The minute the door to our apartment shuts behind us, I seize hold of Cardan's arm and drag him across to the washroom. "Hey!" he protests, though he doesn't struggle as I thrust him in and shoot the bolt behind us. "What's this about?"

"You said you'd take a bath if I got in with you," I say, "and Trees know, you need it." I bend to turn on the tap, letting water thunder down, echoing around the tiled washroom.

He folds his arms, jaw set mulishly. "Well, I'm nothing compared to you, you know. You haven't had a bath for a week, and you reek like—"

"Yes, yes, yes, a dirty mortal, yes, I know." I put in the plug. The water is now splashing nicely, the noise good and loud. "Take your clothes off and get in. Make sure there's lots of splashing."

"You know, that has to be the least erotic invitation to a shared bath that I have ever heard," he drawls, even as his hands go to his fastenings.

I raise an eyebrow as I take off my shirt. "How many shared baths have you had?" Our voices are nearly drowned in the watery din. Good.

"Oh, you'd be surprised." He grins as he strips off. "Why splashing, in particular?"

"To drown out our conversation, of course," I hiss, stepping out of my trousers.

"Ooh, I like this part," he snickers, and, snatching me up, completes the last part of my disrobing himself before stepping grandly into the bath with me in his arms.

For the next few minutes, we're far too busy to discuss anything as we rub soap into each other's hair, scrub each other's faces, splash wildly and periodically send water cascading onto the floor. I can hear the servants' dim cries, out in the main room, and I grin: my strategy is working. All they're hearing, or thinking about, is the mess we're making in the washroom.

At last Cardan draws me drifting into his arms, body wet around me, legs twining. "So, my cunning mortal," he murmurs into my wet hair, "what's this all about?"

"What else?" I flip over, wrapping my arms around his neck, drawing even closer, bodies slippery in the steam-filled room. "Madoc's going to try and put Philomel on the throne," I murmur in his ear.

"Of course he is," Cardan breathes back. "That's the first thing our dear old Grand General would think of. That's why your sister is now a 'lady'. How long do you think it will be before he starts insisting that we all call Melly 'princess'?"

"This is not a joke!" I snarl, digging my fingernails into his water-softened shoulder. "Cardan, you know what he'll do. He'll make Melly a child Queen and make himself regent!"

He flips me back over and dunks me, hair a wavering brown cloud around my face, before letting me surface in a surge of water and bubbles. "So what do you propose we do about it?" he whispers. "We can't contact any of the lower Courts like you planned, not while Madoc has us locked up. We can't contact anyone. I wouldn't be surprised if our dear old guardian only lets us out of our rooms so we can attend the coronation!"

"Well, he'll definitely let you out," I say. "It's you he'll force to crown her, you know. But there won't be any coronation. Not of Philomel, not yet."

"Oh, really?" Cardan raises an eyebrow. "I would have thought you wanted your niece to become Queen."

"Not like this," I say softly. "Not when she's still a child. Not while she can't defend herself. Not with Madoc ready to snatch the regency. You know what will happen then, Cardan. The Court factions will tear poor Philomel apart, and it'll be at least a decade of bloodshed across all Faerie. Millions will die, just to feed Madoc's bloodlust."

He's silent a long moment. Then: "Why do you care so much, Jude?" His voice is absent its usual sardonic humor. He sounds serious, for once. He really wants to know. "Why do you care what happens to Faerie, after all you've been through here? I would have thought you'd want revenge. I would have thought you'd be as eager as Madoc to see Faerie drown in its own blood."

I lie back, feeling his heart beat against my head, watching the steam drift across the ceiling. "Faerie is my home," I say at last. "I love it, even if it doesn't love me. I don't want to see it suffer." I kick, letting water splash loudly. "And even if I did, I wouldn't want Madoc to use my niece to do it. I wouldn't want Philomel to suffer, or Taryn."

"Do you think Taryn's realized yet? What Madoc plans to do?"

I think a minute. "Hard to say. She might." Taryn's not stupid, not by any means, but she's never had a particularly strategic mind, or great political sense. At the end of our awful journey, she had a bruise-eyed, maddened look, and it might have been due to her realization of what Madoc intends to do to her daughter. Or perhaps it was just staggering, bone-deep exhaustion, coupled with being forced to travel in close proximity with her rapist.

At the thought of Balekin, my lips draw back in a snarl and I surge out of the tub in a sudden fury. I swear, I swear, I will kill that piece of royal faerie shit if it's the last thing I do. I dry myself off, swiping the towel angrily.

"Trying to skin yourself?" Cardan splashes out after me. "Save your rage, my love," he murmurs, running a drying spell over my hair so it bushes out and crackles. "Save it until you can use it."

"You know, Cardan," I say after a moment, "you'd be pretty scary yourself if you ever decided to take revenge."

He chuckles as we wrap ourselves in dressing gowns and step out into our apartment. The servants have laid out our clothes and a sumptuous, steaming meal, and left the room; they know us both well enough to know that we'll want to be alone. Despite everything, I feel a surge of warmth and comfort as I look around at our cozy rooms: this is the place where I've lived with Cardan almost as a married couple these last six years. We've eaten meals, played games, made love and spent so many hours alone together in this place. If home is anywhere, it's here.

But there are certain differences. I can hear Foxfire's voice outside the door, for a start. As an experiment, I head over to open it. Or I try to. It's locked.

Of course it is.

Outside, the voices of the guards fall silent. "Commander?" I call. "Commander, please, I know you're there."

"Sorry, Jude," he calls back after a minute. "The General ordered us to lock you in and not let you out until tomorrow."

I close my eyes against the wave of bitterness and rage this brings. "I understand, sir," I say when I can speak. "Just tell me, please: how is my sister Taryn? And her children? Are they all right?"

"They're fine, Jude," he says, voice a bit gentler. "Eating a meal and going to bed in their apartment. Which is what you should be doing."

"Yes, sir," I say, and turn away. Everything seems to have gone very slow and quiet. "Prisoners," I whisper. "We're prisoners now."

"I don't know why you're so upset," says Cardan clinically. "You've been Madoc's prisoner ever since you were seven years old. The only difference is now the door's locked."

"Sometimes, Cardan," I say after a moment, "I really wish you weren't quite so perceptive."

"It's a gift." He sighs, shoulders slumping. He looks really tired, and for the first time I can feel exhaustion settling over me, too. The last week has been a vile experience for us all. "Come on," he says. "Let's eat this lovely meal. At least now we can eat without my brother at the table."

The meal we have in our apartment is certainly more relaxing than dinner the next night.

I didn't in any way expect Taryn's performance, though really I should have: her new dress alone was a declaration of war. But it makes my stomach clench to sit at Cardan's side and look across the table to see my twin sitting rigid, arms folded, ignoring her food, glaring at Madoc unblinking, her whole body a silent scream of rage and accusation.

If Taryn didn't know of Madoc's plans before, she certainly does now.

Sitting quiet, trying to eat dinner, I sneak another peek at my twin. I've never seen her like this: so furious, so cold. The look she gives Madoc is worse than anything even Vivienne has ever mustered. She stares at Madoc like she wishes him not just dead but annihilated.

I didn't know Taryn could even be like this. All those years, I thought she had no rage in her at all, no fire.

But maybe Taryn does have rage. It's just that her rage isn't fire: it's ice. Taryn, in her wrath, is not a firestorm, but a glacier. A glacier takes many years to grow to full strength, expanding in increments, weathering many summers, slowly collecting ice and snow through every winter. A glacier may take centuries to grow to its greatest majesty, but once it does, it can crush entire mountains. It can rearrange whole landscapes, it can plow down whole forests, and certainly it can pulverize any redcap foolish enough to stand in its way.

That's exactly the way Taryn looks at Madoc.

I'm still marveling the next morning, as I practice swordplay out on the terrace.

It's barely dawn, the house and gardens still shrouded in early-morning mist. Our apartment wasn't locked last night, and nobody stopped me getting up to head down for some training—nobody except Cardan, of course. He woke up just long enough to cock a sleepy eye at me, moan and say, "Great Trees, Jude, if I didn't already know you were completely mad," and then roll over back to sleep again. I'm still grinning about it as I swing my wooden practice sword around, my feet bare on the cold wet tiles.

It feels good to train and practice, to feel my strength and skill. Almost, I can feel free. But there are two silent guards at the door, their eyes fixed on me, and I know they will use force to stop me escaping if they have to. I'm just as much a prisoner as ever.

I slash angrily, unable to control the flash of rage. For Cardan's right: I've been Madoc's prisoner ever since I was seven years old. I'm the only one of my sisters who didn't even try to break out. I'm the only one who didn't see the prison. Even when I led Cardan and Vivi and Heather on our journey west, even then I was just Madoc's puppet, used to betray my own sister and her children. To lead Taryn's rapist right to her door. I give a silent, bitter laugh. How astonishing it would have been, to see Balekin that night with Madoc, if I hadn't found the tapestry…

I frown, thinking of the tapestry and the compartment it was in. How my doublet caught on that splinter right beside the compartment, just where I was best situated to open it. Did the Tree want me to discover the tapestry? Did it want me to learn the truth? And if so, why? Did it think I could help Taryn and the children somehow? I give another quiet laugh. If so, I'm not doing a very good job so far.

Movement, and Madoc appears in the doorway. Like me, he's dressed simply, in loose shirt and trousers, and carries a practice sword. He steps out onto the terrace, sword swinging easily. "Spar with me?"

He phrases it like a question, but it's really a command. I nod, and, without preamble, attack.

He parries my lunge easily, tossing me lightly away. We circle one another, weapons raised, looking for an opening.

"Your sister certainly gave us quite the performance last night," he says, and swipes at me.

I dance back, knocking his blade aside. "I don't think it was a performance, Father."

"Oh," he gives a strange, bitter laugh, "Taryn may have meant it, but it was certainly a performance, Jude. A performance for my benefit." He snarls, fangs gleaming. "Her time away has certainly changed her."

"And a good thing, too," I say. I lunge, and again he parries me. "I for one would not want Taryn to remain in a suicidal depression for years on end."

"Perhaps," he grumbles, "but I could wish she were a bit more reasonable."

My left hand tightens on the hilt. The skin and nerves of my restored finger feel extraordinary sensitive. Madoc is a fine one to talk of being reasonable. "Reasonable about what, exactly?" I snap.

"Her future. The future of her daughter." Madoc and I dance around one another, lunging and parrying. He kicks out at my feet, and I leap out of the way. "Couldn't you talk to her, Jude?" Madoc says, soft and persuasive. "Try and…make her see reason? This concerns us all. And you are her sister."

For an instant, I'm almost tempted. Tempted by Madoc's trust in me, his favor. And Cardan's not wrong when he says I'd like to see my niece as High Queen of all Faerie.

But the finger that Taryn healed tingles, reminding me of the price that my sister paid for my so-called honor. The price that Madoc made her pay. The price that Madoc will never truly understand.

Almost of its own accord, my sword spins out, to catch his blade. And, using his own strength against him, I rip Madoc's sword out of his grasp and send it spinning across the terrace.

"Sorry, Father," I say into the silence, "but I won't help you. I abandoned Taryn once. I swore that I would never do so again." I look him straight in the eye. "And there is no honor in using the people we love for our own ends, to serve our own ambition."

A long silence falls. The guards stand like statues. The mist drifts. Madoc stands, hands empty. Disarmed.

"It seems I taught you only too well, Jude," he says at last. But he doesn't sound angry. He sounds sad.

"Yes," I say. My voice sounds cold and unyielding to my own ears. My sword is steady in my hands. "Yes, perhaps you did."

He stands before me a moment longer. "Well done," he says at last, before turning and heading indoors.

I watch him go, a mixture of pain and triumph surging inside me. This is the first time I have ever defeated Madoc in battle, and the first time I have ever denied him anything, and my sorrow is as profound as my elation.

I'm still a bit rattled a few hours later, when I'm roaming the mansion looking for Oriana.

The fog has burned off, but it's still fairly early. Oriana could be anywhere at this hour: she likes to rise early, and go about the house getting things organized. The servants are in circulation, still yawning sleepily, and the guards. Indeed, there's an even heavier contingent of guards and knights than usual, and all seem particularly watchful, hands never far from their swords. I guess Madoc and Foxfire have alerted them as to the current status of the household. I wonder where Madoc has gone. To the palace, I suppose. He has a lot of politicking to do, after all. I smile grimly as I search the rooms and corridors.

As I pass one of the workrooms, I hear women's voices. I slow, but neither of them is Oriana: they're just servants. I'm about to move on, when I hear Taryn's name.

"…Impossible!" one of the servants says, sounding scandalized. "The Grand General would never do such a thing! Not to his daughter!"

"Well, that's what I heard," says the other, sounding more delighted than scandalized. "And you know, he never really got over Eva. Maybe when he saw how Eva's daughter was growing up, he just couldn't resist…"

A ringing is building in my ears. I'm about to throw the door open when a hand closes on my arm. "Come away, Jude," Oriana says in a low, hard voice, and drags me off.

"Did you hear what they were saying?" I hiss as she pulls me away.

"I heard," she says grimly. She pushes me into the parlor and shuts the door behind us. "I suppose we should have expected it. I'll see to it that none of the servants ever repeats that gossip again. And don't you say anything to your sister, Jude. Or the children."

"Of course not." This kind of vicious gossip is the last thing Taryn or her kids need to deal with right now. "Does Madoc know?"

"If he doesn't, he soon will." She gives a sigh, and, for the first time, looks tired. "But I suppose when the truth comes out, it will cast such rumors quite in the shade."

I lean in. This is the real reason I sought out Oriana this morning. "Oriana, how much do you know? How much did Madoc tell you?"

"He told me enough." She closes her eyes momentarily, looking more despairing than ever. "But, really, I knew the moment I saw Philomel's eyes." She gives a brief, unhappy smile. "I never actually met Balekin's mother, Lady Sabina. But I have seen portraits. Her eyes were…quite extraordinary. As are Philomel's."

I have to gulp back nausea. "Do you know what Madoc's planning?" I ask when I can speak.

"Planning?" She frowns at me.

So Madoc didn't tell her. I feel a wave of relief. "He's going to make Philomel High Queen," I whisper. "And he's going to seize the regency. He as good as admitted it to me just this morning."

Oriana goes white, even her lips becoming bloodless. "High Queen?" she whispers incredulously. "Philomel? He can't! She's just a child!"

"Since when did Madoc care about that?" I demand, voice harsh. "This way, he gets the regency, which is what he really wants."

Oriana steps back then, giving me a strange look. "Why should you object?" she asks. "I would have thought you'd like to see your niece as High Queen, and your family in power."

Why does everyone say that? Am I really that ambitious, that calculating? "Not at the price of Philomel's life—or Taryn's. She loves Philomel more than anything. This would kill her."

Oriana closes her eyes again. "I know."

"What's going on here?" The door to the parlor opens, admitting Vivienne and, close behind, Heather. Vivi cocks her head curiously. "What are you two arguing about?"

I look at her thoughtfully. I want to tell Vivienne what Madoc has planned, but I don't know if I can trust her not to try something stupid, like murdering Madoc or trying to spirit Taryn and her kids away. And what of Heather? How would she react? She might not be able to do anything on her own account, but she can influence Vivienne's actions…

Then we hear it. Cardan's voice, echoing from the entrance hall. And, below it, a lower rumble. Balekin.

Oriana draws herself up. A white light gleams from her hair, her eyes. Something about it seems strangely familiar, but before I can pin it down, she turns to the door. "Stay here," she commands.

"Like hell," growls Vivienne, and we all follow Oriana out to the entrance hall.

There Cardan is standing spread-eagled on the stairway, blocking the way up. He looked harassed and frantic, and grimaces at us as Balekin whirls around. I feel a wave of stomach-churning loathing as I look at the monster, invading our house. How dare he come here! But, seeing him and Cardan together, another, more detached part of me notices something.

The two brothers actually look something alike, don't they?

And I have a sudden idea.

I don't mention my idea to anyone right away. Even if I wanted to, I don't get the chance: we have a very eventful day, full of insulted princes, new tutors, flying rocs and invading goblins. But, really, this suits my purposes perfectly.

I wait until Heartwood is leaving the mansion, walking along with great dignity toward a small side door, pipe trailing smoke. I step out of a side room to intercept her. "Chieftainess Heartwood?"

She eyes me through a veil of smoke. "Good afternoon, Jude, sister of the Lady Healer."

"Good afternoon, Chieftainess." I fall into step beside her. "What did the Grand General have to say?"

"Oh, he had a proposal for me and for my people," she says, in a calm, noncommittal sort of voice.

"And did you take it?"

She doesn't reply, but looks at me with bright red eyes, crinkled with amusement.

I sigh; fair enough. "Would you be open to a proposal from me, Chieftainess?"

"What sort of proposal?"

"I may need you to take a message to someone," I say carefully. "Would you or any of your people be willing?"

"Perhaps." She takes her pipe from her mouth, blowing out smoke. "What sort of message?"

"Something that would be to the benefit of Taryn—of Albia and her children," I say. "Something that might get them out of this mess."

"Ah. And what would you know of the mess they're in, Jude?"

"I'm not sure." I look her right in the eye. "What would you know?"

We gleam at each other in mutual understanding, and mutual respect. Heartwood gives a soft, smoky chuckle. "You know, Jude, it's almost a shame you weren't born out in the forest. You would have made a mighty Chieftainess."

"Funny: I was just thinking what a great courtier you would make." She laughs. "But to return to the matter at hand: would you be willing to carry a message, if it would help Albia and her kids?"

"Of course," she says immediately. "Right now?"

We both fall silent as a servant passes. I gulp in a suddenly dry throat. There is so little privacy in Madoc's stronghold, so few secrets. "Not right now," I say. "Later. If we can get in contact with each other."

"Oh, no worries on that score." She waves her pipe dismissively. "According to my bargain with the General, we'll be in and out all the time. Just get hold of one of us, and they'll relay the message to me." She looks at me sidelong. "Just who would we be delivering the message to?"

"I can't say yet."

"Like that, eh?" We've reached the side door. Heartwood steps out, the guards letting her past. I stop short as they cross spears again, blocking me off. Heartwood peers back at me, sympathetic through the bars of my cage. "Talk to you later, Jude," she calls. "Say hello to Albia and Dogwood for me—as well as the little princess, of course."

And then she's gone, in a whirl of smoke and trace of laughter, into the bright day.

"Heartwood knows about Melly," I say to Cardan briefly that night, cuddled up in bed together, insulated under layers of sheets and counterpanes.

"Of course she does," he whispers back, breath warm in my ear. "She's no one's fool, that Chieftainess. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if she's known for years."

"And never said anything?" I ask in surprise.

He shrugs, the movement sensuous against me in bed. "She might have figured it was better to stay out of it. How do you know that she knows, anyway?"

"I talked to her this afternoon." I wriggle even closer. "I asked if she was willing to take a message for me."

"What sort of message?"

"Something that might help Taryn and the kids." I put my mouth to his ear. "I've had an idea."

He groans aloud. "Of course you have."

I smack him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't be like that! This is serious."

"It always is with you." He sighs, and, taking me in his arms, rolls over so he is on top and I am buried in fat feather pillows. "What is your idea, sweet Jude?"

I get as close as I can, whispering in his ear. "Cardan," I whisper, "what if you were Philomel's father?"

He recoils at this, stiffening in surprise. "What?"

I pull him back, one hand behind his head. "Think of it," I murmur. "If we tell Eldred that you're Philomel's father, that cuts Balekin right out, doesn't it? The King's going to find out that she's his granddaughter eventually. But if he thinks you're the father…"

"It leaves Balekin without a leg to stand on," Cardan says with pleasure. "Oh, that is clever, Jude." He draws back in sudden suspicion. "One thing, though…this had better not be some labyrinthine Jude-plot to get me on the throne."

"Of course not!" I say, perhaps a touch too brightly.

"Ri-ight." He gives me a still-not-entirely-trusting look, but lets it go. "How would this go, exactly?"

"Heartwood gets a message out to Eldred from you, saying that you know something about the Lost Heir and would like an audience with the King. When Eldred grants the audience, you sneak Taryn in, and she tells Eldred that you're the father. She can say she slept with you while she was drunk at that New Year's ball."

"And then fled Court to avoid your jealous wrath, Jude?" His black eyes twinkle at me.

I sigh. "I suppose that would be believable, wouldn't it? Yes, she can say that."

"He might not believe her."

"Maybe not," I murmur, thinking of Philomel having her paternal grandmother's eyes, "but even if he doesn't, he'll pretend to. It suits Eldred, doesn't it? This way, he gets a granddaughter without a scandal. He can cut you and your brothers out of the succession in favor of a granddaughter he can groom for the throne himself." I give a dry, cynical laugh. "This might even persuade him to hold on a few more decades!"

"True. It might," Cardan says thoughtfully. "One more question: what about Madoc?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Perhaps Eldred would exile him."

"Perhaps." The look Cardan gives me is not entirely without pity. "You do realize there's a strong chance of your stepfather being executed for treason, if this works?"

I gulp. My restored finger tingles almost painfully. "I can live with that," I say in a soft, dry whisper. "I'm not letting Taryn down again, no matter what. And I'm not letting Madoc get the regency, now or ever."

Cardan's silent a long, long moment. "And you, Jude?" he says at last, softly. "If your plan works and the Court believes I'm Philomel's father? That I slept with your sister? Are you going to be all right with that?"

The thought does make me pause, but only for a moment. "Well, we will all know the truth, won't we? And as long as you don't actually sleep with Taryn, I'm fine with it."

"Are you sure?" he purrs. "Because a threesome might actually—"

I smack at him, but he dodges the blow, laughing. "Stop clowning around and go tell Taryn the plan," I snap. "We need her onboard if this is going to work."

"All right, all right," he snickers, sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed. "I'll climb around the side of the house and put your idea to her. We'll see what she says." He pauses. "She might not like the idea, you know. I don't think she wants Melly to be Queen under any circumstances."

"I know," I sigh. "But I think this is our best chance, Cardan. Make her understand that."

"I'll do my best." He gives me a lazy, mock salute as he pulls his clothes back on and, climbing over the bed, opens the window. He looks out. "Coast is clear. I'm off." He climbs out and swings himself agilely out along the wall.

I watch him go, my heart in my throat. Please, please let this work. Let Taryn agree, and let the plan work. Because I think we're already running out of time.