Voice

I don't know how long I lie there weeping. I lie in a crumpled heap, tears blurring my vision, until even they give out and I lie dry-eyed and staring.

Dogwood. Philomel. What have I done to you?

Eventually, the door moves, gently nudging against me. More out of reflex than anything else, I scramble to my feet, staggering back as it opens. For a heady moment, I think I might be able to escape—but no. There are two armed guards waiting out in the corridor, even as the dull-eyed servants march in.

I step aside for them, shivering. These are not like Madoc's servants, alert and energetic and reasonably cheerful. They are all mortals, and stare silently from dull faces. Without a word—without the slightest hint of emotion—they start cleaning up the mess, wiping up blood and vomit, and lay out a tray of food for me. At no point do they even glance at me; they move mechanically, like dolls. My skin crawls, looking at their bony limbs, their blank faces, their matted hair, the strange cuts and stains on their gray skin.

When they're done, they file out. One of the guards locks the door behind them again.

I can't even think of eating. I prowl restlessly around the room, hoping against hope that I will find some kind of escape route. But there's nothing: not a vent, not a window. I'm trapped in this box, and helpless to save my kids. I can't even call out. Just as I expected, Balekin did nothing to remove the curse.

Eventually, I sink down again.

I don't exactly go to sleep, but I fall into an unrestful state of semi-consciousness, through which unthinking rage, horror and helplessness waver like a fever. I don't know how long I remain in this state, but I do know when I'm roused from it.

I raise my head at the sound of footsteps outside my door. The guards' voices rise in challenge. Then a series of swift, hard bangs.

I scramble to my feet, facing the door, and my heart hammers as soft footsteps approach. Then I hear Vivienne's voice through the door.

"Taryn? Philomel?" she calls softly. "Are you in there? Knock on the door if that's you."

Astonished relief and joy rush through me. I run forward, to knock hard on the door.

"It's one of them!" Vivi reports in a tone of soft joy. "Are you Taryn? Or Philomel? Knock twice if it's Taryn."

I knock twice.

"It's Taryn!" Now I hear Jude, very close by.

"Mommy!" Dogwood cries. My heart clenches.

"Shh, Dogwood," murmurs Cardan. "We can't let anyone hear us. Birch, what can you do about this door?"

More footsteps, and a scraping sound. I press against the door, heart hammering.

"Powerful spell on it," Birch grunts. "But maybe…Albia, stand back."

I step back, and a small eternity goes by while I stand rigid in the center of the room, willing that door to open, while a series of barely perceptible scratches and shifts sound outside in the corridor. Please, please, don't let anyone come.

Then I notice that the wooden doorframe is…crawling. The wood is melting away, creeping back from the door, which wobbles, then sways—

I jump forward and just barely catch the heavy door before it clunks to the floor. Birch seizes it too, and together we lower it silently down.

"Enchantment on the door but not the doorframe!" Cardan whispers, sounding impressed. "Clever."

"People always overlook the doorframe," says Birch wryly. He reaches a hand to help me over the fallen door into the corridor where my family waits.

"Mommy!" Dogwood whispers tearfully, and I go to my knees to throw my arms around him, holding him as tight as I can. I squeeze him hard: my boy, awake, alive, real under my touch. Every part of him, whole. Safe and unharmed. My relief is as potent as my terror, and both bring tears to my eyes.

Without letting go, I look up at the others: Birch, Jude, Vivienne and Cardan, standing in this shadowy hallway adorned with mounted antlers. Jude's sword is drawn, and even Cardan is armed with a dagger. At their feet, two unconscious guards slumber, swords near their fallen hands.

"Albia," says Birch shakily, "are you all right?"

Pain stabs through my elation, and shame. I can't look at him. I nod, forcing myself to let go of Dogwood and step back. Are you okay, Dogwood? I sign. Did anyone hurt you?

He shakes his head. "I woke up locked in this little room," he says. "I didn't see anyone until Uncle Birch and everyone came and rescued me. Come on, we gotta find Melly!" He tugs me down the corridor.

"Yes," Cardan whispers. "Jude knocked out those guards, but there will be others. Follow me. I think I know where Balekin's probably keeping Melly."

"Wait." Jude hurries forward to hand me my knife and salt pouch. I take them, nodding thanks, and clip them on. I stand a little taller, feeling better with my weapons back, then I take Dogwood's hand again, holding tight.

We all stream silently after Cardan down the corridor, Jude taking up the rear with her sword drawn, me holding tight to Dogwood. Reaching forward, I squeeze Birch's arm. He looks back with a quick smile, but raises his finger to his lips.

I nod; there's no time for him to explain how they got here, or me to explain what happened. We have to rescue Philomel, and then we have to get out of here. We run silently down the corridor that seems to stretch on forever.

We stop abruptly at Cardan's waved hand, right before we round a corner. He takes a quick look and whips back. He holds up two fingers and mouths the word guards.

Jude nods and steps forward, holding her sword. Vivienne creeps up too, hands already wreathed with enchantments. Birch and I, meanwhile, step back, holding Dogwood.

Cardan nods, grins, and leaps silently around the corner, enchantment leaving his hands in a flash of blinding light. The guards cry out, then choke as Cardan's spell silences then, and then it's Jude's turn to leap forward. Two heavy thuds sound.

"Come on!" Vivi whispers. "It's safe."

Birch, Dogwood and I stream around the corner. Two guards lie unconscious on the floor before a tall, dark door. Cardan straightens his clothing, looking smug. "Thought so," he whispers. "My old bedroom. Balekin fitted it out with every possible containment spell while I was living with him." He raises a hand to knock on the door and then reels back, his fist bouncing off midair. "Yikes!"

The door's so heavily enchanted that dull purples sparks are flying off it, so even mortals like me can see. My heart races: Philomel must be in there! But if it's so enspelled that even Cardan can't approach it, then there's no way to get her out.

Unless…Gently, I pull Dogwood forward. Dogwood, I sign, do you think you can destroy the spell on the door?

"I…don't know." He gives the door an utterly intimidated look. "I've never…This is really strong…"

Can you try? For Melly's sake?

Resolve fills his black ink-drop eyes, and he straightens, nodding. He approaches the door, holding his hands out. Without speaking, Jude and Vivienne both fan out, guarding opposite ends of the hall, while Cardan, Birch and I watch Dogwood anxiously.

It's obviously costing him, and I bite my lip against fear. His hands, held up against the spells, start to tremble slightly, and he flinches a couple of times. This isn't the effortless ease with which he echoes or negates most spells. The enchantment writhes a foul purple, converging sullenly in the door—

Dogwood suddenly gasps, and there's an almost inaudible pop. And the enchantment is gone.

"Well done, my boy!" Birch barely has time to say before the door suddenly bursts open and Philomel comes flying out.

Into my arms she flings herself, and I wrap my whole body around her, hold her as close as I can, as if I can tuck her into my body again, keep her safe from all harm. I feel her tremble against me, with relief and fear, and tears of joy and tears of terror sting my eyes, that my daughter is here, unharmed, but that this has happened to her, happened to us. To Philomel, my daughter, and to Dogwood, my son.

"Mommy," she whispers brokenly, and my heart cracks at what I hear in her voice. "Mommy."

I pull back to look at her tearstained face. Hand shaking, I push a hank of white hair from her face. She stares at me, purple eyes full of desperate tears.

"Um," Jude says, "I hate to interrupt, but can we get on, please? We need to get out of here."

Dashing tears from my eyes, I nod. I stand up, grabbing both Philomel's and Dogwood's hands. I'm never letting go of either of them again, I vow fiercely as we run silently back down the corridor.

"Mommy," Philomel whispers shakily as we go, "that man…Prince Balekin…He said…"

"Never mind that now, Melly," Birch murmurs. "Let's get out of here first."

We run down a few more empty corridors. "Where is everyone?" Vivi whispers, and I realize she's right: the mansion is strangely deserted. My heart thuds: surely someone must have noticed our invasion? This isn't normal.

Cardan seems to realize it too. "Backstairs," he whispers, and turns a sharp left. He leads us out of the higher-ranked living areas, into a complicated labyrinth of tiny corridors and bare little rooms. "Servants' quarters," Cardan explains briefly.

"You seem to know your way around," Jude murmurs.

"I used to live in this house, remember?" he returns tersely. "I spent a lot of time hiding from Balekin back here. Here we go!"

We pour down the narrow twisting backstairs, into the back courtyard. And there we discover the reason why we didn't encounter anyone on our flight out.

Philomel recoils and Dogwood snarls, tiny crest rising. My heart pounds in my throat. Balekin has his whole household guard assembled here in the yard. My skin crawls as he himself steps forward, that horrible smirk in place, hellish in the flickering torchlight.

"You didn't really think I was stupid enough not to set alarm spells in place, did you?" he says. A smug grin grows on his awful face. "Just where do you think you're taking my wife and children?"

"Your what?" Jude screams. She glances at me, wide-eyed and incredulous. All the others do, too, except Birch. He stands stock-still, crest standing straight up, eyes blazing like hadean flames as he stares unblinking at Balekin.

Philomel bursts into fresh tears. "That's what he said!" she sobs. "He came when I woke up, and he said I was his daughter and he was my father and that Mommy had just m-m-married him!" She buries her face in my side, shaking with shock and loathing. "I won't have him, I won't, I won't, I won't!"

"Me neither!" Dogwood steps forward, crest bristling. "You let us go!"

"I will not." So cool he is, so smug, as though all our rage and protests must inevitably come to nothing. "Taryn is my wife, you are my stepson and Philomel—" Here he shoots my little girl a glance of pure triumph and avarice. "—Is most definitely my daughter—"

Balekin breaks off with a scream as a brown streak shoots at him to land on his back, clawing, biting and snarling. Birch slashes at Balekin with his claws, clings tight as he sinks his razor-sharp goblin teeth into Balekin's neck. Balekin shrieks, staggering as the blood flows, black in the torchlight.

Birch! I scream silently, and half-rush forward, a handful of salt already in my fist, knife in my hand. But I hesitate: Birch and Balekin are so knotted together that I can't be sure that my salt wouldn't hit Birch instead of Balekin.

Balekin screams, trying desperately to get Birch off, but Birch clings tight, claws slashing. "Kill him! Kill him!" Balekin shouts.

"NO!" Philomel screams, and her hair blazes forth with unicorn-light as she summons her silver fire, leaping in a river of flame, straight for Balekin.

Birch yelps and leaps off, away from the wave of flame, and Balekin, bloodied and bruised, just barely dodges the fire, cursing. His hair singes as he ducks. I see my chance—I dash forward—and my knife flashes in the firelight and my poisoned salt hisses as I throw it directly into Balekin's wounds.

Balekin shrieks in agony. He sinks down, clawing at his face, smoke rising from the cuts and scratches as my poisons eat into his burned, shredded flesh. His soldiers step back, shouting, under the assault of silver fire as I leap back, grab hold of my children's hands and race around the cursing Balekin, toward the back gate.

There's a thud behind me, and I look back just in time to see Jude, her teeth bared, kick Balekin savagely in the head, knocking him down, before running forward with the rest of us, her sword drawn. Dogwood is suddenly lifted from my side, and I look over to see Birch scoop his son into his arms. He nods at me, and we run together, all of us, through the gate and into the night.

Arrows shoot over our heads, but none hit us. Balekin's soldiers start to pursue us, but their lord is still screaming with agony, and they seem unsure what to do. They fall back, shouting in confusion, as we run down the slope and into the woods.

It's much darker in here, and Jude and I crash around, mortal eyes blind. "Quiet!" says Cardan. "Hold still." There's a yellow-gold gleam, and a glow evolves over Cardan's head, sending eerie shadows over our faces, turning the woods into a jagged wilderness, but allowing us mortals to see once more.

Jude turns to me at once, her eyes dark pits in her magic-lit face. "Balekin made you marry him?"

I nod, tears stinging my eyes, and sign. Birch translates grimly. Balekin brought in Dogwood unconscious, and threatened to kill him if I didn't marry him. My son draws a breath at this, shrinking. I put an arm around his shoulders, holding him tight, trembling against me. I had to do it. Birch's voice shakes.

Cardan hisses breath between his teeth, and Vivienne curses. Jude holds very still. I don't dare look at Birch, or the children, but I feel them staring, appalled and stunned.

Jude pulls herself together first. "Well, Taryn," she growls out, "you will simply have to resign yourself to an early widowhood." She turns away, light glinting on her sword. "Come on. Heather and Oriana are meeting us at the beach. We're all going Ironside, at least for now."

Where's Madoc? My hands shake as I sign.

"Outside Hollow Hall with his troops, ready to lay siege or attack," Jude says. "He thinks we're taking you back to the stronghold and we'll signal him when you're safe." She gives a swift grin. "Hopefully he won't realize the lie until it's too late."

I gulp a bit at this, but stand up. I take my children's hands, cold in mine, and we start through the woods, following Cardan's light. Jude takes up the rear, sword at the ready.

"Mommy." I've never heard Philomel sound like this: so small, so scared, so broken. She looks up at me with anguished eyes. "That man…Prince Balekin, he…He's really my father?"

Miserably, I nod. On my other side, Dogwood draws breath, clutching me. Philomel's eyes fill with tears.

"I'm sorry, Melly." Birch comes up beside Philomel. He gives her a quick, sad smile. "We're both sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice rises in anguished misery.

"Albia couldn't tell you," Birch says gently. "Prince Balekin cursed her so she could never tell."

"But why?" Dogwood demands raggedly. "Why would he do that?"

"Because Balekin hurt her," Vivienne speaks up harshly. "Prince Balekin hurt your mother, and he didn't want anyone to ever find out what he did."

I watch in anguish as Philomel struggles to make sense of things she's never faced, that no child should ever have to face. "He…hurt you? How?"

Nobody replies. I just shake my head. We continue on in silence through the dark woods, toward the unseen voice of the ocean.

"I'm the Lost Heir, aren't I?" Philomel's voice rings thin and bleak in the nighttime woods. "The Lost Heir everyone's always talking about. That's why Madoc wanted us, isn't it? That's why Balekin wants us."

"Yes," says Birch gently, and I nod. "I'm afraid so."

Philomel bows her head, and tears fall to plop on the forest leaves. Both my children tremble against me, and I gather them closer, holding them to my sides as we walk. Tears gather in my own eyes. I hate this. I hate this so much.

Through the trees, we can see the gleam of the ocean, and hear the waves, louder than ever. "Almost there," says Cardan.

As if that is the signal, we suddenly stop moving. We don't mean to; it's like we've all suddenly run face first into an invisible wall. Even Cardan stops dead, frozen.

"What is this?" Philomel's voice rises, hysterical. "What's happening now?"

My hands move. I don't want them to: they just move of their own accord, unclipping my salt pouch and knife and letting them fall to the ground. Up ahead, Cardan also removes his dagger, tossing it aside, and Jude curses as whatever spell we're under forces her to throw aside her sword and, from the sounds of it, several other weapons.

Then I take a step forward. We all do. We have no choice. Our feet start moving, carrying us steadily out of the woods and onto the wide, silver beach, glowing in the starlight, waves crashing moon-white on the shore. We take a sharp turn and head north along the beach, our legs moving steadily, however we strain to stop them.

Up ahead, I see a two familiar figures, also walking, and I know Oriana and Heather have fallen under the same spell, and are also being sucked in. "What is this?" Birch shouts, obviously straining to stop himself, but unable to.

"I'm not sure," says Cardan in that light, humorous voice that I've learned is a mask for fear and anxiety, "but I think we're under arrest."

Jude curses, trying to fight, but keeping walking with the rest of us. "Who's arresting us?"

"Eldred, of course," says Cardan, half-laughing. "He must have just cast the arrest-spell, and now it's dragging us back to the palace."

"Well, you don't need to sound so happy about it!" Jude struggles, but there's no fighting the spell. Our legs carry us all briskly along the beach, northward toward the palace.

Cardan just gives another maddened laugh, half-drowned by the surf. Our feet move with utter swiftness and surety. Philomel's hair glows, and I know she's trying to cast a spell, to fight the arrest, but there's nothing she can do, nothing even Dogwood can do as an Echo. This is the King's order, and none of us can defy it.

We climb up a bluff, away from the shore, and there we find our escorts awaiting us. Soldiers wearing Eldred's crest, holding torches around three prison-wagons: cages set atop wheels, drawn by skeletal nightmare-horses. Oriana has already climbed into one cage that contains—my heart jolts—Madoc. My stepfather doesn't greet us, but sits still and stiff in the cage as one of the soldiers swings the door shut behind Oriana. Heather, meanwhile, climbs mindlessly into the third wagon.

Birch, the children and I all climb into the second wagon. We have no choice. Our bodies just walk up to the cages and clamber obediently inside. There we sit, still and passive, as our captors lock the door on us. I don't know why they're bothering. We can't even try to escape.

"Mommy?" Dogwood takes my hand, whispering. "Where are they taking us?"

To the palace, I think, I sign as Cardan and my sisters climb into the third wagon after Heather. They're locked in, and then the wagons all start to rumble forward, northward toward the palace. Just sit still and be quiet. I squeeze his hand reassuringly as the wagon jolts and sways.

We rumble up the road across the island. Most of the faeries are asleep at this hour, but still some emerge, from houses we pass, or clamber down from trees, to watch our procession. They watch silently, with wide eyes, or whisper and speculate. But the guards say nothing to them, or to us. We continue our steady, jolting progress, all of us silent, prisoners and guards alike.

As we pass a crossroads, another prison-wagon comes rumbling up to join our caravan. I take a look, and my insides clench.

This wagon contains Prince Balekin, nursing his wounds. He looks up as his wagon joins our procession, and I feel a jolt of malicious glee to see his face, torn with claw-wounds, shiny with burns and puffed with salt poisoning. Philomel lets out a sob, and Birch curses quietly. Both my children crawl onto my lap, and I hold them close as Balekin's wagon falls in behind Cardan's and my sisters'. Birch moves, tensely watching Balekin's cage.

On we roll, and now I can see the lights of the palace gleaming in the distance. Philomel sees those lights too. She stiffens and gasps in my lap.

"What's wrong?" Birch asks as Dogwood and I look at her in concern.

"Nothing." She stares at the distant lights in fascination. "I just…I feel stronger."

"What do you mean?" Dogwood asks.

"My magic," she says wonderingly. "It's…getting stronger. Inside me."

Birch and I exchange glances, but say nothing as we come ever closer to the palace and Philomel gives repeated gasps. Her hair glows dimly, and even her eyes begin to shine like stars, the closer we come to the palace. And it makes sense, I realize. Philomel is a Greenbriar princess, a princess who knows herself for who she is now, and we are entering the beating heart of Greenbriar power: the royal palace of Elfhame. Of course her power is waxing stronger as we approach. For a wild moment, I wonder if she'll be strong enough to break us free, but I know that won't happen. Eldred is still High King, and we are under his arrest.

Our caravan enters a lower courtyard, lit by torches. Our guards open the doors, and we all climb obediently out, even Balekin, even magic-glowing Philomel. We're still under the arrest-spell, it seems, even within the palace: our bodies turn and march immediately toward the doors to the palace proper, without any prompting from the guards. Still they fall in around us, as if to advertise our status as prisoners. Behind me, I can hear one of them ordering someone to see that a healer is waiting for Prince Balekin in his chamber. I guess Eldred wants us all alive and in good health.

Once inside, we head down a narrow corridor. I wonder at first if we're going toward the dungeons, but our feet take us up a flight of stairs, and we thread our way into a respectable precinct of the castle: not the resplendent royal apartments, but some kind of mid-grade residential corridor, with carpets on the floor and tapestries on the walls.

Up ahead, I see Madoc disappearing into one door, and Oriana into another, marching obediently. With each entrance, the doors shut and lock, and a pair of guards take up position outside. I barely have time to register this before my arrest-spell yanks me and the children sharply to the right and we enter our own room.

The moment the door locks behind us, the arrest-spell releases its grip. The children and I all sigh with relief, muscles relaxing as our bodies come back under our own control once more. I look around curiously. This room is windowless, but larger than the shadowy chamber where Balekin imprisoned me, and it glows soft gold with fey-lights. It's set up like a lady's bedchamber, with a large curtained bed and a closet and bureau. There's no mirror, though, no ornaments: nothing we can break up or use as a weapon. I sigh. At least this time my children are with me. And there's no chance of Balekin coming in.

Philomel thumps down onto the carpet, staring blankly. Her hair glows like the moon, her eyes like stars. Are you all right? I ask in concern, kneeling beside her.

She nods, blinking. "It's just…I'm so powerful here." She frowns. "But…I can't…I can't do anything to escape…Can't cast a spell that would…"

I nod. King Eldred has us under arrest.

"But why?" Dogwood thumps down on my other side, black eyes huge.

I don't know. But I think we'll find out in the morning. If morning ever comes. I rub my forehead wearily. This night has lasted forever.

A moment's silence passes. It's very peaceful. I know I should feel something—dread, anxiety, rage, apprehension, worry—but perhaps I've just been through too much tonight. All I can feel is a numb, exhausted relief that I'm alone with both my children, at least for now, and no one is going to come bother us for a while.

"Mommy." I look down to meet my daughter's star-glowing eyes. "I can…I can see…"

"What?" asks Dogwood, crowding close.

"The spells." Philomel stares wonderingly. "There's two spells on Mommy. I can see them. Like…like tree roots, all over you." Her hands trace in the air, illustrating. "It looks really weird."

"Really?" Dogwood peers at me, as though he might suddenly see as well.

Philomel grips my arm, and for the first time, I have an intimation of her true faerie strength. "Balekin put them there, didn't he?" Her voice rises. "He cursed you!"

I try to sign, to explain, but the curse yanks my hands back into my lap. I bite my lip. I guess the children don't exactly know about the rape, so the curse is still in effect as far as they're concerned.

"There!" Philomel shouts triumphantly, pointing. "Right there. The roots sort of—squeezed you." She peers even closer. "Mommy," she whispers, "I think…I think maybe I can break those spells right now. While I'm so powerful."

My heart leaps in my throat: a wild combination of hope and terror. Don't! My hands shake.

"Why not?" she frowns.

Because you might get hurt.

"But Mommy," Dogwood pleads, "don't you want those curses broken?"

I stare at him, stunned by the simplicity of this question.

"Don't you?" he persists.

Slowly, I nod.

"Then let us try." Philomel takes my hand, and Dogwood takes the other.

After a moment, I squeeze them both.

"Okay." Philomel scoots around in front of me, followed by Dogwood. Dogwood stares intently eyes boring into me. Philomel's hair starts to brighten, softly at first, then growing so brilliant that I have to shut my eyes—

My children's gifts shoot through me, unlike any other spell I've ever experienced: Philomel's magic like silver fire, Dogwood's anti-magic like cool shadow. They burn, they flow through me, Philomel's fire illuminating every last tendril of the curses, scorching them, singeing them back. My nerves light up with something that is not quite pain, but equally startling, and I grip my children's hands hard as Dogwood races after Philomel, along each weakened tendril of the curses, destroying them bit by bit, echoing and reflecting them away in shattered pieces—

I gasp and fall over, all my strength leaving me as the last of the curses spins away into nothing and my children's powers drain out of me. Tears sting my eyes. For a wild, absurd moment, I regret the loss of the curses, and miss them desperately. Balekin's curses have been part of me for so long that, in their destruction, I'm losing a part of myself.

"Mommy?" Dogwood and Philomel crowd close, little faces anxious. "Are you okay?"

I open my mouth. And for the first time in seven years, I make a sound: an awful, gluey, indistinct noise, oozing from my throat. Of course: after seven years, my vocal cords have atrophied.

"Mommy!" They look more anxious than ever.

Hastily, I sit up. Help me, Dogwood, I sign, and summon the unicorn's gift.

Dogwood promptly echoes it, his hands entwined with mine. Together we apply the unicorn's magic to my throat.

I feel my vocal cords heal, flesh firming up inside my throat. I take a breath and let it out again, vibrating it over my vocal cords. A clear sound emerges, a hum. My throat buzzes. I take another breath, and another, and then I speak.

"Children." It comes out soft and hoarse, and I cough. "Children," I repeat, my voice coming out firmer, clearer, and I marvel at the experience of it, the vibration in my throat, the sound in my mouth, the feel of the words against my tongue, my teeth. "Dogwood," I say wonderingly. "Philomel."

"Mommy!" They throw themselves into my arms, hugging me tight. "It worked!"

"Yes," I whisper, astonished as I continue speaking. "Yes. You…You saved me."

I look down at them, my two miraculous children, and I can hardly see them for the tears crowding my eyes, blurring everything. They saved me. My children saved me. They broke Balekin's twin curses, as simply and as easily as that. My children have restored my voice, and set me free.

"Philomel," I whisper, reveling in my daughter's name on my tongue, at last, after so long. For the first time ever, I can say my children's names aloud. "Dogwood."

"Mommy!" they giggle. And we all laugh for joy while we sob, alone and imprisoned in Eldred's palace.