I freeze, one foot still on the stair, when I hear the voices down in the entry hall. Oh, Great Trees. It's Balekin again.

Moving as silently as I can, I retrace my steps, heading back up the stairs and retreating down the corridor. I really have no desire to talk to Prince Balekin tonight, though I'll probably have to: he's undoubtedly staying for dinner. I wonder if I can lie and say that Foxfire wants me to practice extra tonight.

I'm interrupted in my duplicitous ruminations by a soft glugging sound. I freeze, listening. It's coming from behind the discreet servants' door at the end of the corridor.

I open the door and march up the servants' staircase to yank the bottle from Cardan's hand. "Where did you get that wine?"

"From a mainland trader." He leans back on the staircase, drunkenly at ease. "Since your lady mother ordered the cellars closed against me, and your father's servants are remarkably incorruptible, I have to resort to cheap mainland moonshine."

I smirk. "Serves you right." Oriana has made it her mission to get Cardan to stop drinking so much, and the servants have all proven remarkably helpful and cooperative in preventing our princely guest from getting his hands on anything alcoholic. Of course, they're doing it out of spite rather than concern: Prince Cardan Greenbriar has never exactly been popular here at Madoc's house, and a lot of the servants and guards take a sadistic, class-based joy in sticking it to royalty.

I sit down beside him, still holding the bottle. "What are you doing back here, anyway?"

"Hiding from Balekin," he says matter-of-factly. He gives me a shrewd look. "And, if I judge aright, so are you."

"I was looking for you, actually," I say, dodging the implicit question.

"No," he says immediately. "I won't do it."

"You don't even know what I'm asking for yet!"

"I know I don't want to do it. You already made me sneak you out of the house two nights ago, to get one of your sister's messages. Those weekly sororal messages are quite harrowing enough."

"Think of it as part of your rent," I say unsympathetically. "After all, it's not like you do anything else useful, is it? You're even lazier and more useless than most faeries, Cardan. You just sit around the house all day. Really, you should be grateful to me, preventing you from leading an entirely idle and pointless existence."

He examines his fingernails. "Typical of you, Jude Duarte, to think that the best way of getting someone to do you a favor is to insult them and tell them what a waste of time they are. Tell me, are all mortals so rude and stupid?"

"Well, how should I know? I don't spend much time Ironside, do I? Come on, Cardan," I wheedle. "This involves two of your favorite things: alcohol and pointless bitching."

"Really?" He looks more interested. "What is it?"

"A revel," I say triumphantly. "Tonight, out on the east side of the island. I need you to be my date."

He looks tempted, but says, "Make one of the knights be your date."

"If I do that, they'll go running straight to Madoc with the whole story. I can trust you to be discreet."

"Yes, I suppose so," he grumbles. He scowls resentfully at me. "Why do you even want to go, anyway, with or without a date? I never got the impression you particularly enjoyed parties."

"Maybe not, but I can't find out anything about Taryn if I just stay home all the time."

"Good point, I suppose." He gives an elaborate sigh. "All right. I'll come, and be your date. As long as I get to drink as much as I want, and bitch pointlessly to my heart's content."

"It's a deal." I stand up, still holding the bottle of moonshine. "See you at dinner."

"Wait." He catches hold of my sleeve, making me look back. He looks at me with something I never thought he'd direct at me before: a sparkle of mischief. "Do you really want to have dinner with my brother?"

"Not particularly, but do we have a choice?"

"Of course we do. We can head out early and get dinner on the way to the revel."

"And abandon a Greenbriar at a meal in our house?" Still, my mouth is curling up at the thought.

"Why not? It's not us he's come to see."

I consider this. Cardan's right: Balekin hasn't even spoken to either us during his last few visits. I don't mind much on my own account—I don't have much to say to Balekin these days—but it makes me feel strange, seeing him give Cardan the same treatment. Surely it's not natural for Balekin to act like his own brother doesn't even exist, when Cardan is standing right there?

Still I hesitate. "If we skip out on dinner," I say, "it's not you who will get into trouble."

"Nonsense. You couldn't possibly disobey the orders of a Greenbriar prince, could you?"

I fold my arms, but a grin is pulling at my mouth. "I don't know. Is a Greenbriar prince giving me a direct order?"

"Absolutely." He gives me his own conspiratorial smile.

I can't stop the grin breaking out on my face. "Then I guess I have no choice, do I? Though this had better not be a ruse to get me into trouble, Cardan," I add in a growl.

"It isn't, actually," he sighs. "I just don't want to eat with Balekin again. It really is excruciating torture. I'd much rather be out getting drunk with you."

"I'm not getting drunk," I snap, suddenly furious. "I know this is a foreign concept for you, Cardan, but I actually feel responsible for my sister, and want to know what became of her."

He stands up suddenly. All signs of drunkenness are gone as he glares at me, fierce and angry. "You are not the only one who feels responsible for Taryn, Jude," he says quietly. "You are not the only one who wants to know what really happened that night." While I'm still blinking, he marches past me to the door on the landing. "Come on. I'm looking forward to dressing you up for this revel."

"You're not dressing me up for it," I say, even as I follow him out.

"Maybe not." He flashes me a bright look. "But I really do insist on choosing your outfit, Jude Duarte. You have the fashion sense of a half-blind cave hag who hasn't been out in society for the last thousand years. Now hurry up, before Oriana comes looking for us."

Later, as the moon is rising out of the ocean and the woods are velvety with night, embroidered with fireflies and the sudden flashes of late-night faeries, we head out toward the revel, Cardan holding a magically conjured light for my weak mortal eyes.

"I don't see why I had to dress up." I stop to disentangle my skirt from a clinging bush. True to his threat, Cardan barged straight into my room and rootled through my closet, holding various outfits up to me and discarding at least a dozen before settling on a long, russet-brown dress with short sleeves, paired with a shawl embroidered with autumn leaves. It was a bit creepy, actually, how enthusiastic he was about the task. I asked him outright if he was trying to make me look stupid in front of the faeries, and he rolled his eyes. "What, you think I want my date making me look foolish? I want you to look nice, Jude—or at least presentable."

Now I continue the argument. "It's not like you dressed up."

"I don't need to," he smirks, tossing his hair back. "I'm handsome enough already." Through the trees, we can see the lights of the revel, and hear the music. "You, on the other hand, need all the help you can get."

I roll my eyes. "Wow, Cardan, way to compliment a girl." Then I frown as I realize something. "Wait—what do you mean that you're handsome enough? Aren't you going to wear a glamour—?"

"Ah! Perfect!" Cardan suddenly swoops away with the light, leaving me stranded in the dark. Seething, I feel for the knives and daggers I strapped into thigh sheaths under my skirt. I can't swear I won't use one on the prince tonight, if this keeps up.

He comes back with a bunch of small, fragrantly scented white flowers. "Hold still," he says, and the flowers suddenly rise into the air, spinning and whirling around one another. Before I can duck away, they arrange themselves into chains and rings, and slip onto my wrists, around my neck, and crowning my hair.

"There." Cardan stands back, surveying his work with satisfaction. "Much better."

I look at my new necklace and bracelets. I look at him. "All the help I can get, huh?"

"Quite so." He offers me his arm, and lets out an exasperated sigh when I hold back. "Come on, Jude, if I'm going to be your date, you have to touch me sometime this evening."

Stiffly, I place my hand on his arm. His flesh is warm beneath his black velvet sleeve. Together, we proceed into the lights of the revel.

The clearing isn't far from the beach, so we can hear the waves pounding the shore. Fey lights are strung from the trees, and pixies twinkle as they dart among the leaves. There are several bonfires, burning with strange colors, and already revelers are dancing around them, in complicated patterns of jigs and reels, to the music of several musicians, both mortal and faerie, perched in and among the trees. Faeries of all kinds dart past, laughing, twirling, singing in high-pitched voices to the music, eating honey cakes and swigging wine and mead. The air is spangled with glittering magical lights, like stars fallen to earth.

It's only when a few nearby revelers fall still and stare, and the first whisper rises—"Prince Cardan!"—that I realize what Cardan has done.

"You nitwit faerie!" I hiss into his ear. "Why aren't you wearing a glamour?"

"Because I didn't want to." He slices a grin at me. "Now, shall we go pick up a few drinks, or would you rather stand here whispering into my ear like you've lost your heart to me?"

I feel my face heat. Of course: that is what it must have looked like, to our curiously watching audience. Grinding my teeth, I let Cardan lead me, slow and sauntering, out among the revelers, right where everyone can get a good look at us. Just what is he playing at? I wonder furiously. I can't see any advantage to him in this, unless it's some complex game designed to humiliate me somehow.

"Ah, excellent, drinks!" Cardan says as we approach the kegs. "And no Oriana to stop me drinking as much as I like. Here, Jude, talk to this nice goblin while I get us some mead." And before I can protest, he's deposited me next to a tall, green-skinned goblin and hurried off to grab some tankards.

"Bad date?" The goblin has a remarkably melodious voice, at odds with his hideous appearance.

I make myself laugh. "Something like that. He's been living with us for a few weeks now."

"Yes, I heard." The goblin takes a drink. "You must be Jude Duarte, daughter of General Madoc. You can call me the Roach."

"Pleased to meet you, Roach," I say. "I haven't seen you around before. Are you new to Court?"

"Something like that." He nods at a white-haired female faerie and a human-looking male faerie. "My friends and I came here from the mainland, looking for opportunity."

My ears prick. "The mainland?" If Taryn is anywhere, she must be on Faerie's mainland. "Did you meet many mortals there?"

"Several." Roach takes another drink, eyeing me. "But if you're asking if we have heard anything regarding your missing sister, then I'm afraid the answer is no."

"Ah." I subside, disappointed. "So you've heard of our misfortune?"

"Everyone has heard of Taryn Duarte's disappearance." The female faerie speaks now, regarding me sympathetically. "You have our condolences, Jude Duarte. It is a terrible thing, to lose family."

"I appreciate your sympathies." And I do; I'm more moved than I dare to show. "What should I call you?"

"Call me the Bomb." She grins, white and fierce. "I like blowing things up."

"And I'm the Ghost," says the human-looking faerie.

"Pleased to meet you both," I say, nodding to them. "What sort of things do you blow up?" I ask the Bomb.

"Whatever I'm paid to blow up," she laughs.

I have to laugh too. "And have you been paid to blow up anything here at the High Court?"

"No, alas." Her laughter fades. "Actually, the High Court's been something of a disappointment."

"How so?"

"We were hoping to find employment with one of the nobles here," says the Roach. "Maybe even one of the Greenbriars. But the situation here…" He shakes his head. "It's too unstable."

"What do you mean?"

He gives a short laugh. "Well, the High King is getting old and tired, for a start. Tired of ruling; probably tired of living, too. But who is to succeed him? He hasn't named any of his sons as his successor. On the contrary, he publicly demonstrates contempt for all of them. And none of them have any children. There are no heirs in reserve, no grandchild for Eldred to groom as his successor. Faeries are starting to wonder if this is the end of the Greenbriar dynasty."

"The end of the Greenbriars?" I know I should shut my ears to this treason—I should turn my back and go find Cardan immediately, pretend I never heard any of this. But I'm too fascinated. "What would happen in that case?"

The Roach shrugs. "That's the problem: no one knows. Would Dain or Balekin vie for the crown? Neither of them has a powerbase sufficiently strong to guarantee victory, and even if they did, the problem remains: no children and thus no future. Would another monarch seize the High Throne? No one could possibly agree on who that monarch should be. There would be war on a vast scale, with millions dead. Would Faerie collapse into a hundred little kingdoms, all jostling for supremacy? That would mean anarchy."

"And the mortal world would suffer too," I murmur, thinking of the anarchy in Faerie spilling over onto Earth.

"Exactly. None of the outcomes are good, and everyone knows it. The courtiers are all jumpy as grasshoppers, desperate to come out on the right side, but they don't know what that right side will be. They don't dare make any bold moves, for fear they'll make a mistake that will cost them their lives. This is not a great environment for seeking employment. My friends and I haven't found anyone willing to hire us." He tips his glass at me in a toast. "And, ironically enough, it was your sister who decided our next course of action for us. When the daughters of powerful courtiers start disappearing and no one can find them, it's time to leave. We're heading out tomorrow."

I fight back a pang of disappointment. "Well, I'm sorry to see you go, Roach. It's been fascinating talking to you." I pause. "Perhaps a bit too fascinating. I don't think you'd do very well here at Court, to be honest."

"Not the Court as it is, perhaps." The Roach finishes his drink and sets it aside, regarding me thoughtfully. "Till next we meet, Jude Duarte."

"What makes you think we'll meet again?"

"Just a feeling." His eyes gleam. "Something tells me that you will someday be in a position to appreciate our talents, Miss Duarte."

Then he and his friends are gone, sliding away through the crowd like snakes.

"Did you manage to scare them off already?" Cardan appears at my side, armed with tankards of mead. He lets out a low whistle. "Quick work, even for you."

"Oh, shut up." I take one of the tankards, but don't drink from it. "Actually, it was Taryn who scared them off. Did you put anything in this mead? Or enchant it?"

"No and no, and just how did Taryn scare them off?" He takes a generous swig.

"They were here at Court looking for work, and Taryn's disappearance convinced them that it was a bad idea. Have you done anything to this mead, Cardan? Or had anyone else do anything? Or how about the tankard?"

He sighs wearily. "Relax, Jude. It's just mead, I swear. No one has tampered with it—or with the tankard."

"Good." I sip cautiously, but it really is just mead. I take a fuller drink.

He watches me. "You're very untrusting."

"I'd be a fool if I wasn't," I growl. "You haven't given me many reasons to trust you, Cardan Greenbriar."

"Only my sworn word," he says quietly. "And that actually means something from a faerie, you know, even if it doesn't from a mortal."

"Oh, yes." I roll my eyes. "It means ever so much, right to the point where you wriggle out of it through clever wording or an ambiguous phrase. Very honorable."

"Well, I'd be an idiot to try and wriggle out of it," Cardan points out. "Considering that your patronage is the only thing between me and homelessness right now. And Madoc and Oriana both believe the worst of me, and will happily take any excuse to throw me out." He drinks some more. "It's interesting that it was Taryn's disappearance that scared them off," he muses. "Did he say which aspect of her disappearance disturbed them so much?"

"The fact that a courtier's daughter vanished and no one can find her." I drink some more. "It is bizarre. There should have been signs or traces. And Madoc and Balekin should have found out something by now."

"Unless Taryn covered her tracks."

"Covered her tracks?" I blink at him. "You think Taryn actually ran away of her own volition?" I laugh disbelievingly. "Taryn?"

"It's a possibility." He takes another swig. Half of his mead is already gone. "And, frankly, anyone with any sense would try to run if Balekin was stalking them like that."

Midway through another sip, I choke. Coughing, I lower my tankard, trying to catch my breath. "Stalking her?"

"What else do you call it?" he shrugs. "Balekin wanted her, and he didn't particularly care whether she wanted him back. And there were Madoc and Oriana, trying to prostitute her to their own advantage. Taryn might have decided that she'd had enough."

I eye him a bit coldly. "You've given this some thought, Cardan."

"I've had time to think about it. And I saw—" He breaks off.

"You saw…what?" When he doesn't reply, I sigh in exasperation. "Fine. Don't tell me. Still that afraid of Balekin?"

"Yes."

I check at this, but toss back my hair. "All right, then I'll go find someone else to talk to. Someone who might actually help me." I start to move away, only to halt at his hand on my arm. "What are you doing, Cardan?" I demand, cold and hard.

"You're my date." His face has gone back to a humorous and unreadable mask again. This is the first time that I've realized that it is a mask. "And you're not leaving me here looking foolish on my own. Dance with me, Jude Duarte."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's going to look awfully strange for us to come to a revel together and then not dance," he says in that light, mocking tone. It's a mask too, I realize suddenly. So much of Cardan Greenbriar is a mask, an act. Where is the real person? "We will call attention to ourselves, and I don't think you want that." He suddenly pulls me into his arms, one hand behind my back. "Dance with me," he says again, his voice gone rough and charged.

I want to refuse. But he's right: it would look odd for us to come together and then split up to talk to other people. And, looking into his eyes, I feel my will to refuse melt away. Is this a spell? I wonder, my heart quickening. Is he enchanting me somehow?

But before I can act on my suspicions, the music changes, and he sweeps me into the dance.

Around and around we go, leaping and twirling around one another, kicking our feet, swaying in time to the music. Cardan spins me out and whirls me close, and I feel as light and graceful as a faerie in his arms. Strength and power flow through me, the music leaping in my veins, and I fling myself through flickering firelight and deepest shadow in his arms. When Cardan throws me into the air, I laugh in pure delight, and fall back into his arms with perfect trust, my body sliding down along his.

The song ends, and we slowly spin to a halt. Around us, revelers applaud and raise their voices in appreciation of the song, and for a moment I think they're applauding us: the dance Cardan and I have just performed. I'm panting, though I hardly feel winded, and to my surprise, Cardan is panting too. His black eyes shine as he looks at me. He hasn't let go of my hands, I notice suddenly.

"Well," he says at last, "that went surprisingly well."

"Surprisingly so," I agree. I haven't let go of his hands either. "Shall we try another set?" The musicians are warming up again.

He pulls me into his arms again. "If you insist."

The moon has passed its zenith and the stars have turned by the time we stagger out of the dance set and then out of the revel. The night spins around me, and I wonder yet again if Cardan has somehow enchanted me. Or maybe I just drank too much. I stumble, and fall against him. "Get off!" I snap, recoiling.

"And she's back again," he announces to no one in particular. "Jude Duarte, jumpy as a small, vicious rodent and just as likely to bite."

"And with teeth just as sharp," I retort. "You're staggering, Cardan. Just how much did you drink?"

"Hey," he says, weaving up against a tree, "you promised I could get drunk."

"No, I promised there would be booze."

"Now who's wriggling out of promises like a faerie?" he mutters.

He has a point, I suppose. "I don't particularly care if you get off your face," I say, "except I need you to light the way home."

He sighs, but conjures a light that drifts over to me. "There," he says. "It'll stay lit for you. You guide us home, Jude; I'm too drunk."

I sigh. "All right, hold onto me."

He half-leans against me as we start homeward through the woods. I have to admit, it's not entirely unpleasant.

Our progress is slow, though, and we attract the attention of a few faeries, sliding through the woods or flitting through the branches to stare at us. I glare at them, and lift my skirt to show my cold-iron dagger. That scares most of them off.

Until we hear a high-pitched cackle, and the crash of someone taking even less care than we are to move quietly through the woods. Cardan stiffens, and I draw my dagger, my drunkenness evaporating, as the night hag comes around the footpath and weaves to a halt, staring at us with crazed yellow eyes.

I throw back Cardan to go to into defensive stance, my cold-iron weapon at the ready, but she makes no move to attack. Instead she staggers around, cackling and singing softly under her breath.

"Where is the prince?" she demands suddenly, voice cracking across the nighttime woods. "I have a message for the prince!"

Cardan steps forward. "I am here." He suddenly seems a lot less drunk, regarding the night hag with steady eyes. "What is the message? Who is it from?"

"From the moon and stars that saw the evil deed, boy." She staggers closer, the scent of leaves and earth and starlight breathing off her. "From the darkness that screamed, and from the earth that cried out that night. And the message is not for you. It is for your brother."

"Which one?" Still Cardan stands steady, even as the crazed hag weaves and stumbles closer to him.

"The son of the star-eyed lady." The hag is only inches away now, yellow eyes fixed on Cardan. "Tell him the message, boy. Tell him it not the hand that kills that he must fear, but the hand that heals. Tell him to fear the whorled horn, and the scorpion's tail. Tell him that his own blood shall betray him, and the lost princess shall revile him. Tell him that the silent one lives still, and those of her blood shall determine the fate of the crown." The hag claws at Cardan's chest. "Tell him that, boy!"

Then her eyes roll up in her head and she collapses to the ground. Cardan and I stand still, staring at her fallen form. She gives a long, bubbling snore.

"Well," Cardan says at last, "that's it, then." He takes hold of my arms, escorting me around the unconscious hag.

I glance over my shoulder at her. "Will she be all right?"

"Right as rain, once she wakes up. But she won't remember a thing." He gives me a quick smile, face greenish in the magical light. "She was prophesying, Jude. It wasn't her speaking."

"Prophesying…" I glance over my shoulder at her again. "But what did it mean? The son of the star-eyed lady? The hand that heals? The silent one? And what lost princess?"

"How should I know?" Cardan shrugs. "Taniot is beautiful, but no one would describe her as star-eyed, so I suppose the prophecy must have meant Balekin."

"Balekin?" I trip over a tree root. "But that prophecy made it sound like—like a crime had been committed. Like there would be vengeance for a crime."

"Is that so surprising, considering my brother?" Cardan asks, voice incongruously light. "I will admit that that prophecy was a bit ominous. My brother might be in for a bit of trouble."

I shove at him. "Will you take this seriously? She mentioned the fate of the crown!"

"Yes, that it would be determined by people related by blood to this 'silent one'. Can you understand that, Jude?"

I grind my teeth. "Not really," I admit at last. We walk further on. "Will you tell Balekin?" I ask at last.

"No." We round the final corner and emerge from the woods. Madoc's stronghold looms against the star, with only a few windows lit. "My brother wouldn't listen, and anyway that prophesying hag didn't make me promise."

"It sounds like your brother's in serious trouble, though," I point out.

He looks at me, eyes gleaming in the light as it winks out. "And I should mourn?"

Good point. I step closer to Cardan, letting him throw the glamour of darkness over us. It doesn't work on faeries who look at us straight on, but will allow us to slip past the guards who aren't expecting to see us. Over the last few weeks, on our nocturnal sorties to the cliffs, we've also perfected a route that minimizes the number of sentries we have to pass.

As we start on our winding, circuitous route, my thoughts on the guards trigger old, dark memories. My left hand clenches, remembering that guard who bit the top digit of my finger off. Odd—I haven't really thought of him in years. And—now that I think about it—I haven't seen him at all since that day. It's like he just disappeared.

Funny. I wonder what happened to him?

Then I shrug it off. It's not important. I concentrate on getting the intoxicated prince indoors, the prophecy still whirling around my head.