Cardan and I are going to fight again.

We can both feel it: the incipient, shattering quarrel, hanging in the air between us as we edge around each other in Taryn's cottage. The atmosphere inside the Tree feels like a thunderstorm about to break.

Taryn and the kids are gone. Taryn took them off to the village earlier this morning, practically shoving them up the ladder. She did not invite any of the rest of us, and the rigid set of her shoulders warned us not to try to follow. I guess I can't blame her. So it's just Vivi and Heather, and me and Cardan, prowling around each other like cats.

Heather looks between me and Cardan. "Come on," she says to Vivienne. "Let's give them some space."

"Sure that's a good idea?" Vivienne looks apprehensive.

"I think they need to have it out with each other," Heather says quietly, and ushers Vivienne toward the ladder.

Vivi goes reluctantly, and hesitates by the ladder. "Don't kill each other," she says to us. "Please." Then she climbs up after Heather, and we hear their footsteps ringing on the wooden platform high overhead.

Silence falls inside the Tree as Cardan and I glare at each other. "All right, Jude," he spits out at last. "Go ahead."

"Go ahead with what?" I snarl back.

"Tell me how it's all my fault," he says, eyes blazing with black fire. "Tell me how it's all my fault that Taryn got raped. Tell me how I should have saved her. Go on, Jude Duarte, pin the blame on me."

"Well, it is your fault!" I yell. "You saw Balekin with her! And you knew what he was like. And you didn't do a thing to help her! Because she was mortal, because she was Eva's bastard, because you couldn't be bothered!"

"And what about you?" he yells back. "The great Jude Duarte, pride of the Grand General, so great with a sword, so ruthless in strategy, such a warrior, who didn't even notice that her own sister was being stalked by the worst of the Greenbriar princes!" His voice softens to a low hiss. "Or maybe you just didn't care. Because it would all have been to your advantage if Taryn had actually become Balekin's mistress, wouldn't it? You would have raked in the benefits, and turned a blind eye to your own sister's suffering."

My breath hitches. Because he's right: it's only too easy for me to imagine myself doing just that. Basking in the glory of a connection with the Greenbriars, taking in the benefits of such a relationship, and telling myself Taryn was being melodramatic as she suffered at Balekin's hands. Telling myself that she should be "stronger" and should be sensible to the "honor", all while turning away from her misery.

How is it strength, when it consists of ignoring someone's pain? What is honorable about exploiting someone like that?

"Well, it didn't come to that, did it?" I snap, rallying. "Your shit of a brother didn't even have that much decency. He just got her alone and…" I break off with a rasping sob.

"And raped her. Yes." Cardan grinds it out, hard and brutal. "As I should have known he would do, as we all should have known. And maybe we did know," he says, with a twisting sneer that I recognize as self-loathing. "But it was easier to look the other way, wasn't it? Easier to tell ourselves that there was nothing we could do, and that Taryn should be honored at his attentions. Honor," he spits out the word like it's poison. "What exactly is so honorable about the General trying to prostitute his own daughter for his advantage?"

"Don't you talk about her like that!" I shout.

"Oh? And why not?" he shouts back. "You were ready to prostitute Taryn for your own advantage too! You despised her, didn't you? You thought she was weak, or you told yourself that because it made you bloody feel better about yourself!"

"That's not true!" I say, when I can talk past the rush of pain.

"Oh, yes it is! You told yourself she was a stupid wimp and you were being oh-so-strong and special, didn't you? You left your sister to face Balekin alone. You despised Taryn for exactly the same reason that Balekin despised me, or I despised you. Because it's always easier to find someone to persecute than it is to actually solve your problems, let alone recognize that someone else might need your help."

I can't think of anything to say to this. I can't even breathe. Because…he's right. I loved Taryn—always—but I despised her too. I was always turning my back on her, always comparing my "strength" to her "weakness". Because that made me feel better about myself. Because it felt good to think I was superior to someone else, even if that someone was my own twin.

Through the ringing haze of pain, I find myself looking around at the cottage. Taryn's cottage. When we first arrived, all I saw was meanness and poverty: the dirt floor, the single room, the one bed. Now I look around, and I see warmth. I see glowing colors. I see books lovingly placed on their shelves, the children's toys, the earthenware utensils, the sewing projects. Everything placed just how Taryn and her children want it, with no interference from others. This is a place that Taryn has made her own.

I think of how Taryn must have felt, these last seven years. What she must have been through. Fighting her way through nightmares every night, waking every day to the terrible secret inside her, like a throbbing internal wound. And yet, every day, she got up. She got up, she dressed, she made breakfast. She healed the forest faeries with her unicorn-blessed hands. She cared for her children. She loved them. She loved another woman's son as her own. She loved her rape-bred daughter. Taryn forgave Philomel her terrible conception, and has loved her utterly unconditionally, as a mother should.

If it had been me who had borne Balekin's rape-child…what would I have done? Actually, I don't even need to ask myself that. I would have sought revenge. I would have sought alliances with the monarchs, found a way to tell them of my child's identity. I would have rallied the lower Courts to my side, secretly gathered support, and then marched them on the High Court, using my own child as a standard. It might have taken me years, it might have taken me decades, but I would have brought the full might of Faerie down on the High Court, down on Balekin's head, with the destructive force of a tidal wave, and I would not have stopped until every last Greenbriar was dead, until Balekin had perished screaming at my own hand, until my own child was on the throne and every last faerie acknowledged me as the mother of the highest monarch in Elfhame.

But I don't think I would have loved my child. Not like Taryn loves Philomel. I don't have that strength. I don't have the strength that Taryn does.

I'm pitching forward. When did I lose my balance? I'm pitching forward, but Cardan jumps to catch me. I'm shaking. My legs won't hold me up. The room blurs before my eyes. A sob tears itself from my throat, my lungs, and then I can't stop. A torrent of tears falls from my eyes, accompanied by howling sobs, and I just can't stop as I cry and cry and cry.

Cardan sinks to the floor, still cradling me, and I hold onto him, cling to him like he's the last sane thing in the entire world, as I cry, great hacking gouts of tears. I cry for Taryn, for the horror of what Balekin did to her. I cry for her agony, for her misery. I cry for Philomel, my niece, so innocent, so ignorant. I cry for Dogwood, my nephew, caught up in the miseries of our family without even knowing it. I cry for myself, for my own helplessness and guilt, the part I played in my sister's tragedy. I cry for Vivienne, for those seven years of each other's lives that we missed. I cry for my parents, dead so long ago, killed by the man I call my father.

I cry and I cry, while Cardan holds me and my tears soak his shirt.

At last, I stop. The tears slowly dry up, and I can take a shuddering breath, and another. My tears are drying cold and itchy on my face. I wipe at them, slowly sitting up.

"Well," says Cardan at last, "that was impressive. You know, if this was Alice in Wonderland, we'd be floating in an inland sea right now."

"Oh, shut up," I say automatically, and give a tired giggle, because it feels so good, so normal, to bicker with Cardan like usual.

"And she's back," says Cardan, and we share a thin laugh, there in the silent, sunlit cottage, with the white roses looking in at the windows.

"Feeling any better?" Cardan asks eventually.

I take a deep breath, pushing my hair out of my face. "Yes, actually. I do." The rage and hatred are still burning inside me, but they're manageable now. I can think again. Almost, I can see a way ahead.

"Balekin has to die," I say, almost to myself.

"Agreed," Cardan says immediately. "But do please let me know when you decide whether or not to put your niece on the high throne."

I hesitate. I'd be lying if I said the idea doesn't seduce me. The image of Philomel wearing the Blood Crown—of my niece as the High Queen of all Faerie—brings a surge of yearning. I can imagine it now: all those courtiers who spent years persecuting me and my sister, all forced to bow and scrape before us, sweating as they wonder whether we'll take revenge. Taryn dressed in silks and jewels, all giving way before her as the Queen Mother. Me on the High Queen's council, Cardan at my side, all the wealth and power of the High Court at our fingertips. My family as the new royal dynasty of Faerie.

But then cold reality washes in. Taryn's right: even if we did dispose of Balekin and crown Philomel Queen, it wouldn't really be like I dream. For a start, there's Madoc. I thought, when we found out the truth, that Madoc would be Taryn's best option, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe Madoc would care for Taryn and Philomel, but if we put Philomel on the throne, he would certainly seize power for himself, and Philomel wouldn't be able to stop him. No one would be able to stop him. And then what would he do? My blood runs cold, imagining my stepfather, maddeningly frustrated after decades of peace, able to let his bloodlust loose at last. He'd start wars just for the fun of it, and Faerie would be torn apart. I think of the suffering of the commoners that we've witnessed on our journey west, of the anarchy as Eldred's rule wanes and the lower Courts all turn on each other. Would Madoc as regent—and he would seize the regency—be any better?

But how are we supposed to prevent him finding out? Taryn and the kids can't stay here in the forest indefinitely; it's only a matter of time before some Court comes for the Lady Healer. And we can't take them back to the High Court. And going Ironside definitely won't work.

Perhaps, though, there's another option, one my sisters haven't contemplated. "Cardan," I say, "how many contacts would you say you have in the lower Courts?"

"A dozen or so," he says warily. "They're always visiting the High Court. Why?"

I feel a grim smile curl my lips. "Because I think Taryn might be open to negotiation with the lower Courts, if they made the right guarantees. And I think they would be very interested in any scheme that involves toppling the Greenbriar princes."

"You know, Jude," Cardan says, sounding half admiring and half afraid, "you are really scary sometimes."

"I know." I stand up, brushing myself off briskly. I can feel the rage hardening inside me now, to steely determination. This is going to be a long, hard campaign, but I think I can see the way forward. "I'll talk to Taryn. Tomorrow."

But—as it turns out—I don't get the chance.

Because that night Madoc comes for us.