Manticore

We're fully dressed and ready when door opens and the royal guard stands in the frame, blocking the light. "It's time," she says, light shining on her horns. "The King summons you."

I nod silently and straighten the gown I found in the bureau, making sure the wire is safely hidden beneath my clothing. I neaten the children's clothes. Then, taking their hands, I lead the children out, our heads held high.

We've spent the night, my children and I, as we have spent every night of their lives: curled up in one bed, cocooned by a warm and unspeaking love. Philomel tried to make me speak more, but I couldn't: I've been silent for so long. I can't just give it up in one night. Dogwood finally called her off, gently, and we went to bed, digging up nightshirts in the bureau and climbing in. I fell asleep with my two children nestled warmly on either side of me, their breathing soft and steady.

We only awoke when two palace brownies came in with breakfast. We ate silently. Even Philomel didn't ask me to speak. I didn't try. I didn't feel ready, and something told me to keep silent. Maybe it told the children too, because they stayed quiet, communicating in sign language as we found the clothes in the bureau: clothes fit for a presentation at Court. Clothes fit for a royal trial.

We played together quietly all morning, until the guard came to fetch us. Now my son and daughter walk along on either side of me, through the endless earthen tunnels and light-filled airy halls of the Palace of Elfhame, following the guard and threading our way up and up, to Eldred's main audience chamber.

Up ahead, gathered outside the doors, I see a familiar group. It's my family, and Heather, and Birch and Cardan. And Balekin. All under guard as I am under guard; not bound but only because we can't run away. King Eldred's will commands us all.

Balekin looks up at our approach, and I feel a flash of satisfaction, seeing his face still flushed and swollen. The palace healers are capable of great things, but they are not unicorn-blessed. I'm half-tempted to let the unicorn's light wreath around my fingers, just to taunt him, but resist.

In his poisoned face, Balekin's eyes flash at me, at my daughter. My lips curl away from my teeth. Dogwood gives a hiss, crest rattling, and Philomel puts her arms around me protectively. I hold my head high, staring back at Balekin coldly, and it's him who looks away first.

Birch comes over, glaring at Balekin and raising his crest. "Albia?" he murmurs softly. His hands flutter near me, not quite touching. "Are you all right? And the kids?" He peers at them anxiously.

I nod. It's on the tip of my tongue to say it aloud, to speak—but no. Not yet.

My sisters and Oriana flow over, crowding around me and the children protectively, glaring at Balekin. In the background, Madoc glowers like a hulking mountain.

"Well, well," says a familiar but very unexpected voice. It's Dulcamara, leering at us around one of the royal guards. "So this is what we've all been summoned here for?"

"Get gone, knight," one of the guards growls. "You should be in the audience chamber with your king."

"On the contrary." Dulcamara erects an unconvincing saintly air. "My lord Roiben ordered me to try and find out what was going on. To discover, if I could, the reason why King Eldred magically summoned every single monarch in Faerie last night and currently has them all crowded in his audience chamber."

Even Balekin looks up at this, blinking. "He did what?" Jude asks.

"Ripped every last monarch in Faerie from their Courts and magically transported them all here," Dulcamara says. "Along with assorted hangers-on like me. All, apparently, for you." She cranes around Jude, looking at me. "Or, more probably, for you, Lady Healer." She shakes her head regretfully. "You really should have accepted my offer, Unicorn-Blessed."

"What offer?" Dogwood wants to know.

"I offered to help you and your mother and sister join the Court of Termites, a couple of months ago," Dulcamara explains. "She really should have accepted. Then we wouldn't be in this ridiculous position."

"No," says Cardan thoughtfully. "We'd probably be at war by now."

Dulcamara bares her teeth at him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Sir Dulcamara." The guards close in around her. "Back in the audience chamber. Now."

"All right, all right, I'm going…" Dulcamara buzzes her wings innocently and slips through the doors into the chamber. Through the gap I glimpse a large, colorful crowd, a murmurous buzz rising from it.

"Mommy…" Philomel tugs at my skirt. Her face is anxious, her eyes wide. What's going to happen to us? she signs.

I smile down at her. Don't be afraid. I tug Dogwood nearer too. Don't either of you be afraid.

I take their hands and squeeze them. They squeeze back, and I am not afraid.

"Bring them in!" calls the muffled voice of the High King of Faerie. The doors swing open, and we prisoners are all marched in, escorted by the guards.

Inside, Birch hisses in surprise, and even Madoc checks, startled. Dulcamara was right. It's not just any crowd of spectators in there—it's the full cast of Faerie's reigning royalty. Monarchs and representatives from every Court of Faerie. I even spot a few mortals in the crowd, like the nervous-looking boy standing next to a young king with curling horns. And yes, I can see King Roiben and his consort from the Court of Termites, along with Dulcamara, hovering at his side. She grins and waves at me; I pass on.

Dulcamara is the only one who looks happy. As we're marched along the clear pathway to the throne, a buzz of confusion and annoyance rises: "Who are they?...Why are we here?...What's going on?" More than a few monarchs look distinctly ruffled, fidgeting irritably in their Court clothes, glancing around warily, and muttering angrily, even if they don't dare quite speak aloud. I gather that none of them are here of their own free will: Eldred really did snatch them all by magical force. I marvel: this is an extraordinary act, even for the High King—for its rudeness, if nothing else. He must have wanted them here very badly.

He must know. That's the only explanation. Eldred must know everything already.

The guards escort us to the cleared space before Eldred's throne, and we all bow or curtsy. When I straighten, I'm shocked at the figure sitting in the throne: so thin that it seems a stiff breeze would blow him over, hair so faded that it seems to dissolve into nothing at the ends, everything about him worn and washed out and tired. No—exhausted. King Eldred looks ready to collapse with ages-old, bone-deep weariness.

Except his eyes. In his eyes there blazes one last fire, one last spark. I can only hope that it's not going to burn us all up.

Around us, the hall fall dead silent, all the monarchs quiet. We prisoners stand with our eyes on the floor, waiting for Eldred to speak.

"I have summoned you." Eldred's voice is as tired as the rest of him, but in it remains one last strand of energy, of grim determination. That one strand's power casts an even deeper stillness over us all. "I have summoned you all to discuss the matter of the succession."

At this an interested murmur runs through the hall. Balekin twitches, like an eager hound. Eldred's eyes flick over him impassively.

"But there are other matters to be discussed first." Eldred pauses to cough. "My son, Prince Dain…is dead." Here his voice slips and catches, before steadying again. "He was found on the beach, half-eaten by sea creatures. I do not believe his death was an accident." Again his eyes flick over Balekin, and over Madoc. "And then there is the matter of the Lost Heir."

Philomel clings even closer to me, a whimper escaping. Another whisper runs through the hall, abruptly silenced when Eldred glares around.

He leans forward in his throne. "Grand General Madoc," he says. "Step forward."

Silently, Madoc steps forward, alone before the throne. Eldred runs a jaundiced eye over him. His mouth works.

Then he cranes over. "Well, Chieftainess Heartwood?" he says. "Is this the man who has been hiding my own granddaughter from me?"

My stomach jerks as Heartwood steps up, right beside the throne. For once she's not smoking her eternal pipe, but her gaze is as calm and breezy as ever as she looks Madoc over. "It is indeed, my King."

Madoc jerks back, and I feel a leap of foolish delight: really, it was almost worth it, all of it, just to see this look on Madoc's face. "You—!"

"Oh, come now, General." Heartwood rolls her eyes. "Did you really think I would commit treason against the High King of Faerie? I was sworn to him before ever I set foot in your house. He sent me as a spy."

Birch gasps, and Jude gives a strangled exclamation. Oriana and Heather both blink and stare. Vivienne, however, seems to be fighting down laughter, and Cardan is openly grinning. He glances at Madoc and snickers.

"She reported to me all that you did," Eldred tells Madoc. "All that has taken place in your house over the last few weeks. You have been busy, haven't you?" He barks a laugh that turns into a long, hacking cough. "Did you think I am an idiot, General?" he demands when he recovers. "I am old, not stupid. And this matter concerns me greatly."

Eldred's eyes travel over to me and the children, and I clutch them tighter. "Philomel," he says. "Step forward."

Philomel clings tight to me. It takes all my strength, but I give her a tiny nudge. She stumbles forward, and I half-reach for her. My heart thunders in my chest, and Dogwood holds tight to my arm.

Eldred inspects my daughter, and on his face is an expression almost of affection. "You are the Lost Heir," he informs her. "Born of my blood, an heir to the High Throne of Faerie. Do you know which of my sons fathered you?"

"Yes." It comes out as a tiny whisper.

"Which one was it?"

"It was me, Father." Another murmur runs through the hall as Balekin steps forward, head high and proud. "I lay with Taryn Duarte seven years ago," he announces, voice loud and clear. "I fathered her child, blessed of the unicorn. And we are married now."

Another exclamation, voices ringing through the chamber. Oriana gasps and Madoc jerks back, eyes blazing. "What!"

"We are married." Balekin's salt-scarred face is smug and defiant. "Taryn Duarte, blessed of the unicorn, is my wife." He faces his father, eyes burning. "I am a worthy successor, Father. I fathered the Lost Heir. I am favored of the unicorn, and married to a woman she blessed!"

"He forced her!" Jude's voice rings out. Cardan pulls back at her, looking alarmed, as she half-lunges forward. She points at Balekin with a shaking finger. "He forced my sister to marry him! And he forced himself on her, seven years ago. Yes," she shouts savagely as the noise level rises again. "Prince Balekin raped my sister!"

It's not just a murmur this time: it's a clamor. Faeries all over the hall yell and cry out and buzz their wings, exclaiming over this extraordinary statement. Both my children whimper and press close, not entirely understanding Jude's statement, but perceiving the seriousness of this accusation.

I hold them, but I can't take my eyes off Balekin. His face flushes beneath his scars.

"All mortals are liars," he sneers. "And you can't deny that Taryn is now my wife!"

"It is no true marriage!" Now Birch springs forward, crest raised, flashing blue spots. "Balekin threatened the life of her son! Of my son!"

Dogwood jerks and gasps against me; I hold him and Philomel both to my side, holding my breath as Birch faces the High King defiantly. "Prince Balekin threatened to kill my son, Dogwood, if Albia—if Taryn didn't marry him. Balekin wants Philomel and he wants the crown. But if you give it to him, you'll be putting a rapist and a murderer on the throne of Faerie!"

"I am favored of the unicorn!" Balekin yells. "She brought my child to life!"

"Oh, really, brother?" Cardan speaks now, cold and sneering. "If you're so favored, why did the unicorn hide Taryn away from you? Why did she take Taryn away from Court? Why did Taryn stay away so long, hiding the Lost Heir?" Cardan laughs contemptuously. "The unicorn didn't bless you. She blessed Taryn for the wrong you did her."

"Yes!" Oriana steps forward. "It is Taryn who is favored, not you!"

"Even if that's true," Balekin counters, "we are married now, and have a child." He gives Philomel a covetous look. "The Lost Heir."

"I'm not yours!" Philomel pipes up from my side. She hugs me hard. "I'm my Mommy's. I won't have you, I won't!"

A muscle works in Balekin's jaw, and I catch my breath in fear for my brave little girl. But it's me Balekin turns to, eyes burning.

"Well, my lady wife?" he says in soft tones. "You're the only other person who was there at the time when I lay with you. Did I rape you?"

He's counting on his curses still working. If they were, I wouldn't be able to tell the truth. The second curse might even have forced me to shake my head, lie, deny it. And then my family could shout the truth to the rooftops, but Balekin would say that they weren't there, that he's married to me, and that Philomel is his child. He'd press his case forward, and no one would be able to stop him.

All eyes turn to me. The whole audience chamber turns to me, from Eldred to Birch to Philomel, everyone staring, waiting. A slow smirk grows on Balekin's face as the silence grows.

I draw breath. I move my tongue. And I speak.

"Yes."

The room explodes in cries, shouts and exclamations. But I have eyes only for Balekin. He recoils, gaping at me in utter astonishment, surprise and disbelief writ large on his scarred face, and I grin in savage satisfaction. My family is gaping too, hardly less surprised than Balekin, but Prince Cardan laughs aloud, delighted and triumphant, and even Heather, who has wisely kept silent so far, is grinning from ear to ear.

"Taryn…You…How…?" Balekin is sputtering, and I let out a laugh. Yes, I laugh, I laugh aloud, my voice ringing high and free.

"You raped me," I say, my voice growling from my throat, hard and loud and real. "Seven years ago, when I was only seventeen. You raped me, and you stole away my voice, and sealed the truth inside me so I could never tell of your crime. But I stitched the truth into a tapestry and my sisters found it, and so my family learned of what you did to me. And now my children have set me free." I lay my hands on my children's shoulders as we stand together, proud and defiant.

"We broke your spells!" Dogwood shouts at Balekin. "We broke your stupid curses!"

"Yeah!" Philomel screams, hair glowing. "We did it together. Mommy's free now!"

Balekin's face transforms in a snarl. He lunges, hands clawing at my children. They squeak, and I jerk them back. The guards leap forward, but Madoc is there first. He shoves Balekin back, snarling. "You don't touch them, swine."

Balekin's fist flies toward Madoc's face. Madoc blocks the blow and aims a kick. Yells ring out, Eldred stands, and suddenly Balekin and Madoc are standing on opposite ends of the dais, both panting and glaring bloody murder, but held apart by the force of the High King's will.

"Enough!" Eldred's voice cracks across the hall, bringing silence in its wake. He turns to me. "Lady Taryn, this is a very serious accusation."

"It's true," I say, and cough. My vocal cords, unused for so long, are growing tired already. "Balekin raped me. And he did more. He killed Prince Dain. His own brother."

Gasps, shouts. Eldred's face is a thundercloud as he turns slowly to Balekin.

"Well, Balekin?" he says in a deadly whisper. "What do you have to say to this?"

Balekin straightens. "I say that all mortals are liars," he says, with a sneer at me. "And you don't have any proof."

I cough. "Oh, don't I?" I take the wire's speaker from my pocket. Calmly, I press the play button, and turn the volume up as high as it will go.

"How dare you?" rings Balekin's voice from the human audio equipment. "How dare you hide my own child from me? My heir! A Greenbriar! A daughter of the High Throne of Faerie? How dare you, you miserable little mortal?"

More gasps ring out, but then silence spreads as the recording plays on. The whole hall stands absolutely still, listening spellbound: listening to every one of Balekin's words from last night. His confession to rape, his open avarice of the crown, his implication that he murdered Dain, his threatening Dogwood's life. His threats to make me marry him. The whole hall listens agape, and the blood slowly drains from Balekin's face, paler with every word.

At last the recording ends. I press the stop button, and silence, thick and choked, once again descends.

Eldred breaks it first. He turns to Heartwood. "You were right, Chieftainess," he says. "She did indeed bring the truth to light." He gives a strange little chuckle.

"What!" Vivienne gapes at Heartwood. "You—you told him?"

"Of course I did," Heartwood says. "I was his spy, remember? So were the twins. We told the King all that we knew of your plan."

Jude raises an eyebrow. "Then surely you told the King that Philomel was the Lost Heir?"

"Of course." Heartwood inclines her head, and Philomel lets out a tiny squeak of protest and betrayal. I lay a hand on her back.

"Then, my King," says Jude, turning to Eldred respectfully, "may I ask why you did not act on this information? Why didn't you take custody of Philomel?"

"Because," Eldred says softly, "if I had, I would never have learned the truth. Which of my sons fathered the girl? And under what circumstances? Heartwood could not tell me that. And I wished to know the full truth, before I was forced to leave my throne to a either bloodthirsty killer, a fawning flatterer or a drunken wastrel." He gives his two surviving sons a sour and unloving look. "And now the truth has come to light, at last."

Eldred turns his glare on Balekin, who still does not move.

"You confessed to rape last night," the King says softly. "I also believe that you murdered Dain, your own brother. What do you have to say to this, Prince Balekin Greenbriar?"

Now Balekin moves. He coils like a striking snake. "I say Taryn Duarte is still my wife," he hisses. "She spoke the words, she made the vows. And now no one can come between us."

He's right. We are in Faerie, and a promise, especially a promise like this, is sacred. My vows to Balekin might have been made under duress, but they were made. And even Eldred can't undo them.

Birch gives me an anguished, helpless look. And in his eyes are all the things he never said, that we both wish he said, years ago.

"This is true," King Eldred says at last. His eyes flick to me. "And so," he says at last, so softly, "Lady Taryn Greenbriar shall pronounce your sentence, Balekin."

Balekin blinks. "What?"

"You heard." Eldred turns to me fully. "Lady Taryn Greenbriar, wife of Prince Balekin, your husband has confessed to rape, to kidnap, to threatening the life of an innocent child, one of my subjects. I also believe that he murdered my son Prince Dain. He is your husband, and none can come between you. So you shall pronounce his sentence, and you shall carry it out."

I stare at Eldred. Then, slowly, I turn to Balekin.

There he stands: my rapist and my tormentor and my enemy. Bewildered and astonished and afraid, his face scarred with my poisons. Stripped of favor, abandoned by his friends, bereft of his wits. Truly, he has lost everything. Perhaps the sight should inspire pity in me. Perhaps it does.

A small nudge at my side, and Philomel glares at Balekin with his mother's eyes. "Do it, Mommy," she whispers harshly. "He deserves it."

"Let's be free!" Dogwood agrees, crest raised. "Let's be free of him."

"Yes." A hand lands softly on my shoulder, and I turn to meet Birch's eyes. "Let's be free."

Birch gives me his old smile: full of gentleness and love. My children look at me, fierce and determined and pleading. They want this. They want to be free. And so do I.

I look at Balekin for one final moment more. Then I speak, loud and clear.

"Manticore!" I cry out, voice ringing in the silent hall. "I saved your life, though you took my friend from me. Now I call in your debt. I call you in my trueborn voice. Come to me!"

The last echoes of my shout die away, and for a sick moment I think nothing will happen. Then the tunnel appears.

An endless corridor, materializing in the wall behind Eldred's throne, stretching through reality into a shadowed infinity. Faeries cry out, shrinking away, wings flapping, and Jude reaches for a sword she isn't wearing as an eager roar echoes down the corridor. The roar of the manticore.

"What have you done?" Balekin rounds on me. His voice is angry, but his face is as white as milk. "What have you done?"

I look at him, unsmiling and unafraid. "You're going to get your wish, Balekin," I say, voice rough with contempt, as the soft footfalls of the manticore grow louder and nearer. "You're going to fight a manticore."

And Birch laughs aloud, glad and triumphant, as the manticore steps out of the corridor and into the audience hall.

Faeries scream, flying for the windows or running for the exits, as she paces into the chamber, each huge paw fringed with claws. Here she seems even larger than in the forest, her muscles rippling under her savage red hide, her scorpion tail twitching with eagerness. Her red-gold eyes play over the crowd, beautiful and terrible.

She walks over to me, and faeries clear the way, screaming, shrinking. Only my children remain at my side, as unafraid as I am, as the manticore stops before me and bows, human-lion face to the floor.

I am here, she says in that wordless way, and I know that everyone in the hall can hear and understand her. What is your will?

"Kill Prince Balekin Greenbriar," I say. "Kill him and eat him."

The manticore's eyes flash. She growls in acknowledgement. Then she straightens and turns to Balekin, eyes lighting, tail tensed, ready to spring.

For a split-second, Balekin just stares. On his face is an expression of utter horror and incredulity. But then he moves—he springs—as the manticore lunges. She lets out a growl of frustration as her paws close on nothing, and Balekin rolls smoothly to his feet. He tackles a nearby guard, snatching his sword away. He whirls around and holds the weapon ready, turning to face the manticore.

The manticore snarls. She circles Balekin, searching for a weakness, but Balekin stands firm, sword in hand. She lunges, and the sword strikes down, drawing a line of blood on her hide. The manticore recoils in pain, and Balekin lets out a triumphant shout.

Philomel catches her breath in sudden worry. "What if he kills the manticore?" she whispers to me.

"He won't." Oriana steps up now, eyes burning on the fight. "Look."

And we look, Philomel and I, and Oriana too, and we three unicorn-blessed women can see what no one else can: a network of shining white threads, strung between Balekin's legs, like lace, like a spiderweb—

Balekin—trips. The glowing white lace trips his legs up, and he stumbles and he falls, and the sword clatters away, and the manticore lunges and down her stinger comes, burying deep in his flesh.

A choked, horrible noise comes out of Balekin's mouth. A trickle of froth. His limbs go rigid. The manticore growls, driving her stinger deeper, claws into his flesh, and he gives that awful noise again.

Then somehow Balekin manages to turn his head, and he looks at me. His dying eyes find mine, and in them is a world of pain, a world of sheer astonishment—

And then his eyes darken and his face stiffens and my enemy is gone.

I let out my breath in a long, long sigh. I close my eyes as the huge weight—the hideous burden—at last lifts from my shoulders. I feel like I could fly—and weep. I let out a sob, and I don't know if it's a sob of relief or of profound loss, for what was such an important part of me for so long. An evil part of me, a part of me that I hated—but a part of me nonetheless.

When I open my eyes again, the manticore has Balekin dangling from her mouth, just like Thistleweft. Her jaws crush his ribcage, hideously, and his arms and legs brush the floor as she nods to me one last time. I nod back.

Then, pacing slowly, through the cleared space that no faerie king or queen dares to enter, the manticore carries her prey back down the tunnel to the forest, to eat at leisure. And the tunnel contracts and seals behind her, leaving the audience chamber whole and unbroken.

I stare at the place where the manticore disappeared, one moment longer. Then, slowly, I turn to Eldred.

He seems more shrunken than ever in his throne. In his eyes is a terrible sorrow, but also a terrible acceptance. His eyes shimmer with tears, but he nods to me. "Lady Taryn," he says quietly. "That was well and justly done."

I curtsy and say nothing. What can I say to the father of my rapist, who I've just killed before his eyes? I put my arms around my children's shoulders, holding them close.

"Indeed it was." Madoc steps forward, gaze bright. "That was true justice, my King." He bows to Eldred. "Though I am sorry for your loss."

"No real loss," Eldred says dryly. "My son was evil."

"True," says Madoc. "And I would say that mere death does not entirely erase the wrong he did my daughter or my family." His eyes flick to me and Philomel, and my stomach clenches in sudden apprehension. "My King…perhaps you could name Princess Philomel your successor? She is unicorn-blessed, of extraordinary power. She would be a worthy heir to the High Throne."

Philomel gasps, recoiling against me. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I gape at Madoc, who stares blandly back. Of course. Of course. He promised that he wouldn't put Philomel on the throne, or make himself Regent. He never said anything about not asking Eldred to do it for him.

The bastard. The conniving, selfish, hypocritical bastard!

Around me, my family jerks back and recoils—except Jude, who looks torn between hope and horror. Eldred, meanwhile, is entirely impassive.

"I see," he says. "And who would be Regent, during her minority?"

"That is up to you, my King," Madoc says.

"Indeed." Eldred leans forward, and in his eyes, suddenly, is the light of the manticore.

"Grand General Madoc," the High King hisses, and Madoc falters back, "do you think I am an idiot? I know perfectly well what you've been planning over the last few weeks. You wanted to put your granddaughter on the throne and make yourself Regent!" His voice cracks across the dead-silent hall. "You want to seize the crown for yourself, in all but name. You want my family's legacy—the heart of Faerie itself—to serve your own personal ambition. And what is more…" A terrible smile appears on Eldred's face. "You've broken a promise," he whispers. "I can see it in your aura. A sworn vow, to your daughter, Dowager Lady Taryn Greenbriar."

Madoc blenches. He twitches, gaze darting to me. It's true, I realize. I remember now: Madoc swore he would kill Balekin and feed me his heart. And he didn't do it. It doesn't matter, by the laws of Faerie, that it wasn't his fault he broke it. He broke his word to me. It's that final.

"Dowager Lady Taryn," says Eldred, "you must pronounce sentence again. You must decide the Grand General's fate. That is the law."

A murmur rustles through the hall, through the royal crowd. Oriana takes half a step forward but then steps back, head bowed. She knows this is fair, that this is the law. Cardan's face is impassive. Vivienne can't hide her growing grin, the elated triumph in her eyes.

But Jude…Jude makes a tiny noise of protest, half a motion to come forward, to stop this. She gives me an anguished look, gives Madoc an anguished look, but says nothing. There's nothing she can say, or do.

I look at Madoc. He looks back. Fear momentarily skitters behind his eyes, but it's soon suppressed. He stands tall, proud, ready to face his fate. For he is mine now: he broke his word to me and, by the laws of Faerie, I can do whatever I want with him.

I stare at him: my stepfather. The faerie who murdered my parents before my eyes, who kidnapped me and my sisters, taking us to a world where we didn't belong, all for the sake of his so-called honor. Who left us to the mercy of the bullies at Court, probably telling himself that it would be good for us. Who pressed a knife into my hands and turned me into a nine-year-old murderer. Who thrust me at Balekin for the sake of his own greed and ambition. Who kidnapped me and my children again, never once asking us, or even asking himself, whether this was truly the best thing for us. Who saw my love for Birch and used it as a weapon against me and my children. Whose first reaction, on learning who Philomel was, was to make a personal grab for power. Who, even after he promised that he would not, still tried to find a way to snatch the throne.

By all rights, I should kill him. I should avenge myself on this monster for all his crimes against me, against my parents, against Birch, against my children. It's what Madoc himself would do. It's what his unbending honor code would demand.

But that is not my code. It never was. And I am tired of Madoc forcing me to do things I don't want to do.

"I'm not going to kill you, Madoc," I say quietly. My voice rings out in the dead-silent hall. "If I killed you…I'd never be rid of you. I'd be dragging you around my whole life. And I deserve better than that. I deserve better than you. And so do my children."

He flinches: just a tiny twitch, but it's there. "I love you, Taryn," he says, and his voice is almost pleading.

"I don't want your love!" It bursts out, loud, uncontrollable. "Your love has brought me nothing but death and misery and ruin!" I bring my voice down with an effort. "You may love me, Madoc, but you're completely selfish and you always were. You think of nothing but yourself: your love, your honor, your guilt, your duty, your ambitions. You have never thought of what anyone else needs or wants or wishes, not even those you love. And I'm not going to waste any more of my life, or my children's lives, in the hopes that one day you'll miraculously change. Because you never will, Madoc. Or if you do, it won't be because of anything I did."

By now everyone is gaping at me, even Jude. Heather mouths silently, and Vivienne is grinning from ear to ear, eyes aglow. Beside me, Birch cackles triumphantly, and the children look at me admiringly. Even Oriana is fighting down a grin—even Cardan is—at seeing Madoc finally, finally told off. Finally being confronted with the truth.

Madoc himself sways back, as though I've just delivered him a blow. But he clenches his jaw, he regains control, and he straightens.

"What, then, do you want of me?" he demands, cold and clear.

I glare at him with equal coldness. "I want you out of my life," I say, each word precise and crisp. "I want you out of my children's lives. I want to never see you again, never speak to you. You will make no move, say no word, to either harm or help us. You will not look for loopholes. You will not ask anyone else, faerie or mortal, to interfere in our lives. You will not seek to punish us or aid us. You will take no action that has any bearing on our lives, in any way. You will have nothing to do with any of us again, ever. From the moment we leave this hall, we have nothing to do with each other." I pause. "Do you understand, General Madoc?"

Madoc's face blenches again, and I suddenly realize that, for the Grand General, this is much worse than simply dying, than simply being killed. Madoc has always been obsessed with winning: and now he is being told, in front of every monarch in Faerie, in front of the High King himself, that he has lost. That he is not good enough. That he has failed. And this from the daughter he always accounted as the least of his children, the weakest.

For a moment Madoc stands, statue-still. Then he bends his head. He bends his head to me. "Very well," he says quietly. "I shall do as you say, Dowager Lady Taryn Greenbriar. For the rest of your life, and your children's lives, all shall be between us as you desire."

Something deep inside me breaks painfully, a trickle of loss and sorrow. But that is overwhelmed by the flood of joy and relief. Free. I am free of Madoc at last, and so are my children. I grin down at Dogwood and Philomel, and they grin back, as delighted as I am.

"Well done, Lady Taryn," Eldred says. His eyes gleam, and I know that he too has enjoyed watching the Grand General humbled. "But there is one last sentence to be spoken."

He holds himself straight, and he addresses me. "Dowager Lady Taryn Greenbriar," he says, "you hid away an heir to the High Throne of Faerie for seven years. This could be considered treason."

My heart clenches. Cold sweat breaks out. Philomel rushes forward.

"No!" she cries out to her grandfather. "That's not fair! She was keeping me safe."

"Yes, Father." Cardan steps forward too. "Taryn kept the Lost Heir safe and hidden from her enemies. There can be no treason in that. And Taryn was besides acting under the instruction of the unicorn, who carried her away from Court and to the Red Branch valley. She could not have done other than obey."

"True," says Eldred. "I accept that you had mitigating circumstances, Lady Taryn, and acted for the best. You are pardoned of any accusation of treason." I let out my breath in a long sigh, weak with relief, and I give a slightly wobbly curtsy.

Then Eldred's eyes play onto the frozen Madoc. "You, on the other hand," he says softly, "abducted and hid away the Lost Heir for purely selfish reasons. You attempted to seize the power of the throne for yourself. You interfered in the succession. You, Grand General Madoc, are guilty of attempted treason."

We all stand frozen. I hold my breath. After avoiding killing my stepfather, am I going to have to watch him die after all?

Madoc says nothing. He stands tall and proud, unbroken yet and waiting for his sentence.

"Grand General Madoc," Eldred pronounces at last, "I sentence you to exile on the Ironside. There you will remain, and never set foot in Faerie again, until you have saved the life of a good woman justly accused of her crime, and taken her and her children to safety and happiness. Only when you have accomplished this may you return to Faerie."

Madoc blinks. I can see his mind whirling with confusion, with questions. But he knows better than to ask them: solving the riddle is part of his sentence. He bows. "Yes, my King."

I feel a stab of—something. Sorrow, paired with overpowering relief. I look at my family, and I see the same sorrow and relief on Jude and Oriana's faces. Cardan, on the other hand, looks appreciative, Heather amused, and Vivienne's face is alight with glee.

Eldred nods. He seems more tired than ever, the day's events rapidly sucking what little energy he has left. But his face is determined: there's still more to do.

He stands up. He stands up from the throne. And before the entire audience, he takes off his crown.

Gasps ring out. By rising from his throne, by taking off his crown in public, Eldred has just abdicated his kingship. He is ready to pass it on to his successor, and he is ready to do it now.

"Princess Philomel," he says. "Step forward."

My blood turns yet again to ice. The room spins around me.

No. No. This can't happen, not now, after all we've been through, all we've done. Eldred can't do this.

But he can. And Philomel steps up, hair glowing like the unicorn's mane through my shaking vision, and her grandfather hands her the crown of Faerie.

"I leave the fate of the crown in the hands of the Lost Heir," says Eldred, King no more. Already he is fading, his flesh and hair slowly disintegrating, glowing particles flying off. "Choose wisely, granddaughter."

And then he is gone, and in Eldred's place is nothing but empty air, and an echo of laughter.

Absolute stillness reigns in the hall. We all stand like statues, staring at Philomel, as she holds the crown in her little hands, jewels winking in the light.

Then Philomel moves. She trots over, crown still gleaming in her hands, to stand before Cardan.

"Kneel down, Uncle Cardan," she says, little-girl voice high and piping.

Cardan eyes her like she's a snake that might strike. "Now, Melly," he says, not entirely hiding the sudden panic in his voice, "perhaps you should think this over before making a decision. The King did tell you to choose wisely."

"I am choosing wisely," she says, honest and innocent. "I think you'll be a good King. You're a good person."

Cardan gapes at her. No one has ever, ever told him that he is a good person.

"She's right, you know," says Jude, a half-grin growing on her face. "You are a good person. And you'll be a good High King."

"I am not a good person," Cardan says with great dignity. "As you ought to know, Jude, better than anyone."

Jude's smile fades. "You're both good and bad," she says gently. "Like the rest of us, mortal and faerie alike. But I think the good in you will win out over the bad, more often than not, and you will be a good High King of Faerie. I believe in you, Cardan."

Cardan looks at his lover. And what he sees there makes him straighten, shoulders going back. He gives a strange half-smile.

And he kneels before Philomel, and she places the crown upon his head.

For a moment, silence reigns still as the crown gleams among Cardan's black curls. Then Jude kneels down.

"All hail the High King of Faerie!" she cries, loud and strong. "All hail King Cardan!"

"All hail King Cardan!" Everyone echoes her cry, even Madoc, even Heartwood, even me, and we all bow low to our new High King.

Slowly, King Cardan turns to face us. His crown gleams, the light of its majesty glowing bright already. Glowing around him, the new High King of Faerie.

"Well," he says at last. "This coronation is certainly going to go down in the history books!"

Laughter rings: bright, relieved laughter, that the spell has been broken. Philomel runs to me, and I gather her into my arms. We cuddle, both of us limp with relief. I almost let go of her to sign, before remembering that I don't have to. "Well done, Melly," I whisper instead.

She beams at me. "That was good, wasn't it? Uncle Cardan will be a good King, and I don't ever have to be Queen?"

"No." I hug her tight. "Never."

Jude, meanwhile, is shaking her head, smiling as she gazes on her King. "One for the history books? Honestly, Cardan. You are as annoying as ever."

"Did you truly think that would change, Jude?" grins Cardan. He sits down on the throne like he's been King for years. "Someone summon the palace steward," he orders. "I think, after the events of today, that we all deserve a feast." He turns suddenly to Heather. "Heather, perhaps you could stay a bit longer, until after the feast? And then maybe you'd like to sample the delights of the High Court, before you go home? After all, you have served the throne well, in your way. You should have a reward of some kind."

Heather shakes her head, hooking her arm around Vivienne's. "That sounds nice, Your Majesty, but I think I should go home after your feast. I've already been away too long."

"Me too," says Vivienne, and she and Heather give each other glowing looks.

Now Madoc steps forward, and I edge back, the children with me. Birch steps closer to us, crest rising. But Madoc ignores us. "My King." He bows deeply to Cardan. "Perhaps, as your first official act, you could commute your late father's sentence on me?"

Cardan looks at him amusedly. "You never give up, General, do you?"

"I took you in when no one else would, Your Majesty," Madoc grinds out quietly.

"It was Jude who took me in." Cardan grins wickedly. "And frankly, Madoc, I think this little quest will be very good for you."

Madoc's jaw works before he bursts out, "But what does it mean? A good woman justly accused of her crime?"

I find myself exchanging secret glances with my sisters. Any one of us, the daughters of Eva, could tell Madoc exactly what the riddle meant.

But somehow, I don't think any of us will. Not even Jude.

"That's for you to figure out," says King Cardan. "Off you go to the Ironside, Grand General, and you will not return until you have achieved the quest that King Eldred laid down for you."

Madoc remains a moment, face working with frustration. Then he bows to Cardan. "Very well, my King." His gaze sweeps over Oriana, over the children, over my sisters. Over me. "Will I see my family again?" he asks Cardan, softly.

"I won't forbid them to come see you," Cardan says, equally quietly. "But that's up to them."

Madoc is silent a moment more. "Very well, my King." He bows again, and then turns to us. To me.

"I love you, Taryn," he says quietly. In his eyes in an emotion undefinable but powerful. "Whatever I've done, whatever you think of me, I love you as my daughter, and I always will."

I nod. "I know you do," I say, and my restored voice sounds stranger than ever in my throat, in my ears. "I know you will."

Unspoken between us are the words, But that's not enough.

Madoc hears the words. He understands. His eyes turn sorrowful as he nods to me. Then he looks at Oriana, and for a moment I wonder if he will beg his wife to accompany him into exile, not to leave him alone. But he stands rigid, jaw clenched with that stubborn pride.

Madoc walks away, heading stiffly for the door. The crowd parts to let him go.

Vivienne watches her father go, eyes agleam with delighted malice. "Have fun on the Ironside, Dad!" she sings as he passes her. His fists clench, but he doesn't stop. He walks out of the audience chamber, alone, through the crowd of murmuring royal faeries, and out of the room and out of my life forever.

I let out a long, long breath. At my side, Dogwood lets out a happy squeal.

"Gone!" he cries. "He's gone! Finally!"

Laughter rings in the hall again. Even Jude, standing beside Cardan's throne, half-smiles.

"Indeed he is," says Cardan to my son, and then the King turns to me. "Lady Taryn, you and your children are of course invited to tonight's feast. And then I think you'd better head over to Hollow Hall."

I blink, and sign, What? Then remember, and say aloud, "I beg your pardon, my King?"

"Well," says Cardan, eyes agleam, "you're Prince Balekin's widow. All his wealth and estates naturally go to you. And frankly," he adds cheerfully, "you're going to have quite a mess on your hands. Balekin didn't manage his wealth all that well."

My head reels. All of Balekin's badly managed estates—all mine. Great Trees. Where do I even begin?

Oriana steps up. "I will be there to help." She smiles at me, and I smile back, slightly reassured.

"Me too." Birch appears at my side.

"We'll be there!" Dogwood holds hard to my hand.

"Yeah!" Philomel grins up at me.

I look at them all: my family. The people I love, and who love me. And I curtsy Cardan. "Very well, my King."

Behind the throne, Heartwood has taken out her pipe again, and lit up. Smoke coils lazily around her head as she nods to me. I nod back. Well played, Chieftainess, right from the start. I find myself wondering if she expects me and the kids to return to the valley at any point. I wonder if we'll be able to.

Maybe not. Maybe there is no going back, no making yourself into what you once were.

But, for the first time in my life, I have a future. My children have a future. My children and I are safe and free, and, though there will be challenges ahead, we can face them together.

A tiny movement catches my eye: a flash of white. I crane over, peering through the crowd of royal faeries, and so I see her.

The unicorn. Standing in the shadows, the unicorn, hidden from everyone's view but mine. And—Oriana gasps and I feel Philomel stiffen beside me—the other two unicorn-blessed women in this room. We three can see her, when no one else can.

The unicorn bows her head to us, whorled horn shining. I curtsy back, and so do Oriana and Philomel. We all straighten, and regard one another: the unicorn, and the three women she has blessed.

Then the unicorn is gone. She vanishes in a faint white gleam, and I know I will not see her again, not in this life. But I feel no sorrow at this, for she is still my friend, and always will be.

Together, I turn with my mother and my daughter, to face the new day, the new reign, and our new lives.