The knowe didn’t acknowledge my apology. I turned again. The tub was empty, and clean clothes were hanging on the back of the door. Much more suitable, familiar clothes than the ones I’d worn in the mortal world, at that: a white linen chemise, more of those scandalous underthings, and a heather green kirtle with a buckled belt to tie it over my hips. I dressed quickly, putting the incongruous jacket back on over the whole thing, and moved to knock on the door.
“I’m clean,” I called. “And clothed. May I come out now?”
“Just thought you might want a minute’s privacy to catch your breath,” said Arden, opening the door and grinning at me. Her expression turned approving when she saw what I was wearing. “Nice. Very nice. You clean up halfway decently.”
“I try not to bring shame upon my household,” I said meekly, casting my eyes toward the floor.
“Annnnd when you’re clean, you fall back on all that Mists-peddled bigotry bullshit. You don’t have to do that here.”
I glanced up. Arden wasn’t smiling anymore. She was looking at me grimly, disappointment and, oddly, grief in her eyes.
“Look, I’m supposed to take you to the King and Queen now,” she said. “They don’t mind us bringing home strays—it’s what they keep us for, since we know fuck-all about farming, and Nolan kills everything he tries to cultivate. I’ve seen that man kill mint. In the ground, even. He’s a menace to horticulture. But they like to look the strays over as soon as possible, to be sure we haven’t snagged anyone who’s meant to be spying for the Mists or Titania.”
“Titania doesn’t need spies,” I said, bewildered. “She’s glorious beyond measure, and all good things flow from her like fruits from the vine.”
“See, that’s propaganda, but it’s not espionage, and we need to be sure it stays that way,” said Arden. “Come on. This way. There’s food, if that’s a motivator.”
I hurried to follow her. She laughed.
“Thought so,” she said. “After the night you’ve had—and Nolan and I did some retracing of your steps after we got you here, so we know it was quite a night—you’re probably starving.”
“Wait. I thought you weren’t going to leave me alone.”
“And we didn’t. There are two of us. When one of us was awake, that one went and tried to put things together. I went to Dreamer’s Glass, and wow, did that answer some questions. Raised a whole bunch more, most of them beginning with ‘what’ and ending with ‘the fuck,’ but it was a start. Then Nolan went to see your friend Etienne.”
“I don’t think Sir Etienne would be very happy hearing you call me his friend,” I said.
“Well, after the earful his kid’s been giving him, I think he’d be a little more accommodating than he would have been yesterday. Either you have the scariest mind-magic I’ve ever heard of, or you’ve proven something about your descendant line that we’ve been trying to figure out for ages. It’s part of why Their Majesties are so excited to meet you.” Arden started down the hall, clearly trusting me to keep up.
“But we really are going to have to work on that conditioning,” Arden continued, almost idly. “It was bad when Dad was in charge, but these days, yeesh. I don’t understand why we haven’t had an exodus long before this. You people should have run ages ago.”
“We people?” I asked blankly.
“Changelings.” She waved a hand. “You’re still people, even if you’re part human, and humans are pretty cool. You can’t run an agrarian society without understanding the land you’re working with, and the Summerlands mirrors the human world closely enough that we stay in pretty steady contact with the human locals. Oh, they don’t know about Faerie, but they know about planting seasons and the best mix for your chicken feed. You meet your share of assholes, of course, but for the most part, humans don’t suck.”
“Oh,” I said, blankly.
“So it’s kinda shitty to act like they just exist to breed shorter-lived versions of ourselves that we can throw away without consequence.” Arden paused, a complicated look crossing her face. “I know Oberon’s gone, and he’s not coming back any time soon, if he ever does, but I can’t help thinking this isn’t what he wanted for us. The old stories say he used to try to keep the peace between his Queens, and that some of the first changelings were born to them. Those changelings even went on to serve as Firstborn of their own descendant lines. Humanity’s in us, all the way back to our roots, and we’re not helping by pretending that it’s not.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything as we turned down another, grander hall. This one had gold filigree around the windows, etched out in patterns of fruit and grains; one was surrounded by corn, another by grapes, all of them gilded and glorious. The windows were stained glass, abstract and artful, and they filled the space with light.
This hall ended at a tall pair of double doors, flanked by two silent Daoine Sidhe wearing the heraldry of the Golden Shore. Arden gestured me forward.
“Through there,” she said.
“You’re not coming?”
“This is a private party,” she said, taking a step back. “Strays and orphans blessedly not invited, although we get to crash the dinner afterward. Have fun!”
Then she was gone, stepping through one of those circles in the air and vanishing. I frowned for a moment at the place where she’d been. She and her brother both seemed to use the ability to move through space as a way to get out of potentially uncomfortable conversations, and while I envied it a little, I couldn’t say that I exactly cared for it.
Alone in the hall of an unfamiliar, presumably royal knowe, I turned slowly to look at the Daoine Sidhe flanking the door. Neither of them acknowledged my presence. I started closer. They appeared to have been put in place as a matched set: their hair was the same shade of purple, lilac at the roots and darkening as it grew out, they were the same height, had virtually identical features . . . if not for the fact that one had visible breasts, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. It was almost eerie.
“I’ve been dealing with the Windermeres,” I complained aloud. “Does this Kingdom only present people in pairs so it can confuse your guests, or what?”
“We were coincidental,” said the Daoine Sidhe on the left. “The Windermere children are not twins; we are.”
I perked up. You don’t meet a lot of twins in Faerie. Father and Uncle Sylvester were the only ones I knew. “Oh.”
“Quite,” said the one on the right. “You are?”
“Uh . . .” I wasn’t normally called upon to introduce myself. Either I was an accessory of my parents, or I was a changeling at work, and thus beneath notice. “October, daughter of Simon and Amandine Torquill?”
“Was that a question or an appellation?”
“It was . . . my name.” I took a breath and stood up straighter, trying to look confident. “That is who I am, and Arden Windermere brought me here because she said the Queen on the Golden Shore was requesting my presence. I request admission.” I managed to hold my posture and my composure for several seconds before I sagged and added, more meekly, “If it please you.”