And there wasn’t time to worry about that, because Father was sliding his arm around my shoulders and guiding me toward a door at the back of the room, one which led to a small dressing room intended for use during parties, when the lesser nobles showed up unprepared and had to weave themselves an outfit for the evening. I didn’t resist.
The room was small but warm and comfortable, with a series of screens set up to block off one wall. He motioned me toward them. “Go change,” he said, and so I went, too anxious to do anything but obey a direct order.
The parcel Melly had given me contained a brassiere—a piece of human underclothing I was actually acquainted with, as August had brought a few of them home after her trips with Mother, and found their easy emulation of a corset’s support hilarious—and a pair of underpants, which would have been scandalous if not for the fact that August had brought those home at the same time, as well as a plain black top, and trousers of a stiff blue material that hugged my legs too tightly to be considered entirely decent. They fit properly, and I zipped and buttoned them into place, trying to ignore the uncomfortable way they enclosed my rump and genitals. Nothing that felt that intimate should be worn out in public.
There was a knife as well, soft silver with a spell-hardened edge, and a belt to keep it fastened at my hip. My gut lurched when I pulled it out of the parcel, and I stopped, staring at the tool—the weapon—the tool I was being handed for my own protection. It felt too easy in my hand. It was a thing intended only for the drawing of blood, and if I carried this, I knew, deep down and with absolute certainty, that I would bleed.
A sharp crack of pain followed the thought, rattling my head and stopping me from examining that certainty too deeply. I hurried to do up the belt, reaching back into the parcel, and paused as my fingers touched leather. Frowning in mild confusion, I pulled a black leather jacket out of the cloth wrapping, holding it up against myself to check the size. It was heavy and thick, stopping barely shy of armor, and it jangled with zippers and with buttons.
“Are you all right in there, October?”
“I’m fine, Father,” I said, still looking at the jacket. I had never seen this before. I still ached as if I had.
The vision. The image I’d seen in the blood, of the dark room and the strange man who looked at me like I was his entire world. I’d been wearing this jacket in my vision.
We know so little about the Dóchas Sidhe. Both Father and the Rose of Winter insist that August and I share a descendant line, since only Mother’s contributions to the making of us carry any real weight. Even among the more settled sorts of fae, like the Daoine Sidhe, siblings may have dissimilar talents, and if our magic was not precisely matched, that didn’t mean our blood differed. But we might still prove to be a line of Seers, and then we would go the way of all Seers. August and I—
Nope. I shoved the thought aside and donned the jacket, rolling my shoulders until it hung correctly. The leather carried a faint scent of pennyroyal, which seemed somewhat out of place; maybe they’d been storing it with the herbs for some reason?
Wherever it had been prior to this, it was on me now. Hesitantly, I stepped out from behind the screen and spread my arms for Father to see.
He straightened, blinking suddenly bright eyes. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he said, before the silence could become uncomfortable. “My dear, sweet girl. You look ready to take on the world.”
“I don’t feel ready,” I said, walking toward him.
He put an arm around my shoulder, guiding me to a mirror. “Oh, don’t say that. I have to be ready to let you. Now, for this first illusion, we’re going to lean on my magic, and just let yours trace the shape of what I’m doing for you. Do you understand? Don’t try to push or put any force into it, only gather your magic and let it wrap around mine.”
I nodded, worrying my lip between my teeth.
“Good girl. Now.” Father looked to my reflection, and the air around us grew rich with the scent of smoke and mulled cider. “Mortals don’t have pointed ears, so we’ll need to round those down.” As his magic brushed my ears, their reflection grew rounder and rounder, becoming human. “Your cheekbones aren’t too sharp to be mortal-born, but they’re on the striking side. Most humans your age and build are rounder, facially speaking, and you’ll have an easier time if you look unremarkable.” His magic moved downward, softening the bones of my face, until I looked like myself but a stranger at the same time, someone I had only ever seen in dreams.
He went on to adjust the color of my hair and eyes, making both of them a bit more saturated, a little less like a faded painting of my mother, and finished with my hands, making the fingers ever so slightly shorter, until at last he stepped away and proclaimed me acceptably human, someone who could pass other humans on the street and never raise an eyebrow.
“Now, poppet, do you think your magic can remember this shape?” he asked. “Be honest with me, now. The illusion won’t hold beyond the morning sun, and I can’t go with you to re-cast it.”
“It itches,” I said, rubbing one ear. “But yes, I think I can do it.” My magic had risen in response to his, and while I still wouldn’t trust it for anything more complicated than this relatively simple series of changes, I was reasonably sure I could replicate what he’d done, as long as I didn’t have to do it in a hurry.
“My brave girl,” he said, kissing my forehead. “See to it that you’re back with us before Moving Day. I refuse to lose you because I sent you to do a service to the family.”
“I promise,” I said, and smiled as he took my hand and led me back into the receiving room.
August gasped when she saw me. It was gratifying. Even if she wasn’t gasping at my beauty or my brilliance, I had still surprised my sister.
Melly bustled over to me. “Aren’t you a sight?” she asked.
“Melly, where did you find this jacket?”
“In the closet where we keep all the human things people have discarded here over the years,” she said, waving the question away. “It looked to be about your size, and so I thought it would serve you well. Does it not fit right? Would you prefer another?”
“No. No, this one is perfect. I was just curious.” I forced another smile, heart pounding, as Sir Etienne walked over to us. He bowed. I blinked. Knights weren’t supposed to bow to me. Melly dug her elbow into my side. I yelped and quickly curtseyed my answer.
He was smiling when I straightened. Interesting.
“We must be going,” he said, drawing a wide circle in the air with one hand. The scent of cedar smoke and limes rose, and where he had moved his hand, a circular window into someplace else appeared.
It was a large, well-appointed hall, the floors teak, the walls draped with banners showing the arms of Dreamer’s Glass. No people moved there. I gaped.
Tuatha de Dannan bend space to suit themselves. There aren’t many of them among the Courts, and those who serve do so at the very pinnacle of their households, because their uses are near-infinite. Sir Etienne could have gone anywhere and found himself treated like a lord, and this was a harsh reminder of that fact.
Why did he stay there, in a backwater Duchy with a broken Duke, when he could have had so much more? Why not reach for what Faerie offered him?