What no one outside our family knew, or could ever be allowed to learn, was that her gifts went even further: if she so chose, she could strip the immortality from any fae with even a drop of mortal blood, or turn the weakest changeling fully fae. If anyone suspected her powers extended so far as that, our entire household would be blinded and bound to the Iron Tree to be burned alive. Her magic was allowed, for she was a true daughter of Oberon, and Faerie itself had put the art of blood manipulation into her hands. To transform something mortal into something fae, though . . . that would be a blasphemy such as could never be borne.
That, too, is part of how I know my family will always protect me. When I became old enough to be trusted to hold my tongue, Mother herself told me the truth of what it meant to be Dóchas Sidhe. If she didn’t love me, she would never have trusted me to help them keep the secret that could easily destroy us all.
The cock crew and I slumped, weary from the long night of waiting and yet somehow filled with tension, the fierce, buzzing energy born of too much inaction. Father would be back soon. He had spent the night in his workshop, serving his Lady, but he always tried to return during the day, to wash and see us fed if nothing else. Mother’s absence meant there was no need for me to prepare tonight’s bread; he would do it gladly and with skill, where I would fumble and burn myself, as I always did. I have no talent in the kitchen, never have, and am unlikely to develop any at this late stage.
Father is a wizard with a knife, pruning and plucking the proper herbs with his own hand, then mincing and dicing the leaves to sweet perfection. His bread always rises, and his eggs split as if seamed, never casting specks of shell into the pan. Even August can toast a cheese sandwich without blistering her hands. I, on the other hand, remain all but useless in the art of feeding myself or others, and yet when Mother is in residence, the duty remains my own. Knowing that Father would have matters in hand, I stretched until my back cracked, then started toward the stairs that would take me to my room.
Sleep might be elusive, but I would need to begin my chores by midday if I wanted to keep the tower in a livable state. I needed to at least shut my eyes and think of nothing for an hour or two, if not truly rest.
I was halfway up the stairs when I met my sister coming down. August was dressed in a gown of white velvet. White lace gores ran from her hips down to the hem, keeping the gown modest while reducing the weight of the skirt enough that she could still move. The belled sleeves were matching lace from elbow to wrist. One of Mother’s selections. August would have been far more comfortable in the colors of mud and trampled grass, like the stains she collected almost nightly from the garden.
Perhaps her yearning to run wild in wooded places somehow influenced my magic. I think I could love my cut-grass scent if I knew it had started from my sister.
She spread her arms when she saw me, effectively blocking rest of the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“Up to my chambers, to sleep,” I said. When Mother was about, we were expected to be properly mannerly with one another, she speaking to me however she chose, I casting my eyes down and accepting every barb and insult as my due. When we were alone, we were freer with one another, something which Father had always encouraged. He liked his daughters to get along, and as we were already inclined to enjoy each other’s company, it was easier to behave as if we were truly sisters. “Day has dawned, and my night’s duties are finished. Eight tappings at the door, and eight parties turned away, for we are no one’s place to rest, not near to Moving Day.”
“So you know the rules well enough to parrot them at me and make them sound almost natural, instead of like trite poetry,” said August. “Nice. Anyway, you’re not going to bed.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “I’m not?”
“No.”
When she didn’t immediately explain further, I folded my arms and glared at her. “Then I suppose I’m going down to the kitchen to start the bread?”
“No!”
“Out to the garden, to gather herbs?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Don’t call me ridiculous, you walnut, it’s not polite.”
“I’m only impolite because you were rotten first.”
“Criticism accepted,” I said. “So tell me, sybil sister of mine, what am I doing?”
August’s expression turned instantly wary, and she stepped closer, palms still pressed flat against the walls. “Don’t even joke, October, you know better.”
I did. Shame washed through me like a wave. “I’m sorry, I was just—where am I going?”
Seers are forbidden in Faerie, and have been since the sea witch’s cruel children orchestrated Maeve’s betrayal and abandonment of the rest of us. They were rounded up and taken to the Iron Tree centuries ago, and mercifully, none has been seen among us since. The Dóchas Sidhe, consisting only of myself and August, are as yet a young descendant line. No one knows what we might eventually become. If there were even the slightest rumor that one of us had had so much as a prophetic dream . . .
It could as easily be the end of us as the truth of Mother’s magic. Fair Titania would think nothing of having us snatched away in the middle of the day and taken to the Iron Tree for the crime of our existence, and even Father’s patron would raise no hand to stop her. Some things are not to be spoken of.
August glared at me before hoisting her chin and sweeping grandly down the stairs, at least lifting her arms as she passed me, so that I was not knocked back against the wall. She had learned that level of exaggerated grandeur from watching our mother, I was sure. Mother could enter a room as if she were the Queen of all Faerie, and we no longer attended Court functions where Titania was expected to appear, out of the rumor that some unwise courtiers had looked between them and found Mother to be the fairer of the two. Best not to tempt fate. Best not to bait the powerful.
“Out,” August declared, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “There was a ball at Shadowed Hills last night. Obviously, we did not attend, for we are good girls, and Mother bade us attend no such events without her to chaperone us. There will, however, be much of the refreshment table left for good girls to scavenge from, and I had no dinner last night. Did you?”
In answer, my stomach grumbled. I pressed a hand against it and frowned at her.
“When she told us to avoid the parties without her as our escort, she didn’t mean for us to go picking through the remains like common urchins, Aug, and you know that.”
“Do I? Do you? Can you read Mother’s mind now? Oh, can you read mine?” She smiled, a fierce, manic smile, and while I couldn’t read her thoughts, I could read her face like a sonnet addressed to me. There would be no dissuading her. She had been left to her own devices for hours, and this was the price to be paid.
August does poorly with idleness, always has, and I quite suspect she always will. When she has a household of her own, I expect it to be one of those where the skies are awash with light every night, and the halls are never silent. It will be a contrast to the life we live now, no question, but I find myself oddly eager for the change. Not that I’m in any hurry to leave Father, or the tower, behind. He’ll be so lonely when we’re gone.