“Good lad.” Bridget put an arm around my shoulders. It was the first time I’d ever been touched by a human, and I had to fight not to shy away. “Those Courts of yours hammer secrecy so hard, it’s a wonder he ever asks anyone for permission to do anything. Asking permission means showing your hand, after all, and we can’t risk people knowing we might want to accomplish something! Heaven forfend!”
She guided me out of the room and into a short hall, where she opened a door and flicked a switch on the wall. Light came on, illuminating a small room with a single window, a dresser, and a large, soft-looking bed that I immediately yearned to topple into.
The fae are nocturnal, after all. The fact that we were doing all of this during the day wasn’t making it any easier.
“I’ve been to the Court, of course.”
I shot her a startled look.
“Oh, not the one kept by his liege—there would have been too many questions if he’d appeared there with a lady-friend, even one draped in so many layers of illusion that I couldn’t even feel the shape of my own face any longer. He took me to see the Queen.”
The Queen of the Mists. A tall, beautiful figure with bone-white hair and a voice that could set the stars to dancing. She had no name, because she didn’t need one; even as few chose to refer to Fair Titania by her title, unless it was as “the Summer Queen,” or “Queen of All Faerie,” the Queen of the Mists was so entirely unique that a name would have been an unnecessary burden placed upon her narrow shoulders.
She already carried so much for our sake—translating Titania’s wishes for those of us among the lesser orders, keeping us safe from the threats posed by our neighboring kingdoms, and protecting us from the threat of the mortal world—she didn’t need to carry anything more.
Only somehow that protection had failed to extend to detecting a disguised human accompanied by one of her own. I wanted to ask about it. I also didn’t want to insult this woman whose home I was about to be sleeping in, and I had no way of knowing what would or would not offend a human. It had never seemed like a necessary thing to know before.
“It was lovely. Very archaic by our standards. I’m sure my life seems shabby and dull in comparison to all the bright colors and magical things, but I don’t know that I could trade pillars made of formless mist for pizza delivery, or people who can change your clothes with a snap of their fingers for my refrigerator. All worlds have their own sort of magic, I suppose.” Bridget stepped into the room, plumping the pillows on the bed with quick motions of her hands. “If you need to sleep, you can safely sleep here. I won’t let Etienne wake you until he absolutely has to.”
“Your hospitality is appreciated,” I said. Then I hesitated. “I would normally take my shoes off, but . . .”
“But you’re not actually wearing the ones I can see,” said Bridget. “It’s all right. I’ll forgive your lapse in etiquette just this once.” She walked back to the door. “Do you want the lights on or off?”
“Er . . . off?”
It was a gray and cloudy day, but fae eyes see better in darkness than human eyes do, and I’m fae enough to find shadows a comfort.
Bridget nodded, and paused to click off the light before she left the room, easing the door shut again behind her. For the first time since sunrise, I was alone.
Alone, and unguarded. I could have gone for the window, climbed out and tried to find my own way home, but I had no idea how large Etienne’s transport range actually was. I could have been almost anywhere, in almost anyone’s demesne. This wasn’t Shadowed Hills, that much was for sure; he would never have dared do this so close to the area where we both lived. So all I’d do by running away was break a promise and strand myself in an unfamiliar place while the hours before Moving Day ticked down toward an inevitable conclusion.
Custom would only protect me so far, and only until the clock struck midnight on Samhain night. This room, this place, this bed . . . that was the best I was likely to get.
Head pounding, I staggered to the bed and collapsed atop it, burying my face into the cool, soap-scented pillows. I wasn’t going to sleep. I was just going to close my eyes and rest until the pain had a little time to fade. I’d heard of magic-burn before. I’d never experienced it.
But I wasn’t going to sleep.
Naturally, I slept.
TEN
MY DREAMS WERE A tangled welter of images drawn from the night before, some veiled ever so lightly in red, as if even in sleep, my mind needed to keep a tally of which moments had been inspired by real things, and which by the blood memory. The family of Hamadryads came to the door, but this time, April was with them, weeping tears of tree sap as she begged me to find her mothers.
Then I was back in Dreamer’s Glass, and Li Qin was screaming at me for not being strong enough to free them both at the same time, for leaving her outside the walls of her own little family, the only one who didn’t remember or understand the bonds between them.
Then I was in the strange room with the man I was supposed to believe I had voluntarily married, and he was looking at me with grave green eyes full of adoration, and telling me, over and over, that I needed to remember what I’d told him, the last thing I’d told him.
“I don’t remember anything!” I yelled, sitting bolt upright in the bed and blinking at the watery light shining through the window. It was thin and faded, afternoon trending toward evening, and my head didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had before I’d gone to lie down.
I stretched, trying to ignore the smell of blood clinging to my unwashed hands. It didn’t matter what happened next, not really, because Mother was going to lock me away for a decade after this was over, unless Etienne was hiding a secret Bannick along with his secret human wife and changeling daughter.
Someone rapped lightly on the bedroom door. I looked toward it, blinking. No one had ever knocked before coming into a room containing only me; there was no need. A changeling couldn’t bar a pureblood from entry if we wanted to, and why would we be stopping another member of the staff?
“Are you all right in there?” asked Bridget, voice muffled by the wood.
“I’m fine,” I said, and stood, heading for the door. Opening it seemed like right thing to do under the circumstances. I didn’t want to worry her in her own home.
Bridget was waiting in the hall just outside the room, a mug of something steaming in one hand.
“Etienne said you don’t drink coffee, so I’ve brought you some hot cocoa,” she said, offering me the mug. “It’s just the thing after bad dreams. How’s your head?”
“Better,” I said, taking the mug. It was: the pounding had receded to a dull throb. I could almost ignore the pain if I wasn’t actively thinking about it. I still didn’t think doing more magic would be a good idea—especially not more blood magic—but I’d probably survive an attempt. Surreptitiously, I glanced at my hand. Father’s illusion had shifted my skin tone and shortened my fingers, and his magic still clung to me, meaning this was the afternoon of the day when I’d passed out. Dawn hadn’t reached us yet.
“You still look human, if that’s what you’re checking for.” I glanced at Bridget, more startled by the wistful note in her tone than by her words. She shrugged, smiling slightly. “Drink your cocoa. And you can’t blame me for wanting to see the Fair Folk when I have the opportunity. My mum was very much of the old way of thinking—‘the faeries aren’t real, and we want them to stay that way, so we’re not going to do a thing that might offend them, ever.’ She met Etienne the last time she came to the States, and he and I had a good laugh afterward over how rude she’d been to him. Didn’t think he was good enough for her only daughter, the genius folklore professor. If she’d known he was of the fae, she might have died on the spot out of fear.”