(Note: this chapter portrays Madoc's mansion as having modern indoor plumbing. I know this isn't canon, but if faeries need to use the bathroom in this universe, it's reasonable to assume they'd copy modern conveniences from humans.)

Stories

The moment we're all inside, Oriana turns to Balekin with that butter-wouldn't-melt smile. "Your Highness," she coos, "how you honor us by staying, when you must be so exhausted. Why don't you go sit in the parlor while I have the servants bring tea?" She turns to me. "Taryn, dear, I'll escort you and your children to the rooms I've had prepared. You all look dead on your feet."

Balekin, mid-way through stepping toward the parlor, halts. "Perhaps Lady Taryn could join me."

"Oh, but Your Highness…!" Somehow, Oriana's interposed herself between me and Balekin; I can only see her slim back and flowing skirt. "Taryn is so tired—and filthy! She's not fit company right now." She lets out a tinkling laugh. "I can't have it bruited about Court that I let my stepdaughter entertain a Greenbriar while caked in dirt, can I? What would people say?"

He draws back at this. Of course: in his way, Balekin is just as obsessed with public opinion as Madoc is. "Well—"

"All right, then!" Oriana says brightly, and turns to Madoc. "Husband," she says in that honey-gentle tone, "why don't you take that spell off Taryn and the children so I can take them upstairs?"

Madoc looks momentarily sulky—for, despite our sullen attitude, he has deeply enjoyed having me and my children under such powerful personal control—but he can hardly refuse. He takes out the wand and taps each of us with it. Philomel and Dogwood both sigh in relief, and I take a deep breath, feeling that awful leash lift away. I grab hold of the kids and take several steps away, just because I can. Birch joins us, glowering at Madoc.

"Come along, all of you." Oriana curtsies to Balekin and begins shepherding all of us—me, the children, Birch, Cardan, Jude, Heather and Vivienne—toward the stairs. "You all must be ravenous, and certainly you are all in desperate need of a bath! I'll have food sent up. You can stay with Vivienne," she adds to Heather, who nods politely. "And Prince Cardan, yours and Jude's suite is all prepared."

Cardan nods, and Jude looks unsurprised. I guess they've been sharing for a long time now. I give Cardan a narrow-eyed look. I've just thought of another reason, besides loneliness and sexual desire, that Cardan may have embarked on an affair with Jude. After all, sleeping with the daughter of the house, insisting that she share his bed, is very much a royal prerogative. This may have been his way, at least at first, of asserting that, although a pariah-prince, he was still a prince. I sigh, feeling exhaustion settle over me. I suppose it hardly matters now.

"After them," I hear Madoc order some of his knights, including Saxifrage the Mirror. "Stay with Taryn and the children."

They salute and fall into place behind us. I try not to be grateful for their presence, as Balekin's horrible gaze follows me and my family up the stairs, until we turn the corner and climb out of sight.

I let out a long sigh: it's such a relief to get away from Balekin, and from Madoc. But touring this house—this house—makes me wince. There are too many memories in this place, and too many of them are awful. I can feel that old weight, that old helplessness, settle over me as I shuffle along the corridor.

Dogwood and Philomel, of course, don't share my disgust. They stare around, wide-eyed and silent, at the interior of the house. They've never seen such grandeur. Oriana smiles at them gently. "I hope you will soon feel at home here," she says warmly. "I had the guest suite made up for you and your children," she adds to me, "as soon as Madoc sent me word. You can all stay together. It's right across from mine and Madoc's apartment."

Ah. Lovely. Just where Madoc can conveniently keep an eye on us all. I nod wearily. It is the best solution, under the circumstances. I can keep the kids with me. And I don't have to go back to my old room. I shudder at the thought of having to sleep there again.

"Honestly, Lady Oriana," Cardan drawls, "keeping Taryn and her children across from your apartment, herding us around with an armed guard…it's as if you don't trust us all of a sudden."

"I'm afraid Madoc's trust is easily lost, Your Highness," she says neutrally.

Cardan stretches his arms over his head. "Well, it's rather illogical in this case," he points out reasonably. "After all, we've all done exactly as he wanted, haven't we? We led him to Taryn and her children, quite obediently, and we were all captured, exactly as he planned, and dragged back to Court, right on schedule. Why are we all prisoners still?"

Oriana gives him a rather cold look. "Your father was not terribly pleased with your sudden flight, Your Highness," she says in clipped tones. "Leaving Court without permission, at such a time, could be considered treason. King Eldred wants you under watch for the moment."

Dogwood rouses from his stupor. "What's 'under watch' mean?"

"It means I'm not officially a prisoner, but not free either," Cardan explains. "And someone's going to be watching my every move for the foreseeable future." He pokes Jude in the ribs with a grin. "That means you'll be watched too, Jude. Just think of the fun we'll have forcing our minders to watch while we make out!"

"Cardan," says Jude, studying her fingernails, "has anyone told you that you can be completely disgusting sometimes, even for a faerie? I am no exhibitionist. Of course, I'm mortal, and thus have a sense of privacy and personal boundaries."

"What's an 'exhibitionist'?" Dogwood asks, wide-eyed. Behind us, Heather and Vivi are both vibrating with repressed laughter.

Oriana rallies. "Never mind for now, Dogwood: your aunt is simply being silly." She glowers at Jude over his head before turning to hail a couple of footmen. "Take them to their rooms," she orders. "Make sure they get everything they need. The mortal, Miss Heather, will be staying with Miss Vivienne."

Jude and Vivienne both scowl as their escorts step forward, but Heather bows politely. "I'm sure we'll be very comfortable, Lady Oriana," she says. "And I'll sure appreciate the chance to wash up."

Oriana blinks a little, surprised. "You have very nice manners, Miss Heather."

"For a mortal?" A mischievous grin crosses Heather's face. "I do my best, ma'am."

Oriana smiles slightly, but waves her and the others away. They trail off reluctantly. "Don't worry. We'll be back soon," Vivi whispers to me, and kisses me on the forehead, quickly, before being led away.

Jude gives me a worried look over her shoulder, but goes without protest. I hear her whispering to Cardan, "And you can forget about us 'making out', at least until you've had a bath or three."

"Certainly, my dear Jude, if you join me…"

Oriana shakes her head, watching them disappear. "Those two." Her eyes soften as she turns to me, and she takes me in her arms again. "Oh, Taryn." She squeezes me hard, as if she just can't help herself. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again."

Tears prick my eyes, and I'm not sure whether they're tears of happiness or sorrow. Birch and the children all stare. "Are you Mommy's mommy?" Philomel asks, clutching Lulu.

"I am her stepmother, like I said." Oriana releases me and steps away, eyes brilliant. She smiles at the children. "That makes me your step-grandmother, I suppose. Come, all of you." She gives Birch a doubtful look. "You too, I suppose."

She leads me to hers and Madoc's private wing on the second floor, and I wince as we pass the closed door to his study: it brings back memories of that last, fateful day, when Madoc stood me in his study and demanded to know why I wasn't talking. So much has changed since then—and yet, it seems, I'm still as helpless as ever.

The apartment across the hall from Madoc's is opulent, of course: it's the suite Madoc reserves for important guests. The children gasp and cling closer as the full majesty of the sitting room alone is borne on them, and I don't think they notice how the knights fan out: one by the door, one by the window, and Saxifrage hovering over us. But Birch notices. He makes a sour face and signs, We're not getting out, are we?

I shake my head, and he smiles grimly.

Oriana, busy issuing instructions to a maid outside the door, glances over. "I take it you—ah—understand Taryn's sign language—ah—Birch?"

"Yes," he says shortly. "That's why your husband brought me along in the first place."

"Then where do I put you?" she murmurs, standing back in perplexity. "Taryn needs you, but…" Her little hand-flutter says it all: it's not appropriate for a tree goblin to sleep in the family rooms. How improper that would be. Whatever would people say?

Birch's jaw clenches and his crest rises. "I'm not leaving Albia and the children." Philomel shakes her head fiercely in agreement and takes his hand, glaring at Oriana. Dogwood steps up too, crest raised.

Oriana hesitates. I glower too, stepping forward. No way am I letting her stick Birch in the servants' quarters.

Oriana seems to recognize this. "All right," she says, giving way. "I suppose, given the circumstances…" She shrugs. "It doesn't matter too much."

Birch stares at her, bemused. Then, turning to me, he signs, Is this all people do at Court? Obsess about what everyone else thinks?

I nod. Pretty much. We exchange a grim smile.

Oriana sees our exchange, but chooses to ignore it. Instead, she goes to call for a footman, ordering him to see that food is brought up, and all our clothes. Tatterfell sidles in while she's giving instructions, beaming at me and waving. I give her a tiny smile and wave back.

Oriana sees, of course, but doesn't order Tatterfell away. Instead, she sits us all down in the miniature sitting room to start the interrogation as the food cart arrives, breathing heady fragrances over us all.

"Taryn," she says, hovering over me as I help myself to food and drink, "where have you been? Have you been…safe? Have you been hungry? Who's been helping you with these children? You look so different now," she adds helplessly. "Your hair's so short."

Dogwood and Philomel both giggle at this. "Of course her hair is short!" says Philomel, swinging her legs as she sits beside me, munching on a scone. "Heartwood cuts it for her."

"Who is Heartwood?" Oriana asks.

My friend, the Red Branch chieftainess, I sign, with Birch's translation. Then I start the whole story, signing and gesturing while Birch translates. Oriana drinks it all in, silent and steady. To her credit, she doesn't even flinch at the revelation that I worked as a servant.

"So you were safe," she says in honest relief. "I'm glad someone was looking after you. I couldn't bear it if…" She trails off, not meeting my eyes. I see a flicker of shame cross her face.

My mouth tightens, old resentment sullying my pleasure at seeing her again. For Oriana did nothing to protect me before, did she, when I really needed it.

I saved Dogwood's life, I say, pushing aside my anger. The night I arrived, I used the healing gift the unicorn gave me to save Dogwood.

She sits up straighter, eyes going wide. "The unicorn?"

"That's right," says Birch proudly. "The unicorn gifted Albia with the magic of healing. She can lay her hands on anyone, and their wounds and sicknesses are instantly cured. Didn't that redcap tell you, in his letters home?"

"No." Oriana looks more shaken than I would have believed, staring and blinking. "But…The unicorn…"

"Yes. The unicorn." Birch folds his arms, jaw jutting aggressively, crest flashing blue spots. "What, you think she's unworthy of the unicorn's blessing just because she's mortal?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Of course not. Why would I think a stupid thing like that?" She seems to pull herself together. "Go on. What happened then?"

Still frowning at her, I finish my tale, describing how I became healer to the Red Branch tribe and how we all lived in the valley until Madoc and Balekin came for us. She listens silently, with no interruptions. When I finish, she takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm glad you had allies at least," she says. "I'm glad you had food and protection. You're all right." She reaches out to touch my knee.

That might depend on your definition of "all right". But I know she means well, and her relief is genuine. I cover her hand with mine, warm and soft.

By now, the kids have demolished the food cart, stuffing their faces. Oriana smiles at them. "It's good to see children with an appetite," she says warmly. "You both look like good, healthy children. They're a credit to you both," she adds to me and Birch, and we both sit straighter.

Dogwood looks up, still chewing. "I'm healthy 'cause Mommy used her unicorn gift on me," he says indistinctly. "When I was a baby."

"So she told me. It looks like she's done a good job raising you since then, as well. And…Philomel." A shadow crosses my stepmother's face as she turns to my daughter: her knowledge of Philomel's terrible conception. "You have very powerful magic, I'm told."

I eye her over my cup's rim. Just what has Madoc been putting into his letters home…? Once more she avoids my gaze.

"Yup." Philomel washes down a bite of cake with a swig of water. "But I can't really use it, not with her around." She glares at Saxifrage, who stares blankly back.

Oriana stands. "Well, once you're settled here, maybe we can see about having Sir Saxifrage reassigned. But I'll let you have some time alone for now." She smiles gently on us all. "You all look exhausted. I'll let Tatterfell look after you." Tatterfell nods, beaming and standing at the ready.

Oriana swoops in for one last hug—one last tight physical reassurance of my being—and leaves the room. I hear her exchange words with some official-sounding faeries—I guess Madoc has already posted guards at the door.

Tatterfell smiles and curtsies to my children. They both draw back, suddenly shy and intimidated again. "Hello, children," she says warmly. "I'm Tatterfell, your mother's old lady's maid." She turns to me respectfully. "Would you like a bath now, Lady Taryn, now that you've all eaten?"

I nod, and she turns to go into the en-suite bathroom. Moments later, we hear water thundering into the tub. Madoc's mansion has indoor plumbing, based off the human model, the difference, of course, being that it all works by magic rather than complicated technology. I have to sigh a little: it will be nice to have indoor plumbing again.

I turn to Birch. I'm going to give the children a bath. Trees know, they need it, and it will give us something positive to do. Will you be all right out here?

I'll be fine, he signs back. He gives the knights a sullen stare.

Please don't do anything rash, I beg. There's nothing to stop them killing you.

His face softens. I know. He pats my hand reassuringly. I won't do anything to provoke them—not this time. Go have a bath.

Tatterfell comes out again. "All is ready, Lady Taryn!" she chirps. "Would you like my help?"

Smiling but shaking my head, I herd the children into the tiled bathroom. They both gape, having never seen anything like it before. Dogwood, upon sighting the large, steaming tub, balks. "We can't!" he says in a scandalized whisper. "Not in the house!"

It's all right, Dogwood, I promise, I sign. Come on, let's get clean. We'll feel better.

"No we won't," he says miserably, but starts to take off his clothes. I imagine he's only too happy to get his Court clothes off. I know I am.

Despite everything, the bath goes well. I find myself reveling in the abundance of hot water; I've washed with buckets of cold water for so long that I'd forgotten what it's like to melt into a hot, hot bath. Dogwood takes more persuading, and he sinks in gingerly, complaining that it feels weird on his fur. Philomel, meanwhile, splashes happily, squealing, hair dark with wet and slicked back.

"Look, Mommy!" She surges across the bath at me. "I'm like a nixie!" She makes a face, splashing me.

Smiling, I splash her back, and we all three have a mini water fight—forgetting, just for a moment, our situation.

But the moment doesn't last long. The children start getting cranky, splashing and yelling at each other, and I get them out of the water and dried. Dogwood's exhaustion is catching up with him—he yawns and staggers as I run the towel over him, eyelids drooping—but Philomel seems more pensive than sleepy, staring at her feet.

I kneel before her, pulling the towel tight. What's the matter, Melly? Aside from the obvious, of course.

She speaks slowly. She's already retrieved Lulu, dangling from her nervous grasp. "Madoc…he kidnapped you, right?" she says, voice hollow in the bathroom. "And Aunt Jude and Aunt Vivi."

Sign language, remember. And yes, he did, when we were about your age. Please don't let her ask for the whole story, not now…

She bites her lip, tucking her doll under her arm so she can sign. Then you lied about my father, right? Dogwood stares, eyes huge.

Guilt stabs through me. Yes. I'm very sorry, but I did. I look deep into their combined, accusing gaze. It was wrong of me. But I thought lying would keep us safe. I didn't want anyone to find us. Especially not Madoc. I didn't know how to protect you. I'm sorry.

"That's okay," she whispers aloud. "But…" She switches back to sign language, every gesture slow and heavy with a weird dread. Is Madoc my father?

"Eww!" Dogwood recoils in horror at the idea, crest snapping up.

Okay, I did not see that one coming. No, I say when I can move again. No, he is not your father. I swear I'm not lying this time. Sex with—no, no, I can't even think it. Ask him yourself if you don't believe me, I force myself to add, even though the idea makes me ill. He can't lie to you.

Slowly, she shakes her head. I believe you. She pulls the towel back up her shoulder. She looks so small, so lost, so fragile, standing there naked with her hair still wet.

If he's not my father, she signs at last, then who is?

Both children look at me, eyes wide and trusting, even though they know that I've lied to them. Tears sting my eyes, and now more than ever I hate the curse, and I hate Balekin for making the curse, even though the truth would do them no good at all.

I'm sorry, is all I can sign. I can't. Then the tears escape, and I'm weeping in earnest.

"Don't cry, Mommy." Dogwood comes to my side then, a warm, comforting weight. After a moment's hesitation, Philomel cuddles in on my other side. "Please don't cry."

I wish I could make this better. I can barely sign. But I can't. I'm sorry.

Philomel snuggles closer. "Don't worry, Mommy," she whispers in my ear, harsh with a child's innocent confidence. "We'll get free. We'll get free."

All I can do is shake my head, too awash with fear and worry to lie to her again.

When I get the children out, they're both staggering with exhaustion, and I'm not much better. The meal might have given us some energy, but nothing could prevail against the exhaustion of this last week. We crawl into the suite's bedroom, and I'm too tired to stave off Tatterfell's aid. She helps me get the children into night clothes and then into the big bed on either side of me. She pulls the blanket over us as we fall asleep, almost as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

When I open my eyes, darkness has fallen completely. On either side of me, the children sleep, soft and silent, Philomel cuddling Lulu.

I lie awake, staring up at the ceiling and the starry, silvery darkness that's so different from the shadowy blackness of my Tree. I remember other nights, as a child, staring into such darkness, and close my eyes against the sudden rush of tears. Pretty though it is, this is a trap and always has been.

Slowly, so as not to wake the children, I sit up and look around. The knights aren't in the bedroom, thankfully, but neither is Birch. I was too tired to check on him when we got out of the bathroom. Anxiety grips me, and I climb out of bed completely, moving carefully around the kids' sleeping forms. My head still aches with exhaustion, but I have to make sure Birch is all right.

I ease open the bedroom door and peer out into the sitting room, wishing I could call out. Did Oriana pack him off to the servants' quarters after all? But then I exhale with relief when I see a familiar silhouette standing at the window, bathed in moonlight.

He turns, moonlight glinting in his red eyes. "Albia?"

I join him at the window. Are you all right?

"I'm fine," he whispers. He jerks his head down through the window. "I was just…surveying the territory."

I look down to see two of Madoc's knights standing beneath our window, unmoving but alert. I sigh. Madoc might not see the need to post guards inside the apartment while we're asleep, but we're still not going anywhere.

"There's two more outside the door, too," Birch murmurs. He pauses. "The General stopped in. After you'd all fallen asleep. He said that Prince Balekin had gone."

I let out a little sigh of relief, that Balekin has retreated for now, even though I know he'll be back. Did he say anything about my sisters?

"I gather that they're all fine. Locked in their rooms, from what I've heard, along with Prince Cardan and Heather. I don't know how heavily he's guarding them." He turns back to me, gaze serious. "Albia…it's time to tell me the truth. About who you are. About who Madoc is to you. About what happened."

I gulp. I knew we'd have to have this conversation, but it's still a miserable prospect. A part of me still hoped, stupidly, not to have to tell Birch anything else about my awful past.

"You promised," Birch says, voice hardening.

I take a deep breath. I suppose I did. Lifting my hands, I begin to sign.

My mother was a human woman married to Madoc. She ran away back Ironside when she was pregnant with Vivienne, and married my father. Ten years later, Madoc found us. He killed my parents and kidnapped me, Jude and Vivienne. We grew up here.

My short, brutal sum-up doesn't seem to register at first. Then his jaw sags. "He did what?"

Frantically, I gesture for him to be quiet. Please don't tell the kids! I sign frantically, hands shaking. Please! I beg when he hesitates.

"All right, I won't. I promise." He nods, still gaping. He looks as horrified as he did when he learned the truth about Balekin. "But they're going to find out eventually, you know."

I know, I sign miserably. But please don't tell them.

"I won't, I promise." He's still staring at me in utter horror.

My insides crawl with shame. Now you know, I sign bitterly. I'm a bastard and my mother is an oath breaker. Are you disgusted by me now?

"What?" He blinks in honest astonishment. "No! No, of course not."

So why are you looking at me like that? Tears sting my eyes.

"Because…How could Madoc do something like that? To you? To his wife? Even him." He shakes his head slowly. "That's…that's evil."

I blink. No other faerie has ever thought so, I say slowly. They all said it was what my mother deserved, and we were lucky Madoc was obligated to take us in.

He sneers. "Courtiers. They would." He sobers quickly. "Murdering your wife…that's one of the worst things anyone can do. No matter what she's done. And kidnapping her children, when they hadn't done anything…!" He shakes his head disbelievingly. "How can anyone be that selfish?"

He did it out of duty. Why do I feel the need to defend Madoc, even now? So we weren't left alone, with no one to care for us.

Birch snorts inelegantly. "Oh, and murdering your parents was caring for you, was it? Dragging you off to another world was caring for you? When you were just children?" He shakes his head. "That's not caring for someone. That's certainly not duty. That's just thinking about yourself alone, and then pretending to be a martyr about it." He grimaces. "Anyway, who could blame your mother? Mortals aren't bound by our laws, so why should they respect them? And I'd run too, if I was married to that vile old redcap."

A giggle escapes me. I really can't see Madoc marrying another man, Birch.

He laughs too. "No, I suppose not." And then we're silent a moment, standing at the window, watching the moon.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "For laughing. I suppose this isn't funny for you."

I shrug. He sighs, looking away from me. "I'm surprised you don't hate all faeries," he says in a low voice. "I'm surprised you don't hate us and want to kill us all."

For a long time I did, I say honestly. But then I left Court, and found that not all faeries were like Madoc.

"Maybe." He sighs, shoulders slumping. "Faeries can be pretty awful, though." He looks at me, red eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "You've told me your story, Albia. Now I owe you mine."

I cock my head. What?

"All those years ago, remember?" He smiles sadly. "When I said I would explain about me and Thistleweft when you explained about why you didn't want your pregnancy."

I blink. I do remember, now that I think back, but this doesn't seem quite the same thing. But I didn't explain about that. Not really. My sisters did.

"Still. I owe you." He takes another deep, deep breath. "I wasn't born in the valley," he says in a low voice. "I wasn't born a Red Branch. I was born to a different tribe, far away from that valley. Long ago."

I'm not really surprised. This does explain a few things, like why he never seemed to have any relatives. I nod, and gesture for him to continue.

"I lived an ordinary enough life, in the place of my birth," he says. "But then an Unseelie king rose in rebellion against Eldred. He needed soldiers for his army. So I got press-ganged, along with most of my tribesmen, and magically bound to the king's will, and we were all marched off to war.

"Ironically enough," he says with a grim little smile, "it was General Madoc we were fighting. And he trounced us. That's where I remembered him from, you see: I saw him, on the battlefield, slaughtering the Unseelie king's soldiers with his own hands, sword all wet with blood. I saw him run through the king himself, there on the field. And with his death, my bond dissolved. I was able to run from the field, and so I did, leaving most of my fellow soldiers dead.

"I went back to my old village, but it was gone: with all the men away or dead, it had been plundered. Any survivors had moved on. I had nothing left, so I just picked a direction and wandered off.

"That's when I met Acorn. My wife."

I pull back with a sharp breath. His wife? Birch had a wife? I feel a pinch of absurd jealousy, but mostly just apprehension. Something tells me this story isn't going to end well.

"She was a refugee, like me." He stares out the window at the moonlit lawn, at the soldiers standing below. "We had no one, but then we had each other. We married soon after we met. She was…such a beautiful person. Laughing, adventurous, despite what had happened to her. She said we didn't need a tribe, that we could make our fortune on the road.

"And so we did, for half a century. We roamed together as traveling crafters: myself a wood singer, her a jeweler. She made the most beautiful jewelry, out of the most unpromising stuff…I was happy, and I think for a long time she was too.

"One night, we stopped at a Seelie Court, even though I didn't want to: Courts were dangerous for people like us, I said, but Acorn didn't listen. The Queen heard there was a visiting jeweler, and asked Acorn to mend her necklace, which she did.

"She did a good job—too good a job. The Queen offered her a position, but she didn't want me. They had wood singers enough, the Queen said—but I don't think she liked my attitude either."

I can't say I'm surprised. I bite back my grin and nod encouragingly.

He takes another deep breath. "Acorn took the position. Even though it meant saying goodbye. Even though it meant the end of our marriage, according to the terms of our wedding. She took the position and I was left alone again."

His voice is matter-of-fact, only a trace element of bitterness, but his hand is clenched on the windowsill. My heart squeezes. Reaching out, I lay my hand on his. He doesn't move, but he doesn't push me away either.

"I didn't have the heart for the road after that." He speaks more softly than ever. "And I wanted nothing to do with Courts. Everything I'd lost, you see, I lost due to the machinations of a Court, of royalty. I wanted none of them.

"So I made my way to the most remote place I could find. I won a position for myself as wood singer for the Red Branch. And I thought that would be my life."

I remove my hand. Until now, I sign bitterly.

He's quiet a moment. Then he says, "No. No, there was something before all this."

He looks at me, moonlight reflected in his eyes, casting deep shadows on his face. "Eight years ago, I…I heard news of Acorn. My wife. She was dead. Some damned nobleman had killed her, almost a century before. My informant didn't know why, but…" He gives an angry, helpless laugh. "There doesn't need to be a reason, does there?"

I stare at him, horrified. I'm so sorry. That's terrible.

"Yes." He takes another deep breath. "The night I heard, the Red Branch was holding a revel. Thistleweft was there. She was…We were not friends, but I was so miserable at what I'd heard…So angry. I had to tell someone, so I told her. She was sympathetic. We got drunk together. Then…Well, one thing led to another…" He shrugs.

I take a moment to process this. Birch…and Thistleweft? My mind boggles. I never saw them exchange so much as a civil word, let alone…And if this was eight years ago, then…

Birch. My fingers shake. Are you Dogwood's father?

"Yes," he says after a moment. "Yes, I am."

I gape at him. I never, for a single moment, saw this coming. But it explains so much: why Birch always hung around me and Thistleweft, even though she tried repeatedly to drive him off. Why he's been so diligent with helping raise my kids. Even his talk of a "debt" makes sense. Of course he owed me a debt, a huge debt: I was raising his son.

I smack his shoulder. Why didn't you say anything?!

"Thistleweft didn't want me around," he says in a low voice. "It was never love between us, you see, or even obligation…Just drunkenness and a moment's sympathy. Pity sex, as the mortals say. And then Dogwood was born so sickly…Thistleweft didn't want anyone else near him, and he seemed certain to die." He looks away. "Maybe it was cowardly of me, but I couldn't go against her. Couldn't go near my dying son.

"But then you came. You came, and you saved Dogwood. I owed you my son's life. But Thistleweft still didn't want me around." He lets out a rueful sigh. "She'd taken against me. Well, you know how she was. How she could be. Those pigs at that Court where she was a slave hurt her so badly…I think she couldn't help pushing people away.

"So I decided the best thing I could do was stay close, try to help. Maybe Thistleweft would relent. But then she died. She died, and you were left alone with the children. Thistleweft named you as Dogwood's guardian. Even after death, she didn't want me near her boy."

There's no bitterness in his voice: just sorrow. Awkwardly, I sign, I'm sorry.

"Don't be." He shakes his head. "I never once blamed you for any of it, Albia."

It's a moment before I can ask my next question. You could have taken Dogwood after Thistleweft's death. Heartwood would have backed your claim. Why didn't you?

"Ah." He gives that sad, rueful smile. "Yes. I could have claimed Dogwood as my own, taken him into my house. But what good could come of that? I knew nothing about raising children, not even my own son. And Dogwood had just lost his mother. Was he to lose his nurse as well? His sister? The only home he'd ever known? And go off with a man he barely knew? And him only two years old." He sighs again. "Maybe it was selfish of me. Lazy. Maybe I should have taken him off your hands. You were so young, alone with two children…But I thought it was better to leave him where he was, with the woman who loved him as his mother had." He looks at me then, his soul in his eyes. "I vowed that I would always be there, though. For all of you. That I would help you with the children, help raise them, and make sure you all stayed fed and safe and happy.

"I've tried to keep my vow, Albia. I'm sorry I failed you."

I'm silent, staring at this man, this utterly unselfish faerie. Who let his wife walk away, who let his son's mother shut him out, because that was what they wanted, and he respected their wishes. Who made no claim on his own son, because that was the best thing for everyone. Who followed us into captivity, because he wanted to protect us. Who would never, ever murder his own wife and ruin the lives of her daughters and then call it honor. For this is true honor: to act for the benefit of everyone, the good of others, without consulting one's own wishes.

Reaching out, I lay my hand on his on the windowsill. After a moment, it turns over and we hold holds, together in the moonlight.

Going back into the bedroom, I pause, looking at my children. A band of moonlight lies across them, making Philomel's hair glow. Dogwood tosses, murmuring in his sleep. I gaze at him, marveling: this is the son of the man I love. Birch's son, Thistleweft's, and my own. Thrice precious, thrice beloved.

I steal over silently and kiss first Dogwood and then Philomel on the forehead. Neither of them wakes. I stand over them, heart hurting with love, and I feel a new determination well up inside me. I've never been a fighter, but I will be a fighter now. I will not be Madoc's pawn, or Balekin's. I will defend myself, and defend my children, from all who would harm or exploit us. No one is going to use Birch's son or my daughter for their own ends: not Madoc, not Balekin, not Jude, not anyone. Not if I can possibly prevent it.

I get into bed, but don't go to sleep. I lie awake, thinking out a strategy. This is not going to be easy. I've never been a fighter. But now I have something worth fighting for.