“Toby—” Sylvester began.

“Give me a minute.” Amandine offered me a second chance to make my first decision. It shouldn’t have been possible, but it was my mother, and I was starting to realize that “shouldn’t” didn’t apply. “No more letting me lie to you,” she said.

Someone had been lying to me, all right. More than one someone. I held on to Connor with one hand as I raised the other and pushed my hair back, feeling my ear. The planes and edges I knew were gone, replaced by a sharper angle, rising to a more tapered point. My breath caught. So. I was right. Now what was I going to do about it?

“I want a mirror.” I wasn’t sure whether I was overreacting, underreacting, or doing both at once. Part of me wanted to blame the poison in my blood, but the answer was probably simpler. I came close to dying—hell, I actually died—and I was panicking. Isn’t stress fun?

Sylvester sighed. “Please don’t strain yourself before I get back,” he said, and turned, walking through a nearby doorway.

I gave the garden a slow once-over once he was gone. My eyes were still adjusting to the light, but the glare was becoming less painful. I was unsurprised to see the body of the assassin on the path not far away, arrows sticking out of his back. They were fletched in the colors of Shadowed Hills. “He hit anybody else?”

“Sir Archibald,” Connor reported. “He’s asleep in his quarters.”

“Shit. I hope they remember to dust him.” There were rose goblins on every surface, watching us with bright, unblinking eyes. “They’re worse than cats,” I muttered.

“What?” said May.

“Nothing.” Sylvester came back through the door, carrying a long, cloth-draped mirror. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Where’s my mother?”

“She left,” he said, as he moved to prop the mirror against the fountain.

“Of course she did.” That was just like Amandine. She’d show up when I was dying, but she couldn’t stay to see me live. “How long did you know? Don’t say you didn’t. All that ‘Amandine this’ and ‘Amandine that’—you knew. And you didn’t tell me.”

“Know what?” asked Connor. “I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Well, Sylvester? You want to answer the man?”

He looked away.

“Right,” I snarled, pulling myself out of Connor’s hands and wobbling over to the fountain. I yanked the fabric off the mirror, throwing it unceremoniously to the side.

And then I stopped, unable to make myself move. Even knowing what I was going to see did nothing to prepare me for actually seeing it. “Oh,” I said, finally. “Tybalt was right.”

Almost a year ago, Tybalt followed me to the County of Tamed Lightning, where he helped me find a killer and saw me raise the dead. He got strange after that, and avoided me for months while he went looking for something. We returned to what passed for our normal relationship once he found what he’d been looking for. He wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said I had to find it for myself, because I wouldn’t believe it coming from him.

He was right. Maybe I’m weird, but if he’d said, “By the way, you’re not Daoine Sidhe, because Daoine Sidhe don’t work the way you do,” I would have laughed him out of the room.

Well, I wasn’t laughing now. And I wasn’t Daoine Sidhe.

The woman in the mirror was pale with exhaustion, and her eyes were a gray almost pale enough to be white. Her stick-straight hair was ashy brown shot through with streaks of gold. Even her features were finer than I expected. I could still see my father in the cant of her chin, but he was blurred and half-hidden. She’d been—I’d been—tilted further from human. What Amandine did changed everything. I knew that, even as I closed my eyes and gathered my magic around me, reaching inward as I tried to do something I never felt the need to do before, and measured my own heritage.

The smell of copper rose hot as I asked my blood, What am I? Its answer was incomprehensible, the taste/ sound/feeling of a race I didn’t recognize and had never encountered before. Whatever Amandine and I were, we didn’t even share a Firstborn with the Daoine Sidhe. I dug deeper, looking for a clearer picture, and my eyes snapped open, meeting the shocked stare of my reflection.

There were subtle watermarks scattered all through me, marks I somehow knew showed the places where the balance of my blood had changed. I’d never been able to see them before. Now, they were all too visible. The freshest was less than an hour old; the one before it matched the night I touched the hope chest. There were other marks before those; all short, brusque changes that read almost like a tug-of-war.

Amandine stopped voluntarily touching me after I made my Changeling’s Choice. I used to think it was because she blamed me for taking her away from my father. That was never the reason. She just couldn’t risk it around people who’d see what she was doing to me. I looked at the watermarks in my blood and suddenly being the weak daughter of the most powerful blood-worker in Faerie actually started making sense.

May was behind me when I opened my eyes. She had no human blood—as a Fetch, she mimicked my changeling traits without sharing them—but her reflection looked more human than mine did. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Amandine saved you,” she said. “She came out of that fog she lives in and saved you. Please don’t hate her for doing it.”

I ignored her, watching my lips in the mirror as I asked, “Sylvester? How long?” I wanted to kick and scream and throw things, but I knew that wouldn’t achieve anything. So I waited for his answer, and I watched my reflection speak.

“Always.” Sylvester laughed bitterly. “I’m Daoine Sidhe, remember?”

I turned to face him. “And I’m not.”

Connor gaped at me. Sylvester just shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re what everyone’s always told you that you were.” His smile was strained. “You’re Amandine’s daughter.”

“I’m still a changeling. I can feel my mortality. It’s thinner, but it’s there.” I kept my eyes on Sylvester’s, challenging him to look away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because your mother asked me not to, and I couldn’t deny her.” His smile died. “I never dreamed that it would take her this long.”