Looking discomforted again, Quentin shrugged, beginning to walk down the hall. “I didn’t see him, milady. Sir Etienne gave me the order to retrieve you.”

I smiled a little. “Etienne, huh? How is the old war-horse doing, anyway?”

Not even Quentin’s training could hide the smirk that crossed his face, although his words were entirely proper. “I’m fairly sure Sir Etienne would object to being referred to in such terms.”

“Which would be why I do it,” I said. “Guess that means he’s doing okay?”

“Yes, milady.”

“Good to know.” A few more of the Duchy’s inhabitants were in evidence now, emerging as the day wore on toward evening. The place would only get more crowded as night fell and more of the locals woke up. For now, we only had the fae equivalent of night people to deal with—those rare souls who chose a diurnal existence. Shadowed Hills is a good place for the daylight folks. Luna stays awake all day for the sake of her gardens, and Sylvester stays awake for the sake of his wife. I recognized a few of the Hobs who were dusting and tidying the corners, but that was about it. Hobs are strictly domestic spirits, and they tend to attach themselves to single households for generations, often raising their children to join them.

Quentin was looking straight ahead as he walked, paying no more attention to the domestics than he’d pay to the furnishings. Also standard to a courtier’s training. A page is supposed to be animate furniture most of the time, and tables don’t acknowledge couches.

The silence between us was bothering me, so I did what came naturally: I broke it. “You live here, right?”

“Yes, milady. My . . . my parents gave me in fosterage to the Duke and Duchess Torquill for the sake of my education.”

“Where are you from? I can tell it’s in Canada, but that’s about my limit.” A lot of pureblood parents ship their children off to some noble Court as soon as they’re old enough to stand up on their own. Too early, if you ask me. Faerie teaches its children to be courtiers before it teaches them to be people.

There was a pause before Quentin shrugged, the not-quite-human lines of his body turning the simple gesture into something elegant. “My parents have requested that my home fief not be named, for fear that the mistakes I make while young may reflect poorly upon their honor.”

Ouch. Blind fosterings aren’t unheard of, but they’ve always seemed like a lousy way to get rid of kids who’ve managed to get old enough to be a nuisance. Normally, it’s the changelings that get farmed out that way, not the purebloods. “Well, I’m sure you’ll bring nothing but honor to your parents and their house.”

“I should hope so, milady.” He hesitated before adding, “It’s been very strange being away from home.”

I was trying to formulate a reply when a group of shrieking children ran past, stealing his attention. They were a motley bunch—fae kids usually are—and almost all changelings, although there were a few precious purebloods running at the center of the pack. “Hey!” Quentin shouted, indignant. “No running in the halls!” I turned away, hiding a smile behind my hand. No matter how elegant and strange he tried to seem, he was still a teenager.

The kid at the head of the pack was a Tylwyth Teg half-blood with muddy hair and clothes that were probably older than he was. He turned without slowing to blow a juicy raspberry at Quentin, and then they were gone, vanishing around a corner with loud cries of “Bang, bang! I got you!” and “No you didn’t!”

Quentin watched them go, scowling, before he managed to compose himself. Turning back to me, he said, “I’m sorry, milady. The children get overexcited at times. I promise they’ll be spoken to.”

“It’s okay; let them play,” I said. “When’s the last time you got the chance to play like that?”

“Milady?”

“Seriously. When’s the last time you got the chance to just play, without worrying about honor or manners or what you looked like?” I stopped and leaned against the wall, watching the inhabitants of the knowe as they wandered through their day, but more important, watching Quentin. “When’s the last time you didn’t need to worry about whether your friends were purebloods or changelings?”

Quentin hesitated, looking almost uncertain as to whether he should answer. I quirked an eyebrow, and he admitted, “A long time, milady.”

“Do you miss your folks?”

That was the wrong thing to ask: Quentin stiffened, saying, “I wouldn’t distract myself from my duties, milady. If you please, the Duke is waiting for us.”

“Of course.” I pushed away from the wall, smoothing my skirt with the heels of my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of upsetting the Duke, would we?”

Quentin gaped. “Of course we wouldn’t dream of upsetting him! He’s the Duke!”

I frowned. “Okay, work with me here. You’re pureblooded, and unless I’m wrong—and trust me, I’m not—both your parents were Daoine Sidhe. What have you been taught about being pureblooded?” He squirmed, cheeks reddening, and refused to meet my eyes. “Come on, it’s okay; I don’t bite. What did they tell you?”

“That it’s our right and our duty to rule Faerie in the absence of our King and Queens, because the lesser elements need to be kept under control.” It had the air of something learned by rote. It also had a certain spark of sincerity. He might not believe it yet, but he would.

“The lesser elements being?”

“The changelings,” he said, and cringed, obviously waiting for me to fly off the handle.

This reputation I seemed to have developed was starting to be a real drag. “Okay,” I said, keeping my tone calm. “Do I strike you as somebody that needs to be ‘kept under control’?”

“No, milady.”

“Why not?”

“I—you just don’t. That’s all.” He tugged on his sleeve, still squirming. I’d finally found the person under all that inbred arrogance. Good for me. Now I just had to make him listen.

“How about him?” I pointed to a Coblynau half-blood who was chatting up a donkey-tailed maid in front of one of the hall’s many bookshelves. “Does he need to be controlled?”

“No, but . . .”