True to form, Grianne didn’t answer out loud. She just nodded, the constant spinning of her Merry Dancers throwing green-and-white shadows across her face.

“Good,” I said, skirting dangerously close to the forbidden thanks. “Guys, come on.” I started into the ballroom, where I could cut across to the receiving hall, and walk from there to the western antechamber, as long as the knowe hadn’t rearranged itself again. Quentin and Connor followed close behind me; Etienne and Garm followed them. Between the five of us, we had two knives and two ceremonial swords. At least one of the knives was iron, and even so, I have never felt so unarmed inside the walls of Shadowed Hills.

Connor was walking even more slowly than normal, probably due to the head injury. I dropped back a bit to walk between him and Quentin, glancing from one to the other. “You guys doing okay?”

“Fine,” said Quentin.

“My head hurts, but I think I’ll live,” Connor said.

“You’re going to see Jin when this is done,” I said. “No one gets to ignore a concussion on my watch.”

Connor frowned. “Are you going to see her, too?”

“Huh?” I realized I’d been rubbing my temple as we walked. Suddenly scowling, I leaned over to pluck the cup from his unresisting hands. “It’s just a headache. Changeling, remember? I gave myself a bad case of magic-burn.”

“I thought that was a real dress,” said Connor, frown fading into bafflement. “What did you do? Try to cast a don’t-look-here on the entire ballroom or something?”

I hesitated. Had I used any magic since we reached the Ball? I didn’t remember doing anything since resetting the apartment wards, and that was a small enough spell that it shouldn’t have been an issue, even for me.

I didn’t have time to answer; we’d reached the antechamber door. I reached for the latch, pausing as I realized we hadn’t passed a single person during the walk from the terrace. The knowe might as well have been deserted. “Now there’s a pleasant thought,” I muttered, and opened the door.

May looked up, mouth half-full of cucumber salad, and mumbled something through the gooey mass of mashed-up bread, cream cheese, and vegetable matter. My leather jacket was on the bench next to her. Swallowing, she tried again: “Did you find out who pulled the fire alarm?”

Raising an eyebrow, I looked at Etienne.

“We couldn’t precisely evacuate the knowe on account of attempted regicide,” he said. He at least had the grace to look embarrassed.

“So you pulled a fire drill?” I shook my head. “Oberon’s ass, this place gets weirder all the time. May, Luna’s been attacked. I need you to go down the hill and call Danny to come give you a ride home.”

She stared at me, sandwich dangling forgotten in her hand. “Luna’s been what? Is she going to be okay?”

“We don’t know yet, but she—”

“Will do far, far better when she knows that you’re far, far away,” replied a familiar voice behind me. I stiffened. “Not that she knows much of anything right now, since she’s basically a corpse that happens to be breathing. Nasty business all the way around.”

I squared my shoulders, taking a breath before I turned to face the next unpleasant challenge of the night.

“Hello, Rayseline,” I said.

What do you get when you cross a Daoine Sidhe with a Blodynbryd pretending to be a Kitsune? Something that scrambles my capacity to read bloodlines. I used to wonder where Raysel got her height. Sylvester’s about average for a Daoine Sidhe, and since I didn’t know about Luna’s stolen skin, I always thought it was weird for such a short woman to have such a tall daughter. Having seen Luna’s true form, the fact that Raysel was almost six feet tall was less strange. That didn’t make needing to tilt my head back to meet her eyes any less annoying.

“October,” she said, with acid sweetness. “I’d expected you to flee the scene by now.”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been good at fleeing.”

“You’ll learn.” Her smile was vulpine, baring the tips of the blunted fangs she somehow inherited from her mother. That’s about the only thing she got from the Luna I grew up knowing. Raysel has her father’s fox-red hair and Torquill gold eyes. Those eyes were filled with a malicious glee I’ve never seen from any other member of the Torquill family—not even Simon. “This would be an excellent time to start.”

“I have nothing to flee from. I didn’t hurt your mother.”

“Didn’t you?” Raysel’s eyes flicked to Etienne and Garm, who stood like silent statues to my left. “How many people in this knowe will believe you? How many in this Duchy? In this Kingdom? You killed my grandfather, and everyone knows he had a way of breaking his toys. You were his. Your word is suspect here.”

A wave of coldness washed over me, bringing the phantom taste of candle wax to my lips. Blind Michael had me long enough to do a lot of damage. I sometimes think he’ll always have me, in my dreams. “What Blind Michael may or may not have done hasn’t changed my loyalty to this Duchy. I serve your father. I’d never hurt Luna.”

“Do you truly think my father is going to be capable of such distinctions when she dies?” Raysel infused the question with almost believable curiosity. “They tell me he was less than reasonable when we were missing.”

Connor paled. I reached over to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, keeping my attention focused on Raysel. “She’s not going to die.”

Raysel’s eyes narrowed when she saw my hand on Connor’s shoulder, but her smile grew, spreading to fully display her fangs. “No, she won’t, because you won’t be here to hurt her. You’re banished until my father says you can return, and right now, he’s not saying much of anything.”

“On whose authority?” demanded Etienne. I glanced over, startled. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “You forget yourself.”

“Do I?” Raysel smiled. “My father has no named heir. That means I speak in his place, unless and until someone of higher rank says otherwise. Do you want to dispute my authority? Do you really?”

Etienne met her eyes for a long moment before he looked away, shoulders drooping. Raysel’s smile returned, as serene as if she were issuing an invitation to tea.