Stalemate

After dinner, Cardan manages to sidle up to me.

"Heartwood's going to get a message to the King," he says briefly, beneath his breath. "We'll see if he responds."

I bite my lip. If. But I nod to him. We both turn as a shadow looms over us.

"What were you two just discussing?" Madoc asks, deceptively mild.

Cardan gives him his easy, insolent, I'm-a-Greenbriar-prince smile. "Communications," he says. "Did you have something you wished to tell me, General? Or should I let you talk to Taryn, as you would clearly prefer to do?"

"Actually, it concerns you, too," Madoc says. "Starting tomorrow, you will all be allowed to walk in the gardens with the children. The fresh air and exercise will be good for you all."

I stare at him suspiciously. It's true that we can use fresh air and exercise, but I'm pretty certain that's not the main reason why he's suddenly relaxed our restrictions. What's Madoc up to now? He returns my gaze with bland regard.

"That is what you wanted, isn't it? To go out again? And the children should enjoy themselves. But you're only going out with me, of course, Taryn. I'm not removing the spell."

"What about me?" Cardan asks dulcetly. "Do I need a nanny too, on these healthful walks?"

"Yes," Madoc says crisply. "I'm not risking you falling into the wrong hands, given what you know."

"All these secrets are certainly very tiresome." Cardan manufactures a yawn. "I'll go to bed now, I think. Have you told Jude yet that you're letting us outside again?"

Madoc glances up the stairwell, where Jude has already disappeared. "Not yet. You may tell her yourself, Your Highness."

"So I will." Cardan bows me up the stairs. "After you, Taryn."

I go past Madoc up the stairs. "Good night, Taryn," he says softly, and, despite everything, I feel a sudden wrench of pity for my stepfather, of guilt for my behavior. Here Madoc has devoted years to finding me, working with a creature he despised, and all he gets for his efforts are a pair of children who fear the very shape of his shadow and a silent, furious woman who won't even eat at his table.

But it's entirely his own fault.

Birch and the children seem pleased to hear the news, anyway. "We can actually leave the house? Not just the terrace?" Dogwood asks eagerly. "Tomorrow?"

Only with Madoc, I warn, and his crest droops a little.

"Oh," he says gloomily.

"It's still good," Philomel says hopefully. Maybe we can find a way to escape! she signs, and Dogwood nods vigorously.

My heart thuds. I have to nip this in the bud, now, before my children run off straight into Balekin's hands. Don't think that, I say. Madoc will be with us every minute, and he has guards all over the property. And he has me under a spell, so I can only leave the house at his side.

"Oh." They both look crushed.

Cheer up, Birch signs. This way we'll probably get to meet Heartwood and the others more often. That's got to be good.

The children both brighten at this, and bedtime goes smoothly. I can tell, though, from the looks he gives me, that Birch isn't finished talking yet.

Sure enough, once the kids are asleep, he draws me aside. What's Madoc really up to? he signs by moonlight through the window.

I don't know. I rub my eyes; I'm so tired. It's something, though. Oriana knows the truth about Balekin, I add abruptly.

Birch's crest twitches a little. Madoc told her?

I shrug. I don't want to tell anyone, even Birch, about Oriana's spell, or our covenant. Oriana trusted me with her secret; I can keep my silence.

Will she use the truth to harm us? Birch asks.

It warms my shredded heart, a little, that he uses the word "us". No. She loves me, and hates Balekin.

He sighs in relief, then turns away. His shoulders are hunched, his face in shadow.

I nudge him. What's wrong?

He sighs again. "It's selfish of me," he murmurs softly, "but I…I feel so useless here."

What do you mean?

"Back in the forest," he says softly, "I was Uncle Birch. I fed you and the children and took care of you and protected you. I was helping you survive. I was important. Here, all I do is translate. I don't know anything useful, and I can't do anything to protect you or the kids from—from all of them. That redcap and that evil…that evil prince." His tail lashes angrily. "I hate it. I hate that I can't help you or the children. I hate that I'm so helpless."

Birch. My hands shake with the urgency of what I'm signing. Birch, you are helping. I don't know how I'd get through this without you. I shudder at the thought. I'm the selfish one. Because I'm so glad you're here, Birch, even though I should wish you free.

He takes a shuddering breath and half-glances at me. I've never seen him so tentative, so uncertain. "Truly?"

I place my right hand on my heart and nod. Truly, Birch.

He's so close. I can feel the heat of his body along mine, his breath. I should step away.

But I don't want to.

"Albia…" He half-steps toward me, raises a slow, tentative hand. He brushes my hair, touches my shoulder. In his red eyes is a look I cannot describe.

My breath shakes, and a shiver runs through me. No one has ever touched me like this: like I'm something so fragile but so precious. No one has ever looked at me like this: like I'm something both terrifying and wondrous. I should step away.

But I don't want to. I don't want to.

His clawed hand descends more firmly on my shoulder, and he tentatively puts his other hand on my waist. So slow, so careful. So afraid he'll hurt me.

I lean into his touch, and it grows firmer, arm going across my shoulders, hand caressing my hip. But he doesn't pull me into his embrace, waiting for me to make the move.

I step forward, pressing myself against his lean, strong body. How is it possible for a body to feel so perfect? We're exactly the same height: I look into his eyes, and my arms go around him of their own accord.

He lets out a soft moan, and a clawed hand tangles in my hair. The fur on his face is soft, scented like a fir tree, as our lips meet.

My first kiss. A soundless moan rises in my throat as the kiss deepens, and his arms tighten, and a heat is rising in me, a yearning I've never experienced before—

—Rasped across the ground, head smacking back, leaves in my hair, spikes in my skin, overpowered, pressed down, Balekin pounding into me over and over—

A silent scream rips my throat. I tear away, head spinning. I brace myself on the windowsill, clutching my pounding heart, staring blindly, shaking as the heat and the memories recede. Tears sting my eyes, tears of fear, of rage and of the bitterest regret.

"Albia…Taryn." Birch hovers, hands stretched in uncertain supplication. "I'm sorry."

I dash the tears away. It's not your fault. More tears come. I'm sorry. I wanted it. But— I choke on more sobs, my hands shaking too much to sign.

Birch steps up beside me, close but not touching me. I lean into him, and his arms very slowly go around me. He says nothing, but holds me gently while I cry and cry, there in the silent moonlight.

The next morning, neither of us mentions our kiss. We speak only of commonplace things, and avoid each other's gazes as we get breakfast into the kids and prepare them for the day.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye, though, as he dresses Dogwood. Last night was so humiliating, so awful—and so wondrous. My very first kiss, with a man I love. I realize with a start that it might have been Birch's first kiss, too. Goblins occasionally enact tender love like that—kissing, hugging, touching—but most of the time goblin courtship is wild and rough, borderline violent, with the male chasing the female and both of them kicking and scratching and shrieking. Birch wasn't like that. He was gentle with me. He was patient and kind, and he held me when I wept, when I couldn't bear it, when the memories struck me yet again.

Birch did that. For me. And I pushed him away.

"Mommy?" I look down at Philomel's inquiring face. "Why're you looking at Uncle Birch like that?"

So much for discretion. No reason, I say. Finish getting dressed, Philomel, and maybe we can go for our walk soon.

"Yes!" she rushes off to get dressed, and the kids are ready in record time.

I feel Birch looking at me as we leave the suite, but I can't meet his gaze.

Oriana's waiting for us out in the corridor. "Good morning, Taryn, Birch," she greets us pleasantly. "Hello, children." She smiles at them warmly.

I nudge them, and they mutter, "Good morning."

"Good morning, my lady," Birch says acidly. "Here to put us on our leashes for our walk?"

"No," she says evenly. "You can't go out without Madoc, and lessons come first. I was actually hoping to talk to Taryn." She turns to me. "Would you care to come to my parlor, Taryn, while your children are at lessons? We can make lace together, like we used to."

"No!" Philomel grabs hold of my arm. "Don't leave us alone!"

"It's only for an hour," Oriana says gently. "Birch will stay with you, won't you, Birch?"

"Of course," says Birch, but he glares at her with slit eyes. What is she up to? he signs to me.

Making lace, I reply, honestly enough, and turn to the children. I need to go with Oriana, I sign. But I'll come back in an hour, all right? Birch will stay with you.

"What are you going to do with her?" Dogwood asks curiously.

"We're going to make lace," Oriana says. She smiles at Philomel. "Has your mother taught you how to make lace, Philomel?"

"No," she mutters, taken aback.

"Then I'll teach you later, how's that?" Somehow, Oriana's chivvied me away from my family, herding me down the corridor. "But right now I need to talk to Taryn alone. Enjoy your lessons, children!"

I wave to them over my shoulder, trying not to see their betrayed faces as I follow Oriana downstairs. I think I know what Oriana wants to do, and it's better if only I am there.

We glance at each other as we head into her parlor: shy, painful, unsteady glances. The truth gleams between us, bright and tense. We both feel it. We both know it's changed things. We just don't know how, not yet.

Oriana sits me down on the sofa and pulls her lacemaking cushion onto her lap. "I haven't made any lace in seven years," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. "Have you?"

I shake my head, and spot the blank notebook on the table before us. I snatch it up. I prefer embroidery.

"Ah, of course." She hands me an embroidery kit in a basket. "If you'd like to make something…?"

I nod, and begin digging around for fabric, needle and threads. But it's Oriana I'm watching.

She spins her unicorn-thread. Drawing apart her hands, the shining white thread appears between her fingers. Watching, I marvel that I never noticed how she did that before, how I never saw the white light, the magic.

Why did the unicorn bless you?

She sighs, spinning more thread. It coils in her lap, glowing softly. "That's a long story, Taryn."

You owe it to me.

She's silent a moment. "I suppose I do."

But she's silent. More thread she spins, until it rests in a shining pile on her lap before the cushion. Then she expertly threads some of it onto the bobbins, and begins to weave her pattern.

Right away I know this is no ordinary faerie magic. She's following her own pattern for a start, not one copied from a book or drawn by a human designer. She is being original, as no faerie can be under normal circumstances. Her bobbins clack, and the lace glows white as the unicorn.

"I wasn't born at the High Court." I'm almost startled when she speaks again, quiet and low. "I was born at a Seelie Court far away from here, hundreds of years ago. I lived an ordinary enough life there, a Seelie noblewoman, with my mother. But then our queen chose the wrong side in a war." Her voice is flat, almost blank, as she continues knitting her lace. "Our queen was killed, our court ransacked. My mother died. I barely escaped with my life.

"I wandered the wilderness then, homeless and penniless." She looks up to give me a wry smile. "No one wants anything to do with a disgraced and defeated aristocrat, as I'm sure Prince Cardan could tell you.

"But then…" She trails off with a sigh. "I met Lysander."

I blink, cocking my head inquiringly.

"He was my love." I've never seen such a look on Oriana's face, such shining tenderness. "Lysander. A wild fey. The most beautiful man I've ever seen. We met deep in the forests, while I was wandering lost and starved. He gave me food—not because he wanted anything from me, but because I was hungry. He made a shelter for me, and came back again and again. And we fell in love."

She sighs again, soft and quiet. "He was…I'd never met anyone like him. So gentle, so kind. He never hurt a single living thing. He was a musician, a flautist: he played such music that even the birds in the trees and the animals in the forest stopped to listen. We married and made a home together: a small place, but it was ours. I…That was the happiest I have ever been."

I wait, in the silence while the bobbins clack. I can tell already that this story doesn't have a happy ending.

"But the wilds of Faerie are dangerous." Her voice is quieter than ever. "And we were not under the protection of a court or monarch. There was nothing to protect us when a gang of Unseelie thugs came upon us.

"Lysander tried to defend me." In her voice I hear the echo of ancient tears. "I tried to defend him. But they killed him. They gang-raped me. And then they left me for dead, in the ruins of the home where I had lived with my love."

I suck in my breath. Angry I might be at Oriana, but this leaves me aghast.

She looks up with a sad smile. "They say that the unicorn manifests to women who have suffered injustice. I think it's more that she manifests to women who have given up. Women who have well and truly surrendered to despair. Women who see no hope.

"I saw no hope. I'd lost everything—twice. I didn't see how I could ever make a life again. A life without Lysander. I was ready to kill myself. But…she appeared before me."

I nod. I know how it is. How it must have been. A broken, despairing woman, on the verge of suicide—and the unicorn manifesting.

"She blessed me with the power to weave fate as I wished it. To a very small, limited extent." Oriana nods at her glowing unicorn-lace. "And she gave me the strength to go on, the strength to survive. You know how. I used that strength, and her gift, to get to the High Court, to win myself a place among Eldred's courtiers. If I couldn't have Lysander, I wanted to be at a Court again. Later, I married Madoc, after Eva had left him and before he…brought you girls here."

I don't ask whether she used her unicorn-gift on him. How could you marry him? I ask instead. When you were married to Lysander? When you knew what true love was like?

She doesn't bother pretending that she truly loves Madoc. "I'd had love," she confirms. "I was never going to have that again, ever." She shrugs. "So why not Madoc? He had wealth, status, an estate I could run. We were friends; we could make it work."

He murdered his first wife, I write harshly, and you still stayed with him?

"Oh, but Taryn…" She laughs softly, sadly. "I really couldn't leave after that. Leave you girls alone with him? Especially you. I had to stay, to try to look after you." She bows her head over her work, glowing with the unicorn's power. "I'm sorry I failed you, Taryn. Truly sorry."

And I feel the last of my anger melting away. She did her best. She truly did. And she's trying to make it up. She's truly repentant.

Reaching out, I lay a hand on her arm. She pauses in her lacemaking to squeeze it back.

I look down at her pattern. She's far enough along now for me to recognize it.

A spiderweb.

I stay with Oriana an hour, both us quiet, bent over our work. After about half an hour, Jude arrives, watching us from the doorway for a long moment before sitting down in a nearby chair. She says nothing, just watching. We are silent too.

Eventually I rise, and curtsy goodbye to Oriana. Jude and I both head to the children's lessons, walking together through the corridors to the schoolroom.

Jude touches my arm gently. "What were you and Oriana doing?"

I just shake my head. I can't tell her. Not yet.

She leans in closer. "Cardan got the message out with Heartwood, but no reply yet."

I nod calmly, but my heart thumps.

We go to the schoolroom, where the children are listening, fascinated, to Noggle giving a history lecture, with great verve and animation. I feel a pinch of unworthy anger and jealousy at the sight: at my kids listening and absorbed by someone other than me. I push the feeling aside; it's stupid and childish. I should be glad the kids are getting a good education. Anyway, both Dogwood and Philomel turn to me with happy, welcoming smiles, and I feel better. Birch, sitting in the back of the room, nods as well. I sit down beside him, and the lesson goes on.

Jude stays with us through the children's lessons, and we all eat lunch together: me sitting next to Birch, with the children, Jude and Noggle, all together in the schoolroom. And that is what Madoc sees when he turns up in the doorframe.

Philomel, sitting beside me, stiffens at his appearance, scowling, but Madoc ignores her, addressing me. "Are you ready to go?"

I nod and stand, smoothing down my skirt. Come on, kids, want to go outside?

"Oh, yes!" It breaks my heart a little, to see how happy and excited they are at the prospect of a trip outside the house, jumping up and down and clapping their hands. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Calm down," smiles Jude, ushering them out the door. "It's just a little walk."

"Yes, but it's outside," Philomel cries passionately.

"Yeah!" cheers Dogwood. "We finally get to go outside!"

Birch folds his arms at this, and glares venomously at Madoc's turned back. I catch his eye, and we share a grim, angry look: just look what Madoc has done to our children. Birch lays a hand on Dogwood's shoulder, and I take Philomel's hand as we all follow Madoc out of the house to the garden door.

There Oriana, Cardan, Heather and Vivienne are all waiting. Oriana sways up and kisses Madoc's cheek. I stare: knowing Oriana's story makes these gestures of affection between her and Madoc utterly surreal.

"Hello, children," she says gently to Dogwood and Philomel. "I'm looking forward to showing you the gardens. Let's all go out, shall we?"

"Indeed, let's!" Cardan opens the door with a flourish and strides grandly out, only to be brought up short by a brace of guards closing in. He halts and looks over his shoulder at Madoc, eyebrow raised. "Armed guards for a garden walk, General? Isn't that rather paranoid, even for you?" Beside me, both children giggle.

"It's not paranoia if the fear is justified," says Madoc, sweeping past him. "Follow me, all of you."

"Like a military parade." Cardan draws himself up and goose-steps behind Madoc, arms severely to his sides. Beside me, both children are beside themselves with mirth, and I'm having to fight back giggles too. "Come on, kids!" the prince cries. "Let's march! Let's march!" Dogwood and Philomel both fall into line, marching behind him in fine military style along the garden path.

"Jude," Madoc calls back without turning around, "get your clown under control before I send him back inside."

"I was trying to entertain the children," Cardan says with a fine air of wounded innocence as Jude hastily steps forward to wrap her arm around his and haul him back in the procession. "Isn't it nice to see them laugh?"

It is, rather; everyone but Madoc is fighting down grins, even the guards, a little. Both Dogwood and Philomel continue their military march a little further, before I lay my hands on their shoulders. We proceed into the gardens.

It's a gorgeous day: sunny and warm, fluffy clouds scudding across the sky. Despite myself, I relax a little: the gardens always were beautiful. The kids don't quite dare scamper ahead of Madoc, but they make little dashes to point things out or touch a flower. My sisters chatter to their lovers. I walk beside Birch, enjoying the sunshine and the birdsong. The whole excursion seems to be going surprisingly smoothly—until I look up and see the courtiers.

We're walking along the edges of Madoc's gardens, and we have an audience. A group of gorgeously dressed courtiers, standing in the woods bordering the garden, looking over at us with bright, curious eyes. They see us looking, and an excited stir runs through them, a buzz of gossip. I can't discern their chatter clearly, only hear isolated words: "Madoc's daughter…Unicorn…Child…Greenbriar…"

A small, warm hand slips into mine. "Mommy?" Dogwood says anxiously. "Who are those people?"

No one, sweetie. My hands tremble a little as they trace out the lie. Because they're not no one: they're our audience, literally. This family garden walk is not a family garden walk: it's a chance for Madoc to display his new acquisitions. His unicorn-blessed daughter and her mysterious girl-child. I stare at Madoc's back with new understanding. This story is going to spread through Court, and that's exactly what Madoc wants. He is fanning the flames of gossip. He is throwing grist into the rumor mill. And it won't take long for those rumors to reach Eldred's ears.

Behind the courtiers, I see a familiar figure, golden hair shining, deer legs graceful. It's—oh, mercy of the Trees—it's Prince Dain. Dain, watching our group with narrowed eyes. Watching my daughter as she innocently plays with a couple of stones at the side of the path—

"Hey, kids! Smile!"

I wrench around as Heather aims her camera at my children. Madoc turns too, and the courtiers all jerk back. "Come on, kids," Heather coaxes from behind the camera. "Smile and wave!"

"You're silly!" Philomel laughs as she waves happily at the camera. Dogwood just clings closer to my side.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vivienne snatches the camera down.

"Yes," grinds out Madoc. "What are you doing?"

"Checking something out." Heather turns her camera so we can all see the screen. On it, Philomel smiles and waves, the camera capturing her every movement. "How 'bout that? Faeries show up in digital film, too!"

"Let me see!" Philomel crowds in, and even Dogwood peers over, interested. Philomel's face lights up. "Look, Mommy! It's me!"

"You're waving," Dogwood marvels. "You can see every movement!"

"It's digital video, kids." Now Heather straightens and, to my horror, aims her camera at Prince Dain and the watching courtiers. "Hey, lords and ladies," she calls, "feel like being posted on Instagram?"

They stare at her in utter amazement and horror, before scattering like deer, even Dain. I can hear their voices rising: "Was she threatening…?...Completely mad…!"

Beside me, Birch laughs aloud. "Well done, Heather!"

Vivienne, Jude and Cardan are all fighting laughter too, and even Oriana looks like she's struggling not to smile.

Madoc's face darkens. Without a word, he marches over and, snatching the camera out of Heather's hand, breaks it apart in a series of loud snaps.

Heather's laughing smirk disappears as her jaw drops. "Hey! That camera cost me three hundred dollars!"

"Then it was money wasted, wasn't it?" Madoc shoves the pieces into Heather's hands and nods to one of the guards. "Take Miss Heather back to the house and ensure that she stays there."

"Jesus Christ…" Heather mutters as guard chivvies her back.

"I'm going too," Vivi says, glaring at Madoc defiantly as she accompanies Heather and the guard back up the path.

Madoc waves a dismissive hand. He doesn't care if Vivienne goes back. He only really needs two people for today's sideshow: me and Philomel.

Philomel scowls after Heather and Vivienne a moment before turning to Madoc. "Why did you break Aunt Heather's camera? That was so mean!"

"She used it without my permission," Madoc says coolly.

"Oh, the horror," Birch mutters. "She used her own equipment without the Grand General's permission. She acted on an initiative that wasn't yours. And you can't have that, can you, Madoc?"

Dogwood and Philomel both snigger nervously. Madoc glares at Birch. "Do you wish me to strike you again, goblin?"

"Go ahead, redcap," Birch snarls. "Hit me out here in public. Show your whole damn Court the bully that you really are."

Madoc's fists clench. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.

"Enough!" Oriana steps forward. "Birch, restrain yourself. Madoc, why don't you walk with me?" She takes his arm and leads him ahead.

Birch's crest is still rattling with rage. I put a hand on his arm, and slowly he relaxes. He gives me a quick, repentant smile. I'm sorry, he signs. I couldn't stop myself.

I think it was great! Philomel signs, eyes shining. You should beat him up, Uncle Birch!

Yeah! Dogwood chimes in.

He'd be the one to beat me up, kids, Birch signs wryly. Come on, let's keep going.

He takes the children by the hands and leads them on, a careful distance from Madoc and Oriana. Jude and Cardan, who have been watching silently, come up beside me, arm in arm.

"You know," Cardan murmurs, eyes sparkling, "I'm really starting to like that Birch."

"You would," Jude mutters, rolling her eyes.

I'm about to agree, when I suddenly spot movement in the woods.

There's another observer there. Hidden—they're trying not to draw attention. But, from the glance I caught, before they pulled their concealment spell close, they look far more intent than the gossipy courtiers, and far less likely to be scared off by human cameras.

And, though I can't be entirely sure, I think I may have glimpsed Balekin's crest on their tabard.

Jude's spotted them too. She tenses, gaze going eagle-sharp. I can tell she's thinking of pursuing the spy, but her eyes slide to the guards, to Madoc, and she forces herself back.

"Come on." She unwraps her arm from Cardan's and pulls me gently forward. Cardan comes up close behind us, eyes on the woods.

"Mommy!" Philomel protests as I reach her to clamp her to my side. I grab Dogwood too, and, holding both children, wheel around to unexpectedly see Madoc facing us.

He's looking at the woods too. On his face is a faint smile of satisfaction. His eyes flick to me, and I know he knows.

The days roll by, and, bizarrely, soon settle into a routine.

Every morning, after breakfast in the guest suite, come lessons with Master Noggle, which Birch and I attend to watch the children. Oriana often comes too, and we eat lunch together in the schoolroom.

After that it's time for the daily purgatory, otherwise known as garden walks with Madoc.

After that first walk, Heather is banned, so Vivienne doesn't usually attend, but Jude, Cardan and Oriana all accompany me, Birch and the children as we trail behind Madoc, on display for our audience. It seems like every servant, guest and courtier in Eldred's Court comes just to stare at me and my children, speculation rising like nightmarish insect chatter. Far from driving them off, Madoc parades us slowly around the garden's perimeter, where they can all get a good view.

What is he trying to do? I wonder furiously. Fuel the rumor mill, obviously, but to what end? I can think of only two possibilities: either he's hoping the rumors soon reach Eldred's ears or hoping to goad Balekin into doing something stupid. I devoutly hope it's the first possibility that comes true.

But Eldred doesn't seem to be doing anything. Every evening after dinner I look at Cardan inquiringly, and every evening he shakes his head and grimaces. Eldred still hasn't responded to Cardan's message. What's wrong with the King? I wonder. Here he's been hankering after grandchildren for years—decades, even—and then he can't be bothered to reply to a message from his own son about the Lost Heir?

I'm not the only one confused and frustrated. I overhear Jude and Cardan arguing about it one afternoon on my way back to the schoolroom from a trip to the bathroom. "—When's he going to respond?" Jude hisses at Cardan behind a closed door. "Are you sure Heartwood got him the message?"

"Quite sure," Cardan says impatiently. "She swore she did. But she can't make him respond, Jude. And neither can I."

Too true. But I wish with all my heart he could. Every day that goes by without a response from Eldred is a day closer to Balekin doing something drastic. And I'm certain the crowds around the gardens are heavily leavened with the eldest prince's spies, even if Balekin himself hasn't made an appearance.

Dogwood soon hates the walks as heartily as I do, hiding behind me and Birch from the crowd's scrutiny. "Can't we go any faster?" he whispers.

"You can go back to the house with Birch if you wish, Dogwood," Madoc says, still striding ahead.

I glare at his back: he doesn't need my son, huh? Birch glares too, but turns to Dogwood. "How about it?"

But Dogwood shakes his head and clings hard to me. "I won't leave my Mommy," he says fiercely. My heart melts, and even Madoc turns to give my boy an approving look.

Meanwhile, Philomel goes in the opposite direction. She's fascinated by our audience, smiling and waving, and always trying to sneak off to greet them and make friends. For once, Madoc and I are in perfect agreement: I run to retrieve Philomel every time she tries to make an escape, and Madoc nods for the guards to close in. After the sixth attempt, Madoc draws Philomel aside and threatens her with the leashing spell if she tries to approach the Court faeries again. After that she stays by me, but watches the courtiers with disturbingly bright and fascinated eyes.

Don't look at them, Melly, I order, glancing at the courtiers nervously. Dain is among them again, his blond head shining in the sun as he stares like a forest predator at my daughter. They're not our friends.

We might become friends, though, she argues. If we went to talk to them.

I shake my head. Not even then. I spot a familiar figure striding uncaring through the courtiers, and wave. Look! It's Heartwood!

"Out of my way, boy," Heartwood says brusquely to a young courtier, and he hastily jumps aside. Heartwood sashays right by Prince Dain. I have to grin: I should have known Heartwood would pay no heed to Court rank or Court etiquette. She shows similar indifference to the guards as she crosses into Madoc's gardens, the goblin twins sauntering behind her. "Hello, Albia, Birch. Hi, kids. How've you been?"

"Hi, Heartwood!" Philomel waves enthusiastically, and even Dogwood smiles. "How are you?"

"We're fine." Heartwood ruffles Philomel's hair and claps Dogwood on the shoulder. "I'm glad to see you looking so healthy, at least." She nods back to where Cardan is walking with Jude on his arm. "Why don't you convey my compliments to your aunt and uncle?"

Both kids scamper back to greet Jude and Cardan, and Birch gives Heartwood a narrow-eyed look. Just what is going on, Heartwood?

She looks regretful. I wish I could tell you, Birch, I really do. A shadow falls over us, and she turns to Madoc. "Ah, General! Got time to talk?"

"Yes," says Madoc, and Heartwood falls in beside him. They walk ahead together, heads bent in close conference. My chest tightens, watching them. What are they talking about? What is Madoc making Heartwood do? Whatever it is, I hope it isn't too dangerous, or criminal. I have no illusions: if Madoc involves Heartwood in a crime, he'll let her take the fall.

"Hey, Albia." Alder—or possibly Elder—sidles up to me, unusually furtive. "Where's Heather?"

I blink. "Heather?" Birch says my thoughts aloud. "What do you want with her?"

The other twin gives a smug cackle. "We've got the goods she asked for, that's what," he says in an undertone. "You tell her that."

Then both goblins giggle and slide away, disappearing into a nearby stand of trees, as though they never were.

Mind still full of the strange encounter, I take Philomel to Oriana's parlor after the walk.

This has become another integral part of our routine. After the walk, Dogwood goes off to practice swordplay with his Aunt Jude and Foxfire, supervised by Birch, and Philomel and I head to Oriana's parlor to ply our needles…or bobbins.

If the garden walks are a daily penance, Oriana's parlor is a daily refuge. It's almost like the old days: while I'm here with Oriana, I'm safe, and so is Philomel. Philomel makes little outfits for Lulu the doll and I embroider, while Oriana works on her unicorn-glowing lacework. It's growing larger and more complex: a spider's web, a net to catch her prey.

How will you know when it's finished? I write down.

She shrugs. "I'll know." She holds up what she's made so far, a feline smile curving her lips. "Not long now, I think."

She grins at me sidelong, and we both look lovingly at her threads of fate: twisted and woven together, to catch Prince Balekin. To trap him.

"Hey, Oriana." The oblivious Philomel bounces up, colorful threads in her hands. "Can I braid your hair?" She reaches out to stroke it. "It's so pretty!"

Oriana smiles at her. "Of course. Just don't touch my lacework, all right?"

"Okay." Philomel stands up on the sofa to braid bright threads into Oriana's hair. I take another stich in my composition, and Oriana's bobbins clack.

"Oriana?" Philomel says suddenly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly." Oriana doesn't look up from her work.

"Are you unicorn-blessed too?"

Oriana's bobbins stop, and my needle freezes. "How did you know?" Oriana says at last.

"Your threads glow like Mommy's hands when she does healing," Philomel says matter-of-factly. "And like my hair when I do magic. So. Are you unicorn-blessed?"

"Yes," says Oriana after a long pause. "Yes, I am." She turns to face Philomel, newly threaded braid swinging. "But you mustn't tell anyone, all right, Philomel? I've kept it a secret for a long time now, and I don't want anyone else to know. Can you promise to keep it between just you, your mother and me?"

Philomel nods readily. "Yes. I promise I won't tell anyone else." She flops down onto the sofa. "Why don't you want anyone to know, though?" she asks curiously.

"It's my business, not theirs." Oriana's thread shine as she weaves and knots them some more. A sudden shadow crosses the window, and we all look up. "What was that?" Oriana asks.

I don't reply. But I had the distinct impression that there were actually two shadows—two goblin shadows. Two goblins, sneaking up the outside of the building. And it looked like they were heading up to Vivienne and Heather's room.

I wonder what this portends.

Actually, it seems to portend nothing.

Another few days drag past. Nothing changes. Dark clouds gather in the sky over the islands of Elfhame, and I watch the rain pound down from the window in our sitting room. It flows down the gutters, obscures the gardens, makes the woods beyond a gray blur. I feel like our days have become like that: a senseless blur in which nothing moves, nothing happens, except the fear and anxiety grow.

Birch joins me at the window. It's the hour before dinner, and the children are playing with their toys behind us, Tatterfell laughing as she joins in. Balekin probably has spies watching in those woods, Birch signs, out of sight of the children.

I know. I give a frustrated sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. I hate this. I almost wish something would happen.

I don't. Birch looks grim. The prince is going to do something soon. This stalemate can't last forever.

Stalemate. He's right, I realize: this is a stalemate, dragging on and on. A stalemate between us and Balekin, neither side able to move against the other. And all the while, rumors are flying around Court, and Eldred must suspect what's going on, but he's not making any move to act on the information. And until he does, we're helpless.

I let out a long, frustrated sigh. Something's got to happen. Something's got to break. The only question is when.

As it turns out, that something breaks the very next day.