Camera

The rain is just tapering off the next morning, tapping lightly on the windows. Birch and I are escorting the children to the schoolroom when a guard appears, halting our progress. "The General wants you in his study, Lady Taryn," he says. "You and the goblin both."

Beside me, "the goblin" raises his crest, tail twitching. "What does the old—does the General want now?" he growls.

"He did not tell me," the guard says coldly. "Please come with me."

"What about us?" Philomel demands, scowling.

"I'll stay with you." Oriana comes floating up the corridor. "I'll stay with them through lessons," she adds to me and Birch. "You should go."

This, more than anything, convinces me that we should. I hug the children quickly. Mind your grandmother, and be good, okay? We'll be back soon.

"Okay," Dogwood says. He glances at Oriana and signs. Will you tell us what Madoc says?

If we can. I wink at him and Philomel, and the children giggle.

They head into the schoolroom far more cheerfully than they would have mere weeks ago. Oriana, however, remains. She stares at me with some powerful but unrecognizable emotion.

"Taryn," she whispers, harsh and grating, "you should know that I've sworn to kill Madoc if anything happens to you. Sworn by the unicorn herself."

Birch's head comes up sharply. "Why? What's he up to this time?"

She just shakes her head. "Just go." She turns to enter the schoolroom, then abruptly turns again. She gives me a swift, hard hug. Surprised, I hug her back.

Then she's gone, and we're left with the guard. Without a word, he leads me and Birch down the corridor toward Madoc's study.

He opens the door for us and bows us in. There everyone is waiting: Cardan, my sisters, Heather, and Madoc himself, seated behind his desk. Everyone looks grave, except Heather, who looks like she's fighting down excitement.

"What's this about?" Birch folds his arms, tail twitching. "Just what are you up to this time?" he hisses at Madoc.

Madoc waves a clawed hand. "Have a seat, both of you, and you'll find out."

We take a seat on a cushioned bench and look inquiringly out at all the tense faces. Now that I'm getting a better look, I think Jude is secretly excited too: her eyes are very bright, and she gives me a tiny smile.

"Heather here has an idea," says Madoc, "for how we can proceed with a case against Balekin. Heather, please explain."

Heather sits up straighter. "First of all, can anyone detect the camera I have right now?"

Everyone but Madoc looks her over in bewilderment. I don't see a single camera anywhere.

"Come on, anyone?" A slow grin is creeping across her face. "You faeries: can't you see anything? Hear anything?"

"What exactly are we supposed to be seeing or hearing?" Cardan asks.

"This!" Heather pulls down her neckline, exposing a tiny silver disc. She yanks up her sleeves too, showing more odd pieces, and wires. Grinning, she takes a small box out of her pocket and hits a button.

We hear Madoc's voice coming out of it, tinny but clear: "—A seat, both of you, and you'll find out. Heather here has an idea for how we can proceed with a case against Balekin. Heather, please explain."

"First of all," says Heather's voice, "can anyone detect the camera I have right now?"

Heather presses another button, and the recording shuts off. "Wearable technology," she says calmly. "The goblin twins brought it for me from Earth, along with a power source. I just recorded the conversation we had, and took a couple dozen pictures, without anyone realizing it."

"Really?" Birch leans forward interestedly. "Just how does it work?"

"How is that supposed to help us against Balekin?" Jude asks, folding her arms.

"And is that wearable technology turned off now?" Madoc demands, eyes narrowed.

Heather unplugs the little box from the wire and places it on the table. "There: no power source now. We're speaking in complete privacy." She leans forward. "And as for Balekin: think. If you want him punished for what he did to Taryn, you need him to admit it himself. If we accuse him on Taryn's behalf, he'll say that we weren't there, and all humans are liars anyway, and make himself out to be the innocent party."

"She's right," Cardan chimes in. "That's exactly what my dear old brother would do." He turns to Heather. "But he's never going to admit it on his own, you know. Not now, when he's making his bid for the throne. He can't afford a scandal like that."

"But he still wants to claim Philomel as his own," Jude points out. "It would help him immeasurably if he had an acknowledged heir."

"Exactly," says Heather. "That's why we're currently in stalemate, right? Balekin wants to claim paternity of Philomel, but he knows—or suspects, at least—that we all know what he did and can accuse him in public. Even if he somehow wriggles out of it, the accusation itself would still make him look really bad. We, meanwhile, want to bring him to justice, but we can't currently make any accusation stick. And we can't just murder him, because he's currently on guard against that, and it'd look mighty suspicious if he just turned up dead, now of all times." Her eyes slide to Madoc. "And you want to back your granddaughter's claim to the throne, right? But you can't make that stick unless it's widely known and acknowledged that she's a Greenbriar. And to do that, you've got to have proof of paternity."

I give a silent growl at this, and Birch raises his crest, flashing blue spots. Vivi looks like she's biting back a growl. Jude, however, smiles, and Cardan looks amused.

Madoc himself seems unperturbed. He gives Heather a slow nod.

"I see you are a woman of intelligence, Heather. Correct on all points. What, then, do you suggest?"

"We catch Balekin out." Heather holds up a piece of her wearable camera. "We make him admit to what he did, unknowingly, and claim paternity of Philomel. And we capture his confession on my audio equipment here. Then we take the recording to your King and make the accusation. Balekin won't suspect a thing until it's too late."

A stunned silence follows this. We all stare and blink at the astonishing novelty of Heather's idea. This would never have occurred to any of us, not even Birch or Vivienne.

"Do you really think that will work, Heather?" says Vivi, sounding tentative and hopeful.

"It should," said Heather. "If faeries can't detect wearable technology, as I think we've just proven. And Balekin won't see it coming at all."

He certainly won't. For a moment, my heart lifts, thinking of catching Balekin out in such a simple way. But then dread pits in my stomach as I realize what this plan entails.

I sign, and Birch translates. "How are we going to get Balekin to confess, though?"

For the first time, Heather seems uncomfortable. She shifts, and exchanges glances with Madoc, who also looks a bit shifty. "We'll have to get him alone," she says. "He's not going to confess anything unless he thinks no one is listening in."

"Alone with…who?" Vivi says slowly.

Sickeningly, inevitably, every eye turns guiltily to me. I swallow, trying not to be sick.

"It has to be you, Taryn," says Madoc quietly. "Prince Balekin isn't going to confess to anyone else."

"No!" Birch jumps up, crest flashing. "No, absolutely not!"

"I could do it." Jude jumps up too, clutching her healed hand. "Send me. I've pretended to be Taryn before. If we cut my hair and I kept my mouth shut—"

"That's the trick, isn't it?" murmurs Cardan, as though he just can't help himself.

"Shut up, Cardan. I can keep quiet if I need to, unlike some faeries I could name, who have no self-control." She can't help herself either. "And I'm not afraid to lie to that swine," she adds, holding her head high.

"It's a nice thought, Jude, but it won't work." Cardan shakes his head. "My brother's not the brightest faerie around, but he's not blind. He'll know right away. He's been obsessing over Taryn for seven years, and he's seen you nearly every day of that time. You think he won't be able to tell the difference?"

"I can fool him," she insists.

"Cardan's right, Jude," Vivienne says quietly. "You and Taryn don't even really look alike anymore."

"What do you mean? We're still identical," Jude says, but I think I know what they're talking about. I stand up and walk over to face my sister, one hand on her shoulder.

She quiets, looking into my face. Vivi's right: we don't look alike anymore. I've borne a child, and spent seven years in the wilderness, while Jude has been training as a knight. She has muscles where I don't; I have curves where she doesn't. I've spent years in shady deep forest while she's been in the open; I'm much paler than she is. My hair is cut short, while hers is long. There's a scar across her eyebrow that I don't have.

But it goes deeper than that. Our expressions, our gestures, the way we hold ourselves—all of these have grown apart. Even the look in our eyes is different. Identical we may still be, and will always remain—but Jude and I don't look anything alike anymore. There's no way Jude would be able to fool Balekin.

The realization grows as a darkness in Jude's eyes. She reaches up to squeeze my shoulder. "There must be another way," she says quietly to Madoc.

"Not if we're going to do this," he says, equally quietly. "And I believe this is our best option."

He must have told Oriana, I realize, stomach hurting. That's why she was so angry. She doesn't want us to go through with this. But what option do we have? I don't want Philomel to learn the truth, or help Madoc in his plans, but it's only a matter of time before the stalemate breaks. Balekin might come for me and Philomel, snatch us away; it would be a lot harder to deny his claims if he had us in custody, after all. Or he might simply announce his paternity, scandal be damned—and then where would we be?

"There's another option," Cardan says unexpectedly. "Taryn could lie. She could tell Eldred that I fathered Philomel."

Birch rolls his eyes in exasperation, while Vivienne and Heather both gape. "Just how would that work?" Vivi demands.

"Yes," says Madoc coolly. "How would that work, Your Highness?"

"Taryn seeks an audience with the King," Jude fills in. "She says she has news of the Lost Heir. She tells Eldred that she lay with Cardan. Eldred will be so pleased at having a grandchild, he'll pretend to believe it, even if he doesn't!"

"And what's to stop Balekin from pointing out that Taryn's lying?" Vivi folds her arms.

Jude's dagger gleams as she whips it out. "Oh, I'm sure there's a way to shut Balekin up," she says softly. She tosses the knife into the air and catches it lightly. "Eldred would probably be just as pleased."

"Jude's right," Cardan grins. "He probably wouldn't even investigate too closely."

"And then you become King?" Madoc asks Cardan. He seems unsurprised by this plot, and I wonder in alarm just how much he knew beforehand.

"Certainly not," Cardan says calmly. "No one's going to have me, and I don't want the throne—though no one seems to believe me when I say so." He heaves a deep sigh at the frustrations of life as an unambitious prince. "We're hoping Taryn can talk Eldred into living a few decades more with a granddaughter to inherit after him. Perhaps she can heal him."

Birch makes an angry, impatient noise. "It's an idiotic idea! You're betting your sister and your niece's lives on confronting a rapist or telling a pack of flimsy lies to the High King himself!" Birch is trembling with rage, tail lashing, crest stiff, hands fisted at his sides. "This is all your fault," he hisses at Madoc. "If you hadn't snatched us—"

"If I hadn't taken you, someone else would have," Madoc snaps back. "Someone who does not care for Taryn or Philomel, and certainly does not care to pursue justice against Balekin. And how would you like that, Birch of the Red Branch Tribe?"

"Oh?" Birch's crest is standing straight up now. "And just how are you 'caring' for Albia and Philomel, General? How are you keeping them safe? It's not as though you did such a fabulous job of it last time!"

Madoc's eyes flash, and he rises slowly up from his desk.

Heart pounding, I throw myself between them, holding up my hands. Stop this! I sign frantically, mouthing the words.

Jaw working, Madoc sits down again. Birch rounds on me, crest rattling. "Don't do this, Albia. Don't go along with it! That redcap's just serving his own ambition!"

His red eyes shine with desperation, and I want nothing more than to give in to his pleas. To take the kids and run away, back to the forest, where we were safe and free, far away from the Court and all its machinations. But that's not an option. It never really was.

I look at Birch. His love, his rage on my behalf. But it's not just me at stake here. It's him, too, and his son. Dogwood, who has been my son too, whose life and wellbeing depend on what I do next. And Philomel. Philomel, my daughter.

I think of what would follow if Balekin gets his way. Philomel and myself in his custody, everyone congratulating him on his miracle child. Eldred acknowledging him as heir. Philomel facing such a horror as her father. Dogwood tossed aside or maybe killed. Birch certainly killed, and Cardan too. My family exiled or dead. Balekin getting the throne. All of Faerie at his feet. Heartwood, the goblin twins, Bettina, the frog faerie, even the water hags—all of them, and all other faeries, at Balekin's tender mercy. War and misery and poverty everywhere. Faeries running riot in the human world, hurting, killing and maiming at will. Even those faeries who don't want to hurt mortals would start preying on the Ironside, driven to it by Balekin's cruelty and the desperation it would create.

It's up to me to stop him. It's up to me save us all. It has to be me.

Slowly, I go to Madoc's desk. I don't look at Birch. I don't want to meet his angry, incredulous gaze, as I pull over a piece of paper and start to write.

I will do it, I write to Madoc. On one condition: you don't try to put Philomel on the throne. Swear that you will give up any attempt to make Philomel Queen, and yourself Regent, and I will face Balekin, and obtain his confession, and we will accuse him before Eldred.

Madoc's jaw clenches a little as he reads. I stand before him rigid, arms folded, waiting. Around us, everyone seems to hold their breath, waiting too.

At last, Madoc nods. "Very well. I swear that I will not put Philomel on the throne as High Queen, and I will not make myself her Regent." He pauses. "Furthermore, I swear that I will always protect Philomel and Dogwood as my grandchildren, and do what I can to further their interests." He gives me a quick, strangely sad smile. "Does this offer some compensation, Taryn?"

I nod, an odd pain in my heart. Whatever else he is, whatever else he's done, Madoc loves me. He always has, and he loves the children for my sake, too. He really will move heaven and earth for our sake. And now he's sacrificed his chance at the throne, so we can get justice.

Birch is still vibrating with rage. "If anything happens to Albia," he spits at Madoc, "I swear by the Great Trees of Faerie that I am going to kill you."

"You'll have to get in line, goblin," Madoc says dryly. "My wife's already sworn the same thing." He takes a deep breath and turns to Heather. "So, Heather, how does this wearable technology actually work?"

After that, things move quickly.

Oriana calls in Tatterfell, and, with the children, my sisters and Heather in attendance, I practice wearing the wires and cameras under my clothes. They feel strange—the Velcro straps around my arms, the plastic-covered wires over my skin—and it's harder than we anticipated to hide them under my clothing. I walk back and forth across my suite's sitting room, raise my arms above my head, turn and twist, stretch and kick. The equipment must be absolutely hidden, no matter what I do. And it seems that a piece of wire is always sticking out, or the camera is gleaming, and Tatterfell has to rush forward to adjust my clothing yet again.

"What's this stuff supposed to do, anyway?" Philomel asks as Tatterfell fusses with my long sleeve.

"It's technology from the human world," Heather explains. She's standing beside me too, making sure that the wires don't fall off. "It records people's voices."

"I don't see why it can't record me," says Dogwood, sulking by the window. He's already angry that we've refused to record his voice on the equipment.

"We'll do you later," Vivienne promises. "Right now we need to save all the wire's power, and make sure it all works perfectly." Her eyes gleam. "Your mother's going to catch Balekin out!"

"Catch him out at what?" Philomel asks, fiddling with Lulu.

We adults all exchange covert glances, even Tatterfell, who's gathered something of what's going on. "Prince Balekin did something very bad, many years ago," Oriana says gently. "We're looking to get justice, but we need his confession."

Her jaw clenches as she says this, and my stomach tightens, remembering my first encounter with her after the interview in Madoc's study. Lessons were over, and she was playing with the children in the suite's sitting room, seemingly peaceful as she laughed with the kids. But, as we came in, she looked up with such a furious expression that Birch and I both stopped dead. She left Birch with the kids while she swept me into the bedroom.

"You've agreed to do it, haven't you?" she hissed, staring into my face as though all my sins and secrets were written on it. "You foolish, foolish girl!"

This is the only way to get justice, I wrote on the notepad.

Oriana breathed, hard and ragged. She was angrier than I'd ever seen her before, sparks literally flying off her mane of hair. "I should get you all out," she murmured, hard and violent. "You and your children. Get you all out to the Ironside. My unicorn-spell will take care of Balekin."

Running won't help. I was certain of that. It might be years before your spell works. And your last unicorn-spell went pretty wrong, didn't it? Shame crowded her eyes as she read that, and I felt guilty. But it was true. We can't afford that. We have to move now.

She sighed, all her rage seeming to drain away. "Look at you," she whispered helplessly. "You sound like Jude. Or Madoc." She took a deep, deep breath. "All right. I'll help where I can. But I vowed to Madoc, and I vow to you, that if you get hurt or killed because of this idiotic plan, I am going to kill my husband with my bare hands."

I look at Oriana now, surveying me critically. I haven't seen her interact with Madoc since we formulated the plan, several days ago now. She hasn't even spoken to him at dinner, and I don't think they're sleeping together. She really is utterly furious about this.

And she's not the only one. Birch is angry too, with both Madoc and me. He vibrates with rage every time Madoc draws near, and, while he hasn't quite stopped talking to me, he keeps giving me accusing looks. The night after I agreed to Heather's plan, he did his utmost to talk me out of it, standing me in the sitting room while the children slept and arguing passionately. "There is no way in Faerie or Ironside that this is possibly going to work, Albia," he hissed. "It's not worth the risk! Balekin will figure it out. He'll kill you or kidnap you. And even if he doesn't, I don't trust that redcap any further than I can spit. He's up to something here, and it's not justice."

He promised not to put Philomel on the throne, I argued. It's worth it for that alone.

"And you believe him?" Birch demanded incredulously. "You of all people? He'll find a way around it, sure as wind and tree roots. You're playing into his hands! You're exposing yourself to horrible danger for the sake of the General's ambitions!"

So what do you propose we do? I demanded. It's only a matter of time before Balekin acts. He'll go to Eldred and demand custody of Philomel. He'll attack us and carry us off! You have no idea how desperate he is to get the crown, Birch. How desperate he is for an heir. We have to attack him before he attacks us.

"'Us.'" Birch shook his head, laughing a little. "You don't see it, do you? You still think that redcap has your best interests at heart. He doesn't, Albia. He's using you and Melly in his own game, and this is just another move. You're a pawn on his chessboard, Albia, and he'll find a way to win, no matter what he's promised."

I didn't respond, but I had a horrible feeling that Birch was right. I still have that feeling now, as Tatterfell adjusts my sleeve. But what can I do? Balekin must die. For all our sakes, Balekin must be destroyed. We don't have time to wait for Oriana's spell. I have to do this.

Tatterfell finishes and scurries away. I cross the room again. I swing my arms. I curtsy deeply, as I would to royalty. I kick my legs and raise my arms over my head.

Vivienne claps her hands. "Perfect! I can't see a thing."

Oriana nods, and Jude says, "Perfectly hidden."

"She needs more practice wearing the apparatus, though," says Heather, standing back to eye me critically. "She looks so stiff right now that Balekin's bound to notice. You should wear the wire for a few days, Taryn, and practice turning it on and off. I'm betting he'll be on his guard. He can't notice anything the least weird."

I stiffen at this, fear rising. Jude notices and gives me a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. I'll be there, with the other knights. You'll be safe."

I give her a weak, wavery smile. Just last night, under Madoc's supervision and guidance, I wrote Balekin a note agreeing to a meeting at dusk on the night of the full moon, in the wood near Madoc's stronghold. I promised to come alone, but naturally I won't: Madoc and some of his knights, including Jude, are going to follow and wait nearby, ready to pull me away or fight off Balekin and his men if they try to snatch me.

Madoc watched while I stuffed the note into the gold-acorn and threw it out the window, to find its way to Balekin. I tried not to feel like I throwing my own life away, condemning myself to some hideous fate. Then Madoc took the confinement spell off me, so I could leave the house and grounds, for my meeting with destiny.

That's something, but not nearly enough. Discreetly, I rub my palms on my skirt and glance out the window at the sunny day. The full moon is only three days away.

Philomel scampers up, holding Lulu aloft. "Look, Mommy!" she chirps. "I put a wire on Lulu too." She shows me the red yarn, wrapped around Lulu under her clothes.

I smile. Well done. Though Lulu doesn't need to wear a wire. One thing Madoc and I are in perfect agreement about: Philomel does not come with me. She and Dogwood will stay in the mansion, under armed guard, with Birch, Vivienne and Oriana all wakeful and watching. Birch agreed to this part of the plan immediately.

"Who does Lulu need to record, Philomel?" Oriana asks curiously.

Philomel looks at her solemnly. "Enemies," she says with utmost seriousness, and looks up at me pleadingly. "Can I wear that wire, Mommy? Once you're done?"

We'll see, sweetie. I straighten, feeling the wires slither against my skin. Let's go for a walk, I say, trying to hide my nerves. I need to practice.

I hold out my other hand, and Dogwood trots up to take it. I hope we can find Birch. He's been avoiding me a lot over the past few days, seeking the company of Heartwood and the other forest fey, as much as Madoc's guards will permit him. I bite my lip. I hope he's keeping safe.

We're halfway out the door when Heather suddenly yells, "On!"

The children yelp, and I jump, turning to stare at her. She shrugs, unrepentant. "You've got to learn how to turn it on and off at a minute's notice, Taryn. So turn it on."

I tug the little red wire and look at her questioningly. She shakes her head. "Too obvious, Taryn. You looked way too guilty."

Vivienne groans, knocking her head back against the window frame. "God. This is going to take forever."

The next morning, I awake to find the message-acorn falling from my hair again. My hands shake as I open it, for I already know who it's from.

My lady,

We shall discuss our business on the night of the full moon. I shall see you then.

—B

I crumple the note in my sweaty hand. The dawn's light is soft and gray. On either side of me, the children sleep, soft and quiet, faces rapt with innocence.

Oh, God, oh, Great Trees. I hope so much that I'm doing the right thing.

Balekin's note crumbles into ash, but I still tell Madoc about it, pulling him aside later that morning. He nods, and perhaps only a trained observer would see how his jaw suddenly clenches.

"This is good." He lays a hand on my shoulder. "We'll catch him out, Taryn. How's it going with that wire?"

I pull up my sleeve, showing him the listening equipment. I wore it all last evening, and I've been practicing turning it on and off this morning—not too much, since, as Heather stressed, the power pack isn't inexhaustible. It's vital that I turn it on as soon as I meet with Balekin, and clearly capture all of his words, and then we'll need to play it back for Eldred. I sigh. Even if everything goes perfectly, this is not going to be pretty.

And what about Philomel? I wonder later while I sit in on the children's lessons with Noggle. It's going to be shattering for her to find out the truth. Maybe she's too young to understand the full story now, but just having Balekin for a father is bad enough. And finding out she's a princess. Even though Madoc's sworn not to put her on the throne, this is still going to be a radical change in her life. And how will we stop the Court factions from closing in on her?

"Mommy?" I open my eyes to find Dogwood standing at my knee, peering anxiously into my eyes. "Are you okay?"

I nod and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. And Dogwood. How is this going to impact my son? Will the courtiers try to use him to get at Philomel? Will he be shunted aside, shut out of his own sister's life? Shamed for being a commoner and a Mirror? This is going to bring such changes to his life. Do I even the right to do this to him?

I push aside my worries. There are no good options, but this is the best we have. I can deal with our troubles when they come. I kiss Dogwood and shoo him back to lessons. He goes slowly, glancing back at me, and Philomel is watching me worriedly too. I take a deep breath, sitting straighter.

There's no turning back now.

The day before the full moon arrives, warm and innocent with sun. The sky itself looks too pure a blue.

Birch, for a change, sticks close. He stays by me all day, as we attend the children's lessons, as Jude teaches them swordplay, even as I sit and sew with Oriana. He watches as she knits the lace web further.

"What is that?" he asks at last, abruptly.

"A project I am working on." Oriana's bobbins clack. The web is almost complete, a shimmering white network of threads.

Birch says nothing, but he looks from the lacework to me. And I know he's noticed the subtle white light around Oriana's "project", and recognized the unicorn's magic.

That afternoon, we all spill out of the house into the gardens: Birch, my sisters, the children and me, all under armed guard. I take a deep breath, trying to relax, as the children scamper ahead of me and the wires grind under my clothes.

A familiar figure detaches from the woods and enters the gardens, unchallenged by the guards. "Hi, Heartwood!" The children run forward.

"Hello, children. Have some apples. " Heartwood hands them both apples, which they munch happily. Going past them, Heartwood falls into step beside me. "Good afternoon, Albia," she says. "How are you these days?"

I shrug noncommittally. How about you?

She gives her own shrug. We walk on in silence a few minutes. Up ahead, the children's cries rise up. Philomel's dress flashes green as she runs.

"She's a beautiful child," Heartwood says suddenly. "Your daughter. A child to be proud of."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jude jogs up, frowning slightly.

"Exactly what I said, Jude," Heartwood says lightly.

She gives me a long smile. For some reason, it makes my skin crawl, and I stare at her in alarm. Heartwood, I sign jerkily, what's going on?

There comes a loud, croaking cry over our heads. Jude and I look up, and, up ahead, the children slow to a halt, Birch reining them in. Even Vivi stops, staring upward at the metal bird swooping over our heads.

From the house and barracks come distant cries, and the woods are full of sudden rustles. Far away, someone screams. My heart clenches. That metal bird is about to say something terrible, something that is already sending ripples of chaos throughout the island.

"Dead!" cries the bird, voice echoing over the gardens. "Dead! Prince Dain is dead!"

"Ah," murmurs Heartwood with satisfaction, "right on time."

Jude's eyes widen. "Taryn, run!" She lunges forward, drawing a blade, but Heartwood's fist lashes out, faster than my eye can track, and my sister falls to the ground, gasping for breath. She immediately tries to get up, rolling to her feet, but a spell-arrow flies out of nowhere, hitting her in the side. Her eyes flutter and she falls back asleep, as the arrow evaporates.

Vivienne screams and races forward, but soldiers are already pouring out of the woods, and a spell-arrow hits her in the neck. Her eyes roll up and she falls to the ground. Up ahead, Birch tries to shield the children, but Philomel has already crumpled to the ground, apple rolling out of her grasp. Dogwood too falls, his own apple rolling away.

Birch snarls, standing over them, but a spell-arrow has already hit him, and he falls, eyes rolled up in his head.

Everything has happened so fast that all I can do is stand and stare, but now I scream silently, and lunge toward them, crying out voicelessly. But now a hand, heavy with spikes, wraps around my arm, and Balekin takes off his glamour, his disguise as Heartwood, and stands before me, here and horrible and real.

"Like I said, Taryn," he murmurs, eyes gleaming like a rabid beast's, "we're going to talk."

His hand comes up, and I rear back, trying desperately to avoid it, but there's no getting away, his grip is like an iron shackle and I can hear the shouts of Madoc's guards, but they're much too late as Balekin blows the powder into my face, gentle as a kiss.

The last thing I feel, before unconsciousness takes me, is Balekin lifting me into his arms, his grip like the walls of a prison, like hell itself.

I come to slowly. Blackness drifts across my mind, and it's a long moment before I can really focus, blinking my heavy, heavy eyelids slowly, feeling gradually returning to my limbs.

I'm lying on a bed. That's the first thing I'm really aware of. It's a comfortable bed, but utterly unfamiliar, made of curving branches. I blink, trying desperately to clear my vision. My thoughts are so sluggish. Overhead is a strange light fixture: a sort of chandelier of deer antlers, holding fey lights trapped in their branches. I've never seen it before.

Then I remember what's happened.

Horror chills through me, and I try to sit up, but just flop back. Whatever was in that powder is still coursing through me sluggishly. I groan silently.

Balekin drugged my children too: those apples. Oh, Great Trees. Where are my children?

The thought galvanizes me almost to cohesive movement. My eyes fly open, and I manage to flop over onto my side. The tiny room slowly comes into focus: windowless and shadowy with dark furnishings. Opposite of the bed is a tall, dark wooden door. On the wall is the stuffed head of a white deer with golden antlers and a rather shocked expression in its eyes.

Hollow Hall. This must be Hollow Hall. Balekin took me to Hollow Hall. My children must be here too. Oh, where are they?

I let out a sob and struggle up. I can move more easily now, the drug slowly clearing from my system, burnt out, perhaps, by my panic. I sit up, head spinning. I'm still wearing the wire under my clothes, I notice abstractedly, though my knife and poisons are gone from my belt.

My head spins hard, and I prop it up, heavy and awkward, in my hands. Think. I must think!

Balekin's kidnapped me, and no doubt snatched the children too, or at least Philomel. We all underestimated him, even Madoc, even Cardan. Balekin may not be that intelligent, but he's not entirely stupid either. He must have suspected my sudden capitulation right from the start. He took on the guise of Heartwood, creating a glamour that only a Greenbriar could, one that could trick even other faeries. And the moment Dain's death was announced—the moment when absolutely everyone was distracted—he snatched us.

I sob, tears stinging my eyes, thinking of Birch, of my sisters, falling unconscious to the ground, spell-arrows sticking out of them. I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing the images away. I can't think about them now. If I do, I'll collapse.

I have to find my kids. I have to get them out of here. But how? I know, surely as the full moon will rise tonight, that the door is locked. I can't get out.

My head's almost entirely clear now. I stand, carefully, and look around for some sort of weapon. But there's nothing: no ornaments I can snatch up, no furniture small and weak enough that I can break. There's not even a rug on the floor. I look at the bed, at the curved branches holding the mattress like a nest. Maybe if I could break one off, I could wait by the door and brain whoever comes in…But I'm not anywhere near as strong as a faerie at the best of times, and still weak from the drug. Whoever comes through that door is bound to be faster and stronger than I am. And even if I did manage to overpower them, I'd still have a whole mansion full of Balekin's followers to get past, and no idea where my kids are—

The door clicks. I freeze, tremors running through me, as it slowly swings open.

I can't move. I can't try to hide. I can't do anything except stand, shivering like a cornered deer, as Prince Balekin Greenbriar comes into the room and shuts and locks the door behind him.

He turns to me with a long, horrible smile. "Hello, Lady Taryn," he says softly. "It's time for our talk now."