Around Jude, the cheers and shouts of the Folk rose again, deafening and unreal. Jude could not make sense of them. She could not make sense of anything. She could only stare at her foster father's detached head, at last rolled to a halt on the dais.

Dead. Madoc, her foster father, her parents' murderer, her kidnapper, the dominant force in her life for a decade, unstoppable, invincible. And he was just dead.

Lysander was dragging her aside now, Jude realized: pulling her along the edge of the room, ducking and dodging the wildly celebrating faeries. Jude wondered vaguely where they were going, but couldn't really be troubled about it. Her mind was a bleak, blank expanse.

Madoc was dead.

They were standing by Cardan. How had that happened? The prince looked hardly less shocked than Jude felt, staring with black eyes like holes in his white face.

"Right," growled Lysander tersely. "You both come with me."

This seemed to startle Cardan back into some semblance of control. "Why should I go—?"

But Lysander wasn't paying any heed. Still holding Jude with one hand, he reached out and grabbed Cardan by the shoulder.

The last glimpse Jude had of the throne room, before Lysander's translocation spell whirled them aside, was of King Balekin leaning back on the throne, a grin of pure exaltation on his face, handing his daughter a jeweled goblet of wine.

Then the world blurred and slipped. There was a sense of being spun aside, of falling. And Jude found herself staggering at Lysander's side in the entry hall of Madoc's mansion, Cardan stumbling on Lysander's other side.

"Lysander!" Oriana, still dressed in her coronation finery, came running down the stairs. "Lysander, what's happening? Where's Madoc?" She drew back at the sight of Cardan. "And why have you brought the prince here?" Behind her, Vivienne, Oak and Taryn, carrying Philomel, were all streaming down the stairs, faces strained with anxiety.

"Balekin's seized the throne," Lysander said grimly. "He has been lawfully crowned. He got his revenge on Dain. And he had Madoc killed."

At this, this blunt, cold statement of the facts, a lance of pain ran through Jude. She swayed at Lysander's side, letting out a long, low moan. He caught hold of her, not letting her fall.

Oak looked terrified, clutching Taryn's dress. Taryn herself had gone white-faced, clutching the wide-eyed Philomel. Vivienne, on the other hand, was fighting down a grin. She visibly trembled, trying to keep it in, but at last it burst out: a long, delighted peal of laughter.

"Yes! Yes!" She thrust both fists into the air, dancing around on the stair. "Madoc's dead! He's dead! There's justice after all!"

"Vivi!" Taryn scolded, while Oriana whirled on her eldest stepdaughter, her gaze icy.

"And will you still be celebrating when our enemies come for us, now that our protector is dead?" she demanded, her voice as icy as her eyes. Vivi quieted at this, though her eyes still shone and she couldn't seem to keep the grin off her face.

A murmur of anxiety and horror rose around the entry hall. The household servants had gathered, Jude realized: guards and maids, faces horrified. Tatterfell, on the stairs above Taryn, Oak and Vivienne, put her hand to her mouth. This was as big a disaster for them as it was for the family, Jude thought: in some ways, more so.

"All right." Oriana drew herself up. Jude felt a flash of surprise, and grudging admiration, at how dry her eyes were, how determined her face. "Everyone! Spread the word among the household and the knights and guards. The Grand General has been executed and Balekin been crowned High King. It is not safe for any of us to remain here. You are all released from our service. Take what compensation you feel is your due from the household furnishings, excluding the family's personal possessions. And then I advise you all to leave as quickly as possible. Go back to your families or find other positions. But this is no place to remain. Hurry!"

The servants all scattered, running like mice. In the developing chaos, Oriana drew the family together. "We must leave," she said in a low voice. "As soon as possible."

Lysander nodded. "We should go to my house on the Ironside."

"No!" Everyone looked around at Taryn's unexpected exclamation. She was whiter than ever, clutching Philomel hard. "We can't go back to the house," she said in a quick, desperate whisper. "Lysander—Balekin knows. He came up to me at the reception and as good as told me…!"

"Knows what? Told you what?" It was the first rational statement Jude had spoken since Madoc's death, and it didn't feel rational at all. The world was spinning, slipping out of control. Nothing made sense. "What does Balekin know?"

Cardan, meanwhile, was staring at Philomel. Specifically, her astonishing purple-and-silver eyes. He glanced between Philomel and Taryn. He groaned. "Oh no…"

"Oh no, what?" demanded Vivienne, but Jude's mind had suddenly flashed back to the coronation. To something Balekin had said.

You never knew about my older daughter…

My older daughter…

Taryn stared at her tiny, bewildered niece. The half-faerie who looked like neither Lysander nor Locke. The little girl with hair as black as Balekin's. The child whose birth had necessitated Taryn's hasty marriage and exile.

"Oh no," Jude whispered. "Oh, Taryn, tell me it's not true…"

Taryn looked ready to faint. But still she whispered back, "It's true."

Silence fell on the tiny circle in the midst of the chaos of the disintegrating household. Even Oak was quiet, sensing the truth and knowing it was too dangerous to say aloud.

Philomel was Balekin's daughter. She was a secret Greenbriar heir. And now her father had seized the throne.

"We must be gone." Oriana pulled herself together first. "Before the new King's troops arrive. Everyone, go get your things and meet me back behind the house, in the stable yard. Lysander, you stay with Jude and Taryn and keep them safe."

Lysander nodded. "I will."

"What about me?" Cardan demanded.

Oriana gave him a hard, unloving look. "You're staying with me, Your Highness."

"Unforgiven still, I see," sighed the prince.

"Come." Lysander gestured at Jude and Taryn, leading them up the stairs.

Jude trailed along behind her sister and her brother-in-law. One of her horn-shaped plaits had come undone, she realized, streaming in knotted waves over her shoulder. Well, why not? Everything else had fallen apart. The world had turned upside down and she could not make sense of it.

Madoc, the great constant of her life, was dead. Dain, her protector and patron, was dead as well. Dain, who she had hoped would be a good King, or at least one who would favor her, had been a cowardly child-killer. And while she'd been plotting with Dain, Madoc had been plotting with Balekin.

How could she have missed all of this?

Now Oriana and Lysander had taken charge and Jude had no choice but to obey. And somehow, Cardan was an ally now. And they were all being forced to flee.

And Taryn had had Balekin's baby. All this while, Jude's niece had been a Greenbriar princess, and she'd never even suspected.

Jude thought of her own smug, self-congratulatory preening at being a spy. How stupid that seemed now. How childish. She'd thought she knew everything, that she was two steps ahead of everyone else. And it turned out she didn't know a thing.

Jude stumbled to catch up with Taryn. "Taryn…what made you…what happened…?"

"Not here, Jude." Taryn was still white-faced with shock, but her eyes shone with the same steely light as Oriana's. Her jaw was clenched, and she held Philomel like she never wanted to let her daughter go. "I'll explain later, when we're safe."

Servants ran past them, many of them holding ornaments or furnishings. They'd taken Oriana's words to heart, and were stripping the house. Jude felt another ravaging surge of pain, at seeing the rooms and hallways of her childhood home torn apart, the former servants rushing by without a second glance. She knew Oriana's decision had been the right one—the servants were owed compensation, and there was no point in leaving the mansion intact for whatever sycophant Balekin planned to install as the new Grand General—but it still contributed to Jude's sense of helpless disintegration.

Lysander stopped them outside Jude's bedroom. "Go in and grab what you need," he instructed her. "I'll give you five minutes."

Jude nodded and ran inside. Her bedroom was weirdly, eerily untouched, unchanged. Even the book of tactics still lay open on her desk.

For a moment, Jude considered packing that book, but decided against it. She went instead to her closet, where she threw some clothes into a bag. She buckled on some sheathes around her person, sliding in the knives. She hefted up her father's sword.

Then she went to her knees and felt under the bed until she found her cache of poisons. She'd lost everything else, but this at least she could keep.

Jude shoved the poisons down to the bottom of the bag, below her clothes. She buckled on the sword. Then she looked around her bedroom.

This was the last time she was ever going to see it, she realized suddenly. Just like when Madoc had killed her parents and spirited her and her sisters away. Just like that day, a parent had died and she was being torn away to another world. And she was never going to see her childhood home ever again.

Jude tore herself away. She crossed rapidly to the door and stepped out to join Taryn and Lysander.

"I'm ready," she told them, and they ran to Taryn and Lysander's suite.

Jude held Philomel as Taryn and Lysander packed with as much haste as Jude had herself. Jude cradled her niece, hardly able to take her eyes off her. Balekin's daughter. This little girl, who loved sparkly dresses and playing with leaves in Lysander's garden, was Balekin's daughter. A Greenbriar princess.

"Auntie?" Philomel stared at her with huge twilight-colored eyes. "Auntie…?"
Jude forced a smile. "We have to go," she told Philomel. "So be good."

Philomel's lower lip quivered. Before she could start screaming, however, Taryn swept her back, murmuring and soothing her.

"Come on," said Lysander, holding the bags, and led the way, running back down the stairs, through the house, to the abandoned stable yard.

Someone had opened the stable doors, letting the horses and other mounts go free. Jude's gaze went irresistibly to the patch of earth where she'd buried Valerian, that night that now seemed so long ago. What if someone dug him up…? But even if they did, maybe that wouldn't matter anymore.

Cardan and Vivienne were standing by Oriana. Oriana held Oak's hand and a loaded bag in the other. Oak, eyes huge, was clutching his stuffed snake. Oriana straightened as Taryn, Philomel, Lysander and Jude approached, but broke off when a smaller figure came hurtling from the house.

It was Tatterfell. The imp carried no luggage, and was more disheveled than Jude had ever seen her. Her eyes were bright with urgency. "Wait! Wait!" she called. "Take me with you," she panted, coming to a halt by their party. "Please, Lady Oriana."

"Tatterfell…" Oriana's eyes softened. "Are you sure? We're not good people to know right now. And your contract with Madoc ended with his death. You don't owe us any service."

"I owed the General my service," Tatterfell said quietly, "but you have earned it, my lady. My place is with you and the girls. I give you my service and my loyalty, my lady, as long as you desire them."

Even through her blank white shock, Jude felt her heart touched. Oriana softened further. "All right, Tatterfell," she said, "though I warn you, the road we walk will likely not be an easy one, or without its dangers."

Tatterfell's eyes shone with relief. "I have faced dangers before." She curtsied. "My lady." She turned to curtsy to Cardan. "My prince."

Jude found her own attention shifting to Cardan too. "Why is he here?" Her voice snapped out, waspish to her own ears. She felt a wash of hatred and resentment, and she welcomed it. At least her hatred for Cardan was known and familiar, the one constant in the midst of this crisis. "Why are we taking that worthless little prince along?"

"Miss Jude!" Tatterfell scolded, scandalized.

"Actually, that's a good question," said Taryn, turning to Lysander.

"I'm not a worthless prince," protested Cardan, but not very loudly. He looked nervous, and this gave Jude a mean satisfaction.

Lysander rubbed his brows. He looked very tired and very old, if a faerie could be said to be so. "Let's just say I have certain obligations," he said at last.

"Well, I have obligations too." Oriana had drawn herself up again. She glared at Cardan with as much icy menace as Madoc had ever mustered. "If we have you along, prince," she pronounced, "it's with the understanding that you behave yourself. You will not bully or torment my daughters, or any member of my family. Including Jude and Taryn. You will treat all of us with perfect respect and courtesy. You will make yourself useful whenever you can. If you don't do these things…" She stepped closer, and Jude had the pleasure of watching Cardan shrink back. "I just might buy myself and my family some goodwill from the new High King by turning you in. Is this in any way unclear, Cardan?"

Cardan's eyes darted to and fro. But bitter understanding grew in his eyes: he wasn't a prince anymore. He was a fugitive on the run from a High King who personally disliked him. And he couldn't afford to turn down any protection, no matter what conditions it came with.

"I understand, Lady Oriana." He bowed his head. "While I am with you, I will abide by your terms."

"No." Everyone turned at Jude's voice. But her eyes remained on Cardan, glaring. "That's not good enough," Jude said, voice sharp with hatred and spite. "Before I go anywhere with you, Cardan, you're going to get on your knees and swear never again to treat me like you have in the past. You're going to apologize. Right now."

Oriana looked impatient. "Jude, I understand your feelings, but we don't have time—"

"No." Vivi spoke now, eyes slits on Cardan. "No, this is fair. This is what the little rat deserves."

"That's right." Taryn nodded. Even Tatterfell folded her arms, glowering at the prince.

Cardan glanced around. But he saw only a palisade of flinty faces and hard eyes. No one here had any reason to love him, and much reason to hate him.

Slowly, Cardan go to his knees in the mud. He bowed his head before Jude. "I apologize for my previous behavior to you, Jude Duarte," he said, voice measured and formal. "I apologize for all the insults I ever gave you. I apologize for all the mean-spirited pranks I pulled. I will never treat you with contempt or disdain ever again. I will never treat your sister Taryn like that ever again, or any member of your family. All of this I swear."

Jude stood over the abased prince and felt a swell of fierce, spiteful pleasure. At last, at last, she had triumphed. Cardan was on his knees before her. But, alongside the triumph and exaltation, she remembered the stinging scream of Balekin's whip. Cardan's face when he told her of his mother's death.

"All right, that's enough." Lysander reached down and hauled Cardan to his feet. "We're done with that. Now we must decide where to go. We can't go back to my house."

"I know a place where we might go," Cardan said unexpectedly. "Margaret Upton's."

"Who?" asked Oriana.

"Margaret's a mortal I rescued from Balekin's service," Cardan explained. "We've kept in contact over the last few years. She owes me a huge debt for saving her. And she owns several properties."

Oriana let out a surprised little sniff of approval. "Really? Well, well. Seems like you will be useful after all, Your Highness."

"Wait—it's some kind of trick, isn't it?" Jude wished her hands were less full, so she could grab Nightfell more easily. "You're trying to get us all killed or something, aren't you?"

Cardan looked impatient. "No, actually. It's not a trick. I'm just trying to get us all to safety. I swear. Balekin will never think to look for us among Margaret's properties." At Jude's continued suspicious silence, he let out an exasperated noise. "You're going to have to trust me at some point, Jude!"

"Cardan's right," said Taryn. She was jittering around, clutching Philomel and looking around like she expected soldiers to come swarming out of the outbuildings. "We've wasted enough time. We need to get out of here."

"Yes." Lysander strode to snatch up some grass stalks and throw them down, murmuring the spell. Ragwort steeds, one for each of them, stood harnessed and ready. "Lead the way to this mortal of yours, Your Highness."

"Less of the 'Your Highness' stuff, if you don't mind," said Cardan, climbing into the saddle. "We don't want it advertised that I'm a Greenbriar. And I'm hardly any kind of prince now."

To her astonishment, Jude found a smile tugging her lips at this. She smothered it hastily, climbing into her own saddle. Cardan was up to something, she just knew it. There was absolutely no way the spoiled, arrogant, cruel little prince was just going to accept their terms and abide by them. She must watch for the betrayal that was surely coming.

Jude galloped into the sky after her family. She spared one glance for Elfhame, for the islands that were her home, glittering like emeralds in a sea of sapphire. Then she turned away and did not look back again, all the way to the human world.