.

“All pardon, milord; the beach approach is clear,” said Lowri. “They aren’t there.”

“They must be here.” The man strode to the center of the clearing, placing his hands on his hips. “Attention! You are commanded to surrender yourselves, in the name of the Queen of the Mists!”

What name? The woman he served had given up her name in exchange for a crown, a bargain she had never seemed to regret in the time that I had known her.

He held his stance for several seconds, turning slowly to glower at every inch of the clearing. “Her Majesty understands that some of you may have been led astray by undesirable elements, and will be merciful if you surrender yourselves. I, however, am standing in a filthy forest surrounded by the least of Her guard, and have no desire to return to the Rose of Winter with empty hands.”

Wait. Did these guards serve the false Queen, or Evening? And in this world, was there truly any difference? If Evening felt herself free to live as a Firstborn daughter of Titania, what was the point of even pretending that the false Queen held authority?

“All right, if you’d prefer to do this the hard way.” The first man turned to one of the new arrivals. “They’re here. Flush them out,” he said, sternly.

The man he had addressed nodded, moving toward the vacated center of the clearing. He reached into his pocket as he did, pulling out a delicate silver chain with a tear-shaped red glass pendant at its end. He held it up, and smiled as it flashed bright.

“All right,” he said, taking several steps forward and reaching into the air, seeming to grab hold of something. He made a yanking motion, and suddenly Simon Torquill was there, disillusioned and blinking in surprise verging on panic. “Your lady worries about you so,” said the guard.

Simon gaped at him, saying nothing.

“She worries when you miss an appointment to serve her, and more when your ungrateful changeling child has impossibly disappeared from the Queen’s own dungeon. She worries so deeply that she would grant a tracking charm keyed to your blood to those tasked with finding you.”

The other guards had produced short bows from inside their jerkins, and were aiming arrows at random points around the clearing. At least two would hit me where I currently stood. I didn’t know about any of the others. Garm’s illusions were too good.

“Here’s what’s going to happen now,” said the first man, and moved to take Simon’s other arm. “We know you’re not alone. We tracked you to Golden Shore, and we already confirmed that there are four of you. If you all come out and surrender, we don’t open fire. If you don’t, we fill this clearing with elf-shot, and we leave you where you fall. The choice is yours.”

In this world, there was no cure for elf-shot. Why would they have wanted to pursue one? Once we got our real world back, we’d have access to it, but that required getting there. If August was elf-shot, we couldn’t unbind October. If I was elf-shot, my Court would fall. And if Garm was elf-shot, the illusions concealing us would probably collapse, meaning we would have chosen bravery for no meaningful gain.

I took a deep breath and snapped my fingers. All the men immediately pivoted in my direction, arrows wavering as they searched the empty air for me.

“Garm, if you would,” I said.

The illusion dropped away.

The guard lowered their bows.

“Well?” I asked. “Were you going to arrest us?”

TWENTY-FOUR

THEY GRABBED US QUICKLY and efficiently, binding our hands with rosewood-and-rowan cuffs that snapped shut with an ominous clicking sound. The man who’d been doing most of the speaking sneered as he looked at us.

“So you’re the terrifying rebels carrying out a plot against the most wonderful woman Faerie has ever known?”

“Which one?” I asked, mildly.

He paused. “What?”

“Well, I was under the impression that you served the woman who calls herself Queen of the Mists. But you found us using a blood charm created by Eira Rosynhwyr, or the person currently pretending to be her,” I said. “Both of them serve Titania. That’s three women. Which one are we supposedly plotting against?”