“It’s not like I was planning to help her,” I muttered.

Oleander snorted. “I wouldn’t take aid from you if you offered it. Never from you, daughter of Amandine, last and latest child of the great betrayal. You’ll see the end of us all, and you won’t be content until you know the gates are locked and sealed; your own death will refuse you. You’ll destroy your beginnings and forsake your heart’s desire, and there will be nothing for you but what’s already been turned aside . . .” Her voice trailed off. She sighed one last time before falling to one side, suddenly still.

We stood in that tableau for several minutes, staring at the body. It was almost like coming in at the middle of the movie; none of us knew what to say or how we were supposed to react.

Finally, I asked, “Is it over?”

Sylvester’s hand tightened on my shoulder, and he nodded. “I hope so.”

“Good.” I paused. “Am I still going to be executed?”

He smiled before answering, “That’s a good question.”

Connor lowered his bow and moved to stand beside me, sliding his hand into mine. Sylvester nodded, seeming to accept this gesture as being the right thing to do. Grianne’s Merry Dancers zipped through the open door, circling around us as we turned and walked back into the hall. I listened the whole time for the sound of the night-haunts’ wings. I’ve heard them often enough that the sound is familiar. Soothing, even, in its messed-up way.

They were just beginning to beat when the door closed behind us, sealing the sound—and Oleander, one of Faerie’s most glorious monsters—away.

THIRTY-SIX

I STOOD ON THE LUIDAEG’S DOORSTEP with one hand raised to knock, unable to force myself to finish the motion. Oleander had been dead for ten days, and the only person who could give me the answers I needed was on the other side of that door. I just wasn’t sure they were answers I could live with.

The door opened before I was done arguing with myself. The Luidaeg’s familiar, sun-weathered face poked out. “Well?” she demanded. “Are you coming in or not?”

“I’m coming,” I said. She moved out of the way, motioning me impatiently forward, and I stepped inside.

The Luidaeg isn’t one of the world’s great housekeepers. She seems to enjoy living in squalor, allowing mold to grow on her walls and trash to build up on her floor. Still, there’s usually at least a pretense of organization to the place—decaying pillows on the couch, soda cans and dishes in the kitchen. Not this time. Most fae celebrate Beltane with spring cleaning. The Luidaeg appeared to have celebrated with spring destruction.

“What—”

She cut me off with a gesture. “Don’t.” I looked at her blankly. She shook her head. “This isn’t a social visit; we both know that. That means you don’t get an unlimited supply of questions, so let’s not fuck around. Got me?” I nodded mutely. “Good. Now drop the masks. I need to see how far she took it.”

Taking a deep breath, I did as she requested.

If the Luidaeg was surprised by the way I looked, she did an admirable job of not showing it. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but that was all. That tiny gesture could have meant almost anything. “How’s your magic been?”

“Good. Things seem to be coming a little easier.”

“That’s about what I figured. Congrats, kiddo, you’re finally back to where you started. Why’d it take you so long to come and see me? I expected you the minute I heard what happened.”

“How did you—” I stopped myself. Knowing how the Luidaeg heard about my blood being rebalanced didn’t matter as much as some of my other questions. Curiosity and necessity don’t always match. “I crashed as soon as things calmed down. I slept for six days.” You’d think my body would be used to my doing horrible things to it, but when the adrenaline faded, I faded with it.

“Yeah, well, you put yourself through a hell of a lot. That takes care of six days. What about the other four?”

“I had to find a safe way to get here. The Queen’s still a little annoyed.”

The Luidaeg snorted. “Right. So you got here by . . . ?”

“Waiting for Acacia to show up and then asking her to open a Rose Road.” That wasn’t my first choice. My first choice was the Shadow Roads, preferably with Tybalt as my escort; we needed to talk. Unfortunately, the Cat’s Court was still in chaos, and now that I wasn’t in danger of dying, I wasn’t a priority. Tybalt and I needed to have that talk. We were just going to have it later than I liked.

The rose goblins went for Acacia as soon as Luna was recovered enough to open a gate for them, and Acacia did more for her daughter in a few hours than anyone else had managed in days. The Firstborn are handy that way. I just wish we’d been able to reach her sooner.

“Good call.” The Luidaeg tipped her chin down, studying me. “Three questions, and then you have to go. Don’t waste a question asking why it works that way. It just does.”

“Faerie and her traditions, fucking up my life since time immemorial.” I sighed. “All right, Luidaeg. I know I’m not Daoine Sidhe. What does that make me?”

“It makes you my sister’s daughter.”

I gaped at her. “I . . . you . . . what?”

She ignored my second question, continuing, “My father named your race before he left; he called you the Dóchas Sidhe. You’re blood-workers. You must have figured that part out. Beyond that? What you’re for, why Faerie needed you? I can’t say.”

“Can’t say, or don’t know?”

“Ah.” The Luidaeg glanced away, but I saw her smile. “I bet you asked that without counting questions, didn’t you? Congrats. Your impulsiveness isn’t wasted for a change. I can’t say. I’m not allowed, just like I’m not allowed to answer more than three questions today. Don’t ask who made the rules. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I hate riddles,” I said, still staggered by her statement. Amandine was Firstborn. I wasn’t just “not Daoine Sidhe,” I was the daughter of one of the Firstborn.

That explained a lot, actually.

“Sorry,” said the Luidaeg, unapologetically.

I took a deep breath, and asked the one thing I really needed to know: “Luidaeg, why did my mother lie to me?”