It's a beautiful day: sunny, warm and breezy. I set out across the gardens of the Palace of Elfhame, enjoying the gentle wind and the chirping birds. Of course, every day has been beautiful since Taryn set that manticore on Balekin. It's like all of Faerie is celebrating the prince's death. I smile, my spirits lightening at the memory, and stride on.

"Taryn? Taryn!" I call. I know she's out here somewhere, but I can't see her anywhere.

"I'm here," I hear her saying, and I hurry off the main path, behind some moonflower bushes—closed at this time of day—and into a sheltered little glen, shaded with trees.

Taryn's standing there, alone, with not even her kids in sight. She's staring at a particular piece of ground, a grassy area near the moonflower bushes. "Hello, Jude," she says absently, and her restored voice is music to my ears.

I give her a hug, and she leans into my embrace. "What are you doing out here? I thought you'd be packing."

"We're all done." She gives a deep, shuddering sigh. "I…I had to come out here."

"Here?"

Her voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. "This is where it happened."

"Oh." My spirits fall. The glen looks a lot darker suddenly. I hug Taryn tighter. "Do you want me to talk to the gardeners? We can get this place rearranged—"

"No." She shakes her head and coughs. Her voice still gets tired easily. "No, it's all right." She smiles at me, brief and sad. "Just destroying this place won't erase the past, Jude."

"I suppose not," I say after a moment.

We're silent a moment, looking at the grass near the moonflowers. Overhead, the birds sing and the wind wafts through the tree branches.

"You know," Taryn says suddenly, "it's stupid, but…now that Balekin's dead and gone, I—I almost feel sorry for him."

I recoil. "Sorry for him?"

"I did say 'almost', Jude," she says dryly. She coughs again, and sighs. "He was…a very unhappy person. From what I've heard—from Oriana and the older courtiers—he was never loved, by anyone. Not even as a child. Eldred just saw him as a tool of the dynasty, and a disappointing son. His mother thought of him as her road to power—and that was before she was arrested and locked up for conspiring against Eldred. And then executed for treason. No wonder Balekin was so fixated on the throne. No wonder he liked beating up anyone weaker than himself. He was such a small person, with a mean little soul. It was the only way he could feel bigger than anyone else."

"Cardan grew up unloved and neglected too," I say harshly. "And he didn't turn out like Balekin!"

"He almost did, if you'll recall," Taryn says, and I know we're both thinking of our childhoods, and Cardan's bullying. "But Cardan was lucky. He had you. Balekin never had anyone."

Perhaps not, but I'm far from willing to give him that excuse. "I hope you're not regretting what you did."

"No," she says after a moment. "Balekin made his own choices, and he chose to be evil." She pauses to catch her breath and rest her voice. "He chose to be violent and stupid. Pathetic, really."

I bark out a sudden laugh. Taryn looks at me. "Nothing," I say in response to her unasked question. "Just…Balekin would hate being pitied by a mortal, so much. It really would be the ultimate humiliation for him, if he knew that you called him small and pathetic and felt sorry for him." I grin. "The greatest punishment of all."

She lets out her own hoarse laugh. "True!"

Together, we turn and leave that place, heading out over the sunlit lawns back toward the palace. "I wish you and the kids weren't going," I say.

"Well, they're my lands now. I have to at least inspect them, and start getting them back in order. From everything Rhys has said, they're in terrible shape."

"Still," I say quietly, "I wish you would stay, Taryn. I need you."

She gives me a puzzled look. "What for?"

I need you to remind me, I want to say. I need you here, to remind me that there are many forms of courage, and many forms of cowardice, too—and cowardice on the battlefield is not necessarily the worst. I need you here, to remind me that being violent is not the same thing as being brave. That labeling someone else as "weak" will not make a person strong. That what we call "honor" is often just a mask for greed and self-interest. That hurting someone might give a venomous pleasure, but it will not solve a person's problems. That mercy is important. That gentleness and kindness have value. That the needle is not worth less than the sword.

"You're my sister," I say at last. "I've always needed you. Even when I thought I didn't."

She stops, turning to face me. She wears one of her green-and-brown forest dresses, the unicorn horns gleaming on her sleeves. Her hair is cut short still, and her eyes are gentle and determined on my face. "I know, Jude," she says. "I've always needed you too." She squeezes my arm. "But I promise, this won't be like last time. I'll come back, I swear. And Oriana will be with me." She gives a little laugh. "I'll write to you every day if you want!"

I have to laugh too. "I don't think that's quite necessary." And indeed it isn't: the guards accompanying Taryn and her family to the mainland tomorrow are under strict orders to report back to me and Cardan on a regular basis regarding my sister's health and safety. "But do please let me know how you and the kids are."

"I will." Her eyes go past me. "And speaking of which…"

I turn at the joyous cries. It's Dogwood and Philomel, tumbling out of the palace, pursued by Birch, Oriana and Taryn's steward, Rhys. I wave. "Hey, kids!"

"Hi, Aunt Jude!" Dogwood waves enthusiastically back. "We're heading out tomorrow, did you know?"

"Oh, yes," I say. "I was just talking to your mother about it."

"Why don't you come with us, Aunt Jude?" Philomel comes trotting up. "It'd be fun!"

I laugh. "Sorry, but I've got duties here in the palace."

"Maybe next time, though." Taryn wraps her arms around her daughter, kissing her on the head. She snuggles in, giggling.

"And I don't know how much fun it'll be." Birch strides up, placing a hand on Dogwood's shoulder. "From what I've heard, that prince's estates are in an awful state. A lot of work to be done."

"It'll be a challenge." Oriana's eyes gleam.

"Well, I have faith in you," I say. "And in Rhys." I give the steward a hard look: I had a private chat with Rhys a few days ago, where I emphasized the vital necessity of keeping Taryn and her children safe and happy and returned to Court in a timely manner—and exactly what would happen to him, personally, if these requirements were not met.

He bows his head, acknowledging my unspoken orders. "I will do my utmost to assist Lady Taryn, in any way possible."

I scowl inside at the title. I still think it's ridiculous that Taryn is a lady and not a princess. But her so-called marriage to Balekin was not only short-lived, but also quasi-illegal, as royal marriages go, since it was performed without the High King's knowledge or consent. I did suggest to Taryn that Cardan retroactively legalize her marriage, so she could take up her rightful title of princess, but she refused. "The marriage was illegal," she said. "I entered it against my will, under duress. That's the truth, and I won't hide it. And anyway, why would I want Balekin's title?" Which is a good point, I suppose.

Now Taryn, surrounded by her happy, chattering children, flashes me a grin, as bright as it is unexpected. "Stop looking so glum, Jude! We'll be back before you know it."

But I don't want you to go at all, I want to say. I want you to stay here with me, forever. I've already missed seven years of your life. I don't want to miss a minute of the rest.

But then a strange thought occurs to me: perhaps those years apart were something we all needed, me and both my sisters. We were all three of us in such pain, seven years ago. We were all so miserable, in our different ways, and so angry. Perhaps, if we hadn't separated, we would have turned on each other, betraying our love in our desperation and despair, casting each other down in the vain hope that we could advance our own interests in doing so. It was only when we parted, when we each had time to rest, to think, that we began to heal. It was only when we parted that we truly learned to value one another.

With a pang, I think of Madoc, alone in the human world, puzzling over his quest and no doubt still reeling from Taryn's icy repudiation of him in the throne room. I'm sure that was the worst part of his punishment: Taryn rejecting him before all the gathered monarchs of Faerie, telling him that he was no father of hers, that none of his efforts even came close to compensating for the harm he did, and would have done, if he'd had his way. A part of me mourns for his pain and sorrow, while at the same time I understand and agree with Taryn completely. Everything she said was true. And, while I pity Madoc in his exile, it's nothing he doesn't deserve. It's time my foster father took responsibility for his actions.

Up on a terrace by the palace, I spot a dark, familiar figure, and I wave. Cardan waves back, his circlet a bright gleam at his temples. My heart lifts, as it always does when I see him, even at a distance. There's another lesson I learned, during those years without my sisters: mercy will often get you much further than vengeance ever could. After all, if I hadn't shown Cardan mercy that night, we might never have gotten together, and how much poorer my life would have been.

Now I accompany Taryn back to the palace, listening to the kids' happy chatter. I will miss my sister while she's gone—but, this time, I trust that she will return. Taryn has said so, and I trust in her completely.

The next morning, under a brisk sea breeze, I hug Taryn one more time. "Be safe," I whisper.

"I will." She gives me a squeeze and lets go. She steps back, eyes suspiciously bright. We're standing before her cottage, the ragwort steeds at the ready, Taryn's guards and stewards already mounted up and ready to go. The kids hop from one foot to the other, in an agony of impatience, as we say goodbye. "You keep safe, too," Taryn murmurs. "Court is hardly less dangerous than the mainland."

"I know." No use to try and explain to Taryn that that's why I love it so much. "I'll be careful, I promise." I bend down to talk to the kids. "You be good," I say to my niece and nephew. "Do what your mother says."

"We will!" Philomel promises sunnily. She grins up at me, and my heart catches on the beauty of her smile, and the love I feel for her. What a miracle this child is, against all the odds. "We'll see you soon, Aunt Jude!"

"Yeah!" Dogwood hugs me tight. How strong this boy is: I'm massaging my midriff when he lets me go. "Don't worry, I'll be there."

"You're really coming along on your swordsmanship, Dogwood," I say, and it's true. This child will be a great knight someday. "But still, be careful, all of you."

"Honestly, Jude." Cardan steps up next to me, resplendent in his gold circlet and gold-embroidered suit. "If you're any more ominous, they'll decide not to go at all."

"Maybe that's what I want." I nudge him in the side. "Ever think of that, Your Majesty?"

"What nonsense you do talk, Jude." He raises an arm and places it, warm and comforting, on my shoulders.

I try unsuccessfully to shrug it off. "I do not talk nonsense."

"She talks nonsense," Cardan says in a stage whisper to Dogwood and Philomel, and they both giggle. He reaches over to muss Philomel's hair and clap Dogwood on the shoulder. "Take care of your mother, kids, and take care of yourselves."

"We will, Uncle Cardan." Philomel stands straight as she can.

"I know you will." Cardan smiles at his niece and straightens. "Hurry back when you're finished with your grand tour, Taryn. Have a nice time, kids. And Oriana, you be sure to look after them all." His eyes flicker to Birch. "You too, Birch."

The tree goblin bows. "Of course, Your Majesty." He casts a warm look at the kids, at Taryn. She beams back. "No harm will come to Albia or her children if I can possibly prevent it."

"I will swear that too, my King." Oriana curtsies deeply to Cardan.

"And we will come back," Taryn adds. "I swear it." She curtsies too. "Do we have your permission to leave, Your Majesty?"

"Oh, very well." Cardan gives a magnanimous wave. "Off you go, and do try not to heal any more manticores while you're away. I don't think the High Court can stand much more monster-related excitement right now."

A smile tugs Taryn's lips. "I'll do my best, my King."

Cardan and I watch as Taryn, Birch, Oriana and the kids all mount up. The signal goes out, and the party gallops off, ragwort steeds running in a great swirl before mounting up into the air. My throat tight, I watch as they canter off into the sky, getting smaller and smaller, until they disappear.

"Don't cry, Jude." Cardan gives me a little shake. "You'll ruin your reputation for steely-eyed mercilessness. They'll be perfectly fine. And they'll all come back."

Hastily, I dry my eyes. "I am not crying."

"All mortals are liars." He steers me off, our guards falling into position behind us. "But you cannot deny this fundamental truth: you and I, Jude Duarte, have a lot to do today. What a load of work the throne is." He gives a deep, theatrical sigh.

I nudge him again. "You're doing a great job at it, though, admit it."

"I need admit nothing," he says with great dignity. "But before we get started, there are some people I think you should meet."

"Really? Who are they?" We're heading for a nearby woodland, shady and secretive.

"Well, see for yourself…" We step into the trees, the shadows descending around us in curtains, our guards falling back. Three figures stand among the trees.

I recognize them all, even as they fall to their knees, heads bent. "Greetings, Your Majesty, Lady Seneschal," says the Roach in his deep, musical voice. "We all hope the day greets you well."

"Days, having no voices, do not generally greet people," Cardan observes. "But you may rise."

They get to their feet. My eyes skip among them: the Roach, the Ghost and the Bomb. No different now than they were seven years ago. The Bomb grins at me, still white and blistering.

The Roach bows his head. "Congratulations on your ascension, King Cardan. And congratulations to you, Lady Jude, on finding your sister again, and the Lost Heir." He smiles briefly. "I told you we would meet again."

I regard him thoughtfully, remembering what else he said that night. Something tells me that you will someday be in a position to appreciate our talents, Miss Duarte.

A slow smile grows on my face. "Are you here looking for work again?"

"Indeed we are, Lady Seneschal." The Roach looks me in the eye. "We are here to offer you both our services. If you will take us. We have…some unusual talents. Talents we would be happy to put at the disposal of the new High King, and his lady."

Cardan looks at me. "Well, Jude? What do you think?"

I look at them: three faeries with, as the Roach put it, unusual talents. Three faeries no one else knows about. And an idea slowly germinates in my mind.

I turn back to Cardan. "I think they can be useful," I say. "Our very own Court of Shadows."

"The Court of Shadows," Cardan repeats, soft and slow. "It does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

We grin at one another, Cardan and I. Oh, yes. Our new Court of Shadows is going to be very useful indeed.

Madoc and Balekin both wanted to rule Faerie, to win this game of power and politics. They both thought their power made them untouchable, that no other players were strong enough to challenge them. They forgot that it is not strength but intelligence that wins the game. And that's why they lost. The board has changed, with old players swept off and new players to take their places.

And I can't wait for this new game to begin.