The sun had set on the Ironside, and a long, bedraggled line of mortals and faeries trailed behind Cardan Greenbriar as he led them through the darkening human town.

Jude felt like today had lasted forever. It hardly seemed possible that just twelve hours ago Madoc had been alive and she'd been preparing for Dain's coronation. She couldn't get over the weirdness of the current situation: walking along a human sidewalk, cars rushing past on their left, following Cardan, of all people, to the home of some human woman he knew.

She hurried to catch up with him. "How do you know this Margaret person, anyway?" A bus swept past, bathing them with harsh light.

"I told you," Cardan said. "She was one of Balekin's servants until I rescued her. She owes me a debt."

"And will she honor that?"

"She should." Cardan shrugged. "She has all the other times I've been to see her. I'll admit, I haven't asked her for a favor quite this big before, though."

"I can't believe you would rescue a mortal from Balekin's service," Jude hissed. "You hate mortals."

Cardan was quiet so long Jude thought he was going to ignore her completely. Then: "Maybe. But it was still a miserable business living with such wretched ones." They turned a corner, onto a quieter street, lined with near-identical townhouses. "It makes me wonder about Alvara's mother."

"Alvara's mother?" Jude could barely think back to Balekin's surprise daughter without a shudder. The princess's mother she hadn't even considered.

"Didn't you notice she was half-mortal?" Cardan's voice was incongruously light. "Balekin took some human woman as his consort in order to conceive her. Can't I say I envy that woman, whoever she was. Ah, here we are!" He straightened, spotting something up ahead, and walked faster, all the others hurrying after him.

The townhouse Cardan had spotted was very like all the rest. The only feature that might have distinguished it was a wrought-iron fence and gate walling its front steps off from the street. Cardan gave the iron fence a distasteful look and shouted, "Margaret! Margaret, it's me!"

Jude and the others watched as a shadow moved across the house's curtained, golden-glowing window. A moment later, the front door opened.

There, silhouetted in electric light, was a scowling middle-aged human woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. "Cardan, what are you—?" She broke off as she beheld the crowd clustered up behind the prince. "What the hell?" she squawked.

"Good evening, Margaret," Cardan said urbanely. "Can you open the gate and let us in? We need your help."

Margaret folded her arms. "With what?"

"It's not something we can discuss on the street. Come on, Margaret, let us in! There's some news from Elfhame you're going to want to hear."

"We mean no harm," Lysander said earnestly. "We swear, we will not knowingly hurt you tonight."

"Very reassuring, pointy-ear," Margaret drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she heaved a sigh, seeming to come to a reluctant decision, and stomped down to open the gate.

"Good to see you again, Margaret," said Cardan, sailing past her up the steps.

"Can't say the same, little prince," she snarled back. "I always knew you'd bring disaster sooner or later. Like all pointy-ears." She cast an unloving eye over the parade of humans and faeries moving up her steps.

Vivi glanced over her shoulder at the glowering mortal. "Wow, she really doesn't like faeries, does she?" she said to Cardan.

"Of course she doesn't." They passed into the house, entering a warm, cozy living room. "And I don't blame her."

"So why do you think she'll help us?" Oriana demanded. She held Oak's hand, her son swaying in exhaustion at her side.

"Because we're friends of a sort. And there's one faerie she hates beyond all others." Cardan's eyes gleamed in the electric lamps. "My brother Balekin."

Lysander came in last. Margaret came in after him, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes traveled in disgust and disbelief on the crowd crammed into her living room. Everyone except Tatterfell was still wearing their coronation finery, Jude realized for the first time: a glittering, magical assemblage that did not in any way fit or belong in this mundane living room. Not even her and Taryn.

Margaret turned at last to Cardan. "What the hell, Cardan?"

"This is hardly the first time I've brought refugees to your door, Margaret," he said, still calm. "How's Sophie doing, by the way?"

"Don't even try that," Margaret snapped. "This is the first time you've brought me a whole passel of faeries!"

"Jude and I aren't faeries," Taryn piped up.

Margaret shot her a glare. "No. You're collaborators." Pointedly, she turned back to Cardan. "What's this all about?"

He sighed. "I'll get to the point: Balekin's seized the crown. He's High King of the Faeries, starting today."

The blood drained out of Margaret's face. For the first time, her face expressed something other than anger, disgust and hostility: shock and horror. "Balekin…he's…?"

"I'm afraid so, madam," said Oriana now. "He killed my husband after taking the throne. We were forced to flee."

"No…" Margaret tottered back, falling into a chair. Her eyes were blank dishes of shock. "That…that evil…that evil piece of shit…He's King now?"

"Yes," said Cardan. "So you see why none of us really wanted to stay in Elfhame."

"I—I suppose not." Margaret seemed to be pulling herself together already. She didn't stand up, but she sat straighter in her chair, focusing on Cardan. "What happened?"

Cardan told the whole story, matter-of-fact and straightforward. Jude was glad he took over the task: she didn't think she'd be able to tell the story with any coherence. Everyone stood silent as Cardan explained, even the children, although Oak did thump to the floor midway through the recital, unable to stand up any longer.

At last Cardan fell silent. Margaret sat still. The color had returned to her face, but her lips were pressed thin and her eyes burned.

"My God," she said at last. "So now you're…you're on the run?"

"Yes," said Cardan. "All of us. Balekin's reign isn't going to favor any of us." He left out the bit about Philomel being Balekin's daughter, Jude noticed.

"And you expect me to help you?" Margaret's eyes sharpened again.

"Madam, we would be most grateful for any aid," Oriana said quickly. "However small."

Margaret looked around at the crowd of jewel-bedecked faeries and mortals again. "Why should I take such a risk?" she hissed. "Why shouldn't I turn you all in?"

"Now, Margaret, we both know you aren't going to do that," said Cardan, a sly note in his voice. "You may regard me as a pointy-eared little nuisance, but you loathe Balekin with every particle of your being. You'd rather die than do anything to oblige him. You'll do anything to inconvenience him."

At this Margaret almost smiled. "I guess I would, at that." She took a deep breath. "You're in luck, pointy-ears. One of my rentals is freed up: you can all stay there for now. But I want you to look for other accommodation as soon as you can, understand?"

Everyone nodded. Oriana laid her hand on her heart. "Madam, we swear."

Margaret sighed. "I guess that'll have to do." She turned to Oriana. "Sorry for your loss." She looked to Jude, Vivienne and Taryn. "And yours."

Oriana gave a faint smile. "Your condolences are appreciated, Mistress Upton."

"And don't feel too bad," chirped Vivi. "I never much liked my dad."

At that point, it hit Jude. Madoc was dead. He was really dead. That monstrous but dynamic presence, the man who'd been her father for ten years…was gone. She'd always thought the immortal redcap would outlive her, but instead she'd outlived him. She was never going to see him again. Ever.

The room blurred before Jude's eyes. She squeezed them shut, desperately willing the tears away.

"Jude?" Cardan sounded odd, and Jude turned away from him hastily. She'd rather die than let him see her crying.

Then, like a miracle, Philomel began to squall, miserable, exhausted sobs. Everyone looked at the child, and Jude was able to dry her eyes and recompose herself. Philomel kept crying. Taryn jogged her up and down, murmuring, but the toddler kept weeping.

"Oh, here." Margaret held out her arms. "Give her to me. You look like you're about to fall off your feet." At Taryn's hesitation, she let out an exasperated noise. "I'm not going to hurt her!"

Still hesitant, Taryn handed Philomel off to the older woman. Philomel calmed almost immediately, staring at Margaret with great purple eyes. Margaret's face softened, and she rocked the child gently. "Hey, there, kid…" She looked around the assemblage of uninvited guests again, gaze a bit softer. "I guess you'll all have to stay here tonight," she said at last, reluctantly. "But in the morning you leave, understand?"

Everyone nodded again. Margaret gave her own crisp nod and hitched Philomel up. "Guess I'd better make you all dinner," she muttered, more to herself than to them. "Before you drop dead."

"Can you make some of those fruit-stuffed pancakes, like last time?" Cardan asked hopefully.

"Sure, if you cut up the fruit," Margaret shrugged. "Though I don't have any strawberries."

Minutes later, Jude found herself sitting at a long dining table, watching through the open door into the kitchen, where Margaret moved around cracking eggs and mixing flour while Cardan chopped up a variety of fruit. Tatterfell tried to help, but Margaret fended her off. Jude couldn't stop staring. Of all the scenes she'd ever witness, this was the most surreal: Cardan Greenbriar, arrogant princeling par excellence, hater of all things mortal, moving around a mortal's kitchen at her order, cutting up fruit with a mortal's steel knife.

Vivi seemed as bemused as she was. She leaned in to whisper, "Did you know Cardan had this…secret life?"

Jude shook her head, eyes still fixed on the bizarre scene. "I had no idea." It occurred to her that she had no idea about a lot of things about Cardan.

Soon, Margaret and Cardan came into the dining room, Margaret carrying a plat stacked with the biggest pile of pancakes Jude had ever seen and Cardan bearing a vast bowl of chopped fruit. "I'll get the silverware," said Margaret. "I've got plastic ones for the pointy-ears. Cardan, you get out the plates."

Jude watched as Cardan went straight to the cupboard and got out a stack of porcelain plates. Clearly, he'd done this before.

Tatterfell, obviously no longer able to bear the sight of a prince doing manual labor, stood to take the plates from Cardan and place one before each diner. Cardan sat grandly across from Jude and, taking up a plastic fork, transferred three pancakes to his plate. "Your pancakes are so good, Margaret!"

"Flatterer!" Still, the glance Margaret cast the prince was nearly affectionate.

"How often have you eaten here before, Cardan?" Jude could hear the incredulity in her own voice.

"A dozen times or so," Cardan shrugged. "I've spent the night sometimes too."

"He's a pointy-eared little nuisance," said Margaret, pouring Cardan a glass of orange juice. "Always sponging. And bringing refugees to my door."

"Come on, Margaret, you know you don't mind," grinned Cardan. "How is Sophie, anyway?"

"She's fine," Margaret said grudgingly. "Living in a group home with some other girls and getting help from a therapist who knows about Faerie." She shot Cardan a sharp look. "Is Balekin going to look for any of us, now that he's High King?"

"I wouldn't think so," said Cardan, munching. "I'd think he was going to be too busy. But…" He spread his hands helplessly. "He's got much vaster resources now. And who knows if some faerie isn't going to buy some goodwill by turning in the High King's missing servants?"

"Marvelous," snarled Margaret. She sat and speared a pancake, chewing and glowering at Cardan.

Everyone sat and ate, even Tatterfell (although she was reluctant to sit with aristocrats, and Oriana had to order her to eat). Jude's brain revived a little under the influence of food, but not much. She kept thinking she was missing something—something was bothering her—but she couldn't think what. Her thoughts were still a fuzzy mess.

At the end of the meal, Taryn turned to Margaret. "Thank you for dinner, Margaret." In her lap, Philomel slumped, half-asleep.

Margaret sniffed. "You're welcome." She pushed back from the table. "Leave the dishes. They can wait until morning. I just hope I have enough linens for all you people." She rubbed her forehead, looking very tired.

"We are most grateful to you, Mistress Upton," said Oriana. She gave a graceful curtsy. "And we will repay you as soon as we can."

"Oh, no!" Margaret recoiled. "No, no, no, no! No repayments. No faerie bargains!"

"We can't simply leave the debt unpaid!" said Oriana, scandalized.

"The debt needn't be paid in magic." Lysander intervened. "I have quite a lot of human money, Ms. Upton. Real money, not faerie imitations. What financial remuneration do you think would be fair?"

Margaret still looked wary, but relieved at the same time. "I can get a rental contract for you," she said. "You can pay me regular rent. And keep your mouths shut about me, understand? I don't need more pointy-ears coming to my door, and I especially don't need High Court soldiers. Or Balekin finding out where I am. Understand?"

Everyone nodded again. Oriana curtsied once more. "The bargain is made, Mistress Upton."

"Good." Margaret still looked uneasy, but nodded. "Come on. A lot of you are going to have to sleep on the floor tonight…"

Margaret was right. The old human woman had only one guestroom, with a single bed and a trundle underneath. Lysander gallantly insisted that Oriana take the bed and Taryn the trundle, with their children tucked up next to them. Lysander himself made a nest of cushions and blankets on the floor next to Taryn's trundle. Margaret got out a folded thing from a closet that she used an ingenious pump to blow air into. It turned into a mattress, which she laid on the floor beside her own bed for Vivienne, Jude and Tatterfell. Cardan, meanwhile, was banished down to the living room sofa.

"I don't see why I can't have a bed," the prince sniffed, poking at the cushions and knitted throw rug.

"Suck it up, pointy-ear," said Margaret, utterly without sympathy. "You're the one who came begging for my help, so you take what you're given. Besides, it'll build your character, to sleep on the sofa." She grinned.

"My character is perfectly well-built already." But, when Jude last saw him, he was arranging cushions and the rug with something approaching goodwill.

Jude hurried after Margaret, her arms full of bedclothes for the air mattress. "Margaret…you and Cardan…"

Margaret, pillows stacked in her arms, turned and gave her a surprisingly bright grin. "I hate faeries," she said simply. "They're an evil and untrustworthy bunch. But Cardan did save me. And he's not like his brother." She paused. "Well, not yet, at least."

Jude's head was reeling. "But why did he save you?"

Margaret sighed. "You know, I've often asked myself that question. I asked him too. He said he wanted me out of his sight, but then he kept coming back. Bringing more servants he'd rescued, or just turning up for dinner. He needed a break from that vile brother of his now and then, I guess. So yeah, I've fed him, and watched Netflix with him, and let him spend the night. But he's always gone in the morning." She let out a short laugh. "Not this time, though. God, Balekin as King…" She shook her head in horror.

"What did he do to you?" Jude whispered.

Margaret's faced closed. "I made a bargain, when I was young and stupid," she said in clipped tones. "Balekin collected on it, and more. And that's all I care to tell you." She started to move on, then checked, looking at Jude's dress. "Glad Cardan's dress came out so nice, anyway."

"What?" Jude blinked.

"Well, aren't you the girl he made the dress for?" Margaret sounded a bit puzzled. "Last time he was here, he was asking me all about mortal girls and what kind of gifts they liked. I told him a pretty dress was never wrong, and he said that was a great idea and he knew just the thing. And now I kind of recognize Cardan's style." She admired Jude's gown again. "One thing you can say for him: he has good taste."

Jude's skin crawled where the dress touched it. "Cardan wouldn't give me gifts. He hates me."

"Does he, now?" The look Margaret gave her was far too knowing, but to Jude's relief she didn't pursue the topic. She hitched up her load of pillows. "Let's get your bed set up, huh?"

She set off down the hallway. After a moment, Jude followed after, still wondering.

It wasn't until much later—when deep night had fallen and everyone else was asleep—that Jude suddenly awoke, mind ringing with alarm.

For a moment, she couldn't think what she was so alarmed about. She lay between Vivienne and Tatterfell, Margaret asleep on the bed above them, and wondered exactly what had woken her. What was sending alarm bells ringing through her brain.

Then she realized.

The Court of Shadows. They were Balekin's prisoners now.

And, if Jude didn't do something very soon, they were going to tell Balekin that Jude had been one of them.

Note: I really dislike the Sophie arc in TCP. I find her suicide deeply problematic. I wanted to give her a different ending here. Thanks!