Page 92 of The Innocent Sleep

August stared at her. “It hurts.”

“Every time,” agreed October. “Thank you.”

August blinked. “I . . . I don’t . . .”

“You can always thank family, August,” said October. “Don’t be ridiculous, you walnut, it’s not polite.”

August relaxed. “I’m only impolite because you were rotten first,” she said, throwing herself at October and embracing her as tightly as she could. “I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered.

October patted her back with one hand. “Things are going to be different now,” she admitted, “but you were always my sister. We just never had the chance to find out what that meant for us as a pair. Now that we know, not even Titania herself is taking me away from you. I promise.”

August pulled away, sniffling, and October turned to look behind herself for the first time. Her face fell when she saw the Luidaeg standing there, and hope leapt in my chest. The Luidaeg nodded, gesturing toward my position with her chin.

“He couldn’t bear to come any closer,” she said. “Might want to go make sure he’s okay.”

“Right.” Toby stood, legs shaking from the effort. She looked to August, who smiled unsteadily and stayed where she was, watching her sister go. Toby hesitated, then turned to face the corner where I was standing, away from the screaming and suffering, away from her. Fighting the urge to help had been almost more than I could handle.

She took a step toward me. I looked away.

“Tybalt?” she said, and under her hesitancy and fear, for the first time, she sounded like she knew who I was—like my name was more than just a word.

I didn’t answer her. My voice refused to come.

“It worked. She broke Titania’s illusions. I know who I am now.” She paused. “I know who you are. I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to break it on my own.”

“I couldn’t have asked that of you,” I replied, even though every fiber of my being was screaming at me that I could have asked exactly that. If she’d been willing to listen, I could have demanded it.

“But you’re hurt because I didn’t somehow do it anyway,” she said. “You’re not looking at me, and you only do that when you’re really upset.”

“I know . . . I have no right to be angry that you were captured in a spell cast by one of the founders of all Faerie, especially not one which I knew to be tailored specifically to do you harm,” I said, choosing my words with exquisite care. “I know you are not to blame, and in all honesty, I feel a relief so vast that it aches behind my breastbone right now, like an injury in and of itself. But I’m still angry. I’m so angry I could scream and throw myself against the walls of the world raging at the injustice of it all.” I finally allowed myself to look at her. She looked wrung-out and exhausted, a smear of blood at one corner of her mouth, and she had never been more beautiful. “I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I thought I had already experienced every form of anxiety you were able to inspire.”

“Pretty sure there’s always another form of anxiety.” She kept moving toward me, closer and closer, finally stopping barely an arm’s length away. “That’s what loving someone means.”

“It was like you were dead, and someone else was walking around in your body.” I finally allowed myself to reach for her, unable to stop my hands from shaking. “You looked at me, and you didn’t see me.”

“I see you now,” she said.

I stepped forward, sweeping her into my arms without pausing to see whether she would welcome the gesture. I could think of no other answer to her much-wanted words. She wrapped her arms around me and clung to me as if I were her very lifeline, as if she had never wanted anything more than she wanted this moment.

Pulling her tight, I held her close against me, breathing in the scent of her, the side of my face resting against the side of her head, smelling her unfamiliar shampoo.

Finally, she began to pull away, apparently ready to resume the matter of getting us out of here. I didn’t let go. I wasn’t ready. While we had been apart for the same amount of time, she had been aware of our separation much more briefly. I held fast, and when she had leaned back far enough to see my face, I didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, silent and solemn. She stilled, looking into my eyes, waiting to see what I was going to do next.

“If you ever do anything like that again . . .” I said.

“You’ll have to get in line,” she said, and leaned in, and kissed me.

I kissed her like I’d been without her for four months, running through the world and—worse, even—waiting for the moment when we could find each other again. If it had all been running, it would have been fine. It would have hurt, but I would have been too busy trying to survive to count the days and hours. It was the waiting that had come far too close to breaking me, and it was the waiting that meant I would never be letting go of her again. Not that it had been very likely before that.

To my joy and relief, she kissed me back, and there was no real change in the way she kissed me. She kissed me like she loved me more than anything else, like I was the home she had been trying to find for her entire life. She kissed me like she was never going to leave me again, and I kissed her back like I was accepting her promise. I kissed her like I believed her.

When we finally broke the kiss, I let her go, and she stepped back, smiling at me. I answered her expression with a smile of my own. “I missed you, little fish,” I said.

She shuddered for some reason, but kept smiling as she put a hand against the side of my neck, fingers tightening possessively. “I wish I could say the same,” she said. “But fuck, it’s good to have you back.”

“Yes,” I said. Then the other thought occurred to me once again. I hesitated, trying to find the words, but my involuntary glance at her belly told her my thoughts. I swallowed hard. “October . . .”

“Yeah. I know.”