Maerlys moved to stand near her handmaiden. I followed the movement without shifting from where I stood, absorbing this new fact, this new reality.

Changes in leaders and politics weren't the same for elves as for humans. For the Sidhe, it was like alterations in climate that could lead entire populations of humans and animals to migrate across continents, like the seasons growing warmer as glaciers melt, or seas rising.

A change that would shift the tides of the natural world. A new age.

I scoffed as another realization came to me. "That's why Irn Bale and the other elders departed Urn. They wouldn't bend the knee to you, would they?"

Maerlys was silent a moment. "They made their choice. They may wander the hinterlands of existence for an eon if they wish, but I rule those Sidhe who dwell in these shores now."

"Not all of them," Vicar taunted. He still lay sprawled along the ground nearby, watching the drama unfold. "Draubard acknowledges no authority other than its Silver Council, and the Briar remains."

Maerlys turned her head to one side, as though listening to something far off. "Not even my father ruled all of our kind. Perhaps I shall exceed him in this."

This situation was fast spiraling out of control. The Queen of Elvendom meant to take control of the southern realms through a puppet ruler, and now I knew. I was inside her court, within her power.

Only, Vicar was right. I wasn't powerless. Time to start acting like it.

"House Silvering is under my protection," I told her. "You try anything like this again, and you will answer to me for it."

Maerlys tilted her head in my direction. "Is that a threat, mortal?"

"Yes," I said harshly. "It is. Do you think I can't back it up?"

The Elf Queen considered a while. I spoke in a more reasonable voice.

"I'm willing to overlook this matter. Leave Rosanna and her family be, return her son to me unharmed, and never try this shit again. Promise that, make a vow on it, and I'll leave this place in peace."

Tzanith's wings fluttered angrily. "That goes too far! The Queen owes no oaths to you, Headsman."

Maerlys held up a hand, and her servant fell abruptly silent. The Queen studied me in a manner that seemed thoughtful, though I couldn't read emotion easily on her ruined face.

But I did become certain of one thing — she could still see. Her false eyes glinted with an intense light as they settled on me. I had to make an effort not to shiver.

"Very well. I shalt admit defeat this time. I swear upon my name and power to bring no more harm, through word or action, against the blood of House Silvering. Should any of mine subjects bring harm upon them, then they shall face my retribution as though they laid hands upon mine own offspring."

I shuddered as what felt like a surge of wind went through me. It was my magic feeling the vow settle itself into the very fabric of the world. A faerie's oath was binding, just as mine were.

It didn't mean Rose and her sons were safe — the Sidhe were duplicitous and ancient — but it was as close to surety as I could get from them.

Tzanith looked shocked at this submission. "My queen…"

Maerlys only turned and continued smoothly, as though this was all routine. "Tzanith, take our guest to the boy. Let him return to his little queen. After that, Alken Hewer, you may return and we shall speak of the other matter."

The other elf bowed. "Yes, my queen."

"Go on," Maerlys told me. "Take your ease. You now have full guest right in my court, Ser Headsman."

Guest right was holy to the Sidhe. I let myself relax, just a bit, though I did not drop my guard. "No tricks," I warned. "I'm on the Choir's business as much as the Accord's."

The Faerie Queen waved her hand in dismissal before turning back to the statue of the fallen emperor. As she limped toward it, I noticed how the vines in the room seemed to almost blend with the trailing hem of her gown — as though they were hungry tendrils spreading out from her to choke the life from that old hero.

I followed Tzanith deeper into the overgrown ruins of Emperor Edvard's citadel. The pixie didn't say anything for some time, just led the way in silence. Vicar was back on my shoulders, and my thoughts swirled with implications.

Maerlys tried to murder Rosanna and her newborn child, kidnap Darsus, and set up a scheme that would let her take control of half of Urn's kingdoms decades down the line. She's making a play for long term power.

And if I hadn't happened to be in the camp that night, in the tent with Rosanna when the attack started, it all would have worked. She could have kept her prize a secret. I would have probably found out about the tragedy, grieved, perhaps even sought revenge but been unable to discover the culprit.

I wanted to feel enraged, but mostly just felt dazed, like I'd been struck hard in the jaw and was still trying to get my vision to stop reeling.

At the very least, she probably wouldn't try that same scheme again now I was onto her. Probably. The oath of an elf was a convincing thing, though they tended to be good at getting the upper hand.

Much of the ruins were open to the wilderness, ceilings collapsed and floors caved in so the space was only navigable by ramparts and unnatural tree growth woven as though to replace the human architecture. Though it seemed empty before, dead, now I sensed it was anything but. The lights of Wil-O' Wisps bobbed like witch lanterns everywhere, the shadows crawled with whispering wraiths, and in every nook and hollow the Sidhe watched me.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Tzanith asked me, breaking her silence. "Some think the Queen should remain here and rebuild her court from a position of strength."

"Being on the move has its advantages," I noted. "Being able to appear wherever you want. In case you want to launch a surprise ambush, for example."

Tzanith glanced back without stopping her pace to look at me from the corner of one eye. Her golden one, which glinted knowingly. "Please do not resent us, my lord. We often struggle to predict how our actions might trouble a mortal heart, for they are strange to us."

"I think you know our hearts very well. That's part of the problem."

She did pause then and turned around, forcing me to stop. We stood on the edge of an old rampart, forest growth pressing up against its side like the petrified waves of a rising lake.

"I cannot see your heart, Alken Hewer. It is strange to me." Tzanith pursed her full mouth, her heterochromatic eyes fixed on my chest. I waited, sensing she had more words.

"You did not refuse the Queen's offer," she said at last.

I studied her neutrally. "About marrying you, you mean?"

Tzanith was more than a head shorter than me. She looked up at my face through her eyelashes. "You bear a noble name, Ser Knight. Is a political match so distasteful to you?"

I considered for a minute. In truth, it wasn't the first time this topic came up. A peer back in the capital mentioned it to me, and both Rosanna and Markham alluded to the idea more than once. I was officially a member of the nobility again. While I did not have a true lordship, lacking lands and titles to go with it, the position of Headsman placed me as an equal to any lord or lady in all the realms of the Accord.

I might have to marry eventually. To pass my name on, to secure alliances so that I wasn't always floundering as a solo act in the convoluted politics of the mortal and immortal realms.

But no matter who I picked, it would tie me to someone, give someone power over me. That was the cost, the compromise, and yet it was part of my duty as a member of the peerage.

I'd tried to avoid thinking about it, having enough on my plate already, but I wouldn't be able to avoid it forever.

"I do not find you distasteful, Lady Tzanith." I let out a tired sigh. "But I do find a collar and chain distasteful, especially one held by Maerlys Tuvonsdotter."

Tzanith smiled. "The collar will feel more like velvet, and the chain a gentle cord… But I think I understand. She did not make a good impression on you today, but please do not hate her. My queen is fell, yes, but she has needed to be for us to survive these last twelve years. And she is constantly in pain. More than you can imagine."

I glanced away from the elf's earnest expression. "What Hasur Vyke did to her was unforgivable."

Tzanith turned and started walking along the rampart again. I followed after a brief pause, studying the handmaiden more intently as I started to realize something.

"You're loyal to her."

I sensed Tzanith's smile, though I couldn't see it. "Is that so strange?"

"It's just—"

"You believe she's gone mad." Tzanith stopped again suddenly, so I almost collided with her. Though her face didn't show it, the sudden quick flutter of her wings seemed to hold anger. "Everyone believes she was driven insane when those mortals burned her alive, that she is assailed by madness from the agony. That she is bitter over the loss of her beauty."

I opened my mouth, then pressed it closed. In truth, I had thought all those things.

Tzanith narrowed her eyes and spoke softly, her tone cold. "Heed me, mortal man; Maerlys is not weak. She is not driven by some vain wrath because she does not evoke human lust anymore. She is my monarch, one I chose freely, and I will not hear insult towards her even in implication."

Surprised by this unexpected intensity, I found no words.

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Tzanith's mood suddenly shifted back to nonchalant as she turned and started walking again. "To be fair, she has cultivated that persona and encouraged the rumors. It is useful. People are afraid of what they cannot predict."

She walked a ways more, and I followed in silence with my axe still in hand. Though I no longer expected to use it, it was a useful reminder to any fae who might be getting funny ideas. After leaving the courtyard with the emperor statue, I'd discovered a useful new quirk of Caim's smithing when the excess length of the branch reversed its growth at an unconscious thought, leaving the weapon at its usual length.

I'd used to have to break it myself or shave it down. That control over its length would come in handy.

Tzanith suddenly spoke again as we walked. "Is it that malcathe?"

"What?" I asked.

"The one you were with at my father's court the first time we met. Is she the reason you guard your heart?"

Malcathe was the elven term for changelings of dubious origins, especially those who didn't have Sidhe parentage. A crooked smile flashed through my memory.

Catrin.

I recalled she had been there, at Oradyn Irn Bale's hall, what felt like such a long time ago. Had it really been less than two years? I remembered how we hadn't trusted each other. We fought, and I said some harsh things.

I'd been a real bastard back then, saw monsters in every shadow, behind every face. I still did, speaking honestly.

"She's gone," I said quietly. "In Edaea, I think. She may never come back."

"Hm." Tzanith threw a quick glance back as she began descending a twist of roots leading down into the fortress's depths. "You can take other lovers if you wish. I won't begrudge it, and shall likely do the same. We can agree to only indulge in jealousy when it keeps things interesting."

I shook my head, more in exasperation than anything. "You are incorrigible!"

She shrugged. "My queen has put me to the task of seducing you, which happens to be a duty I do not find hateful. But there is time for that later. This way, Ser Knight."

She led me down into the sunken depths of the old citadel. Here creeper vines and naked roots grew in abundance, drowning the masonry and forming winding corridors, not dissimilar from a hedge maze. I expected that without Tzanith's guidance, it would have been difficult not to get turned around.

And at the center of that maze lay a glade. There was a fountain here, fed by a trickling stream that provided soft ambiance, and a smooth floor of grass and moss. All the light came from faerie lamps hovering just out of arm's reach.

Someone stood at the center of that glade. It was not Darsus.

He was a man. Perhaps six feet tall, and strongly built, he wore only a long white tunic over green breeches and sandals, and wasn't armed. Brown hair fell down past his shoulders, wavy and loose, and his skin held the naturally tanned complexion common across Urn's northern coastlands.

He turned as I walked into the glade at Tzanith's urging, and his eyes — a strikingly bright shade of hazel — widened. He had somewhat effeminate features, long and delicate, not quite womanly but touching on androgynous. Almost elfin, though I knew him to be human.

"You," the man said. He took a step forward, then paused as though catching himself. "I know you!"

And I knew him, and my fingers tightened on my axe's grip. Despite that, my voice came out with a neutral calm.

"Hello, Ser Jocelyn."

Jocelyn of Ekarleon, who some called the Ironleaf Knight, stared at me from across the length of the glade. Phantasmal lamps bobbed through the air between us, illuminating the scene in drifting patches of light and shadow, the figure at the center of the scene the only thing fully illuminated.

I'd give Maerlys that, at least. She had a refined sense of drama.

"Ser Alken." Jocelyn let out a breath and straightened. He'd seemed almost excited to see me, like we were old friends and he'd been expecting my arrival. "It's good to see you well. You are well?"

His attention briefly went to the wolf pelt on my shoulders, and he frowned as though he sensed something off about it.

I hardly knew what to say. Jocelyn had once been an ally. A mercenary captain who'd arrived in the Emperor's city the previous spring as a participant in Garihelm's great tourney of arms, he'd gained a rapport with a young noblewoman of my acquaintance. He'd seemed an honorable enough man, and later been revealed to be a paladin in his own right, a True Knight. He offered me aid during my conflict against the Vykes.

Then, during the tournament when faced with impending death, he'd changed. Literally, transforming into a hideous monster, a great wyrm. He was Wyrmblighted, afflicted with a supernatural disease that consumed him body and soul, making him host to a dark and hungry presence.

A dragon dwelt within Jocelyn of Ekarleon. I'd sensed it back then in the city, though I hadn't known what it was I felt at the time. I could sense it now, like the shadow cast by the knight was far larger and more twisted than the human shape he presented to me.

I noted growths of green scales on his arms, small and irregular, but very similar to the ones Maxim revealed to me before I'd left the Fane. The same affliction, though Jocelyn's was worse, uncontrolled. He'd slaughtered dozens of skilled knights, most of whom were also sorcerers of one caliber or another.

His being here also confirmed a number of suspicions I'd had ever since he vanished that same day, just before the Vyke coup kicked off.

"So," I said as I stepped into the glade and started to pace around its outer ring, keeping well away from the man at the center. "You've been a guest of Queen Maerlys these past months?"

Jocelyn seemed to sense something about my mood, because he became more withdrawn and remained standing near the fountain. "I… Yes, the Princess — I mean, the Queen — she has been most gracious. I have been… Unwell. The elves are helping me. They say I need rest."

I nodded as he spoke, my eyes straying back to Tzanith. She remained at the glade's entrance, watching and silent.

What was the game? Maerlys said take him to the boy.

The boy. Everyone was a child compared to the Sidhe. More games. But why did she put me in front of Jocelyn? What was the ploy? To taunt me?

Perhaps to kill me. He could do it, if he changed. I wasn't certain I had the strength or skill to overcome a shadow of the Lindenwurm.

Jocelyn didn't look like he wanted to kill me. He looked confused at my standoffishness, perhaps even a bit hurt. "It's good to see you," he said earnestly. "I haven't seen anyone from the city since I was taken away. I was wounded, during the tournament."

I nodded again. "I know."

My slow, measured steps seemed to unnerve him. I'd made it almost a third of the way around the edge of the glade.

"I heard about the Vykes," he said. "I was told they tried to take the Fulgurkeep, but Princess Hyperia was killed and you compelled her brother to surrender. A great victory."

"Hard won," I said. "It cost many lives. What do you remember about the tournament?"

Jocelyn blinked and seemed to think for a moment. "I remember that last match, the ring of knights, the duels… Then after that, the melee. I fought that iron boar, he…"

Jocelyn winced and rubbed at his temple. "It all gets fuzzy there. I think he struck me in the head."

He turned his attention to Tzanith. "I'm sorry, but I think I need my tea."

Tzanith did not change her impassive expression. "My apologies, Ser Jocelyn, but the Queen has ordered that you should have no more of the herb. It is a crutch, and you must abandon it to heal."

He opened his mouth, seemed to try to find words, his brow furrowing in frustration. "But… Just a little! It helps. It's the only thing that helps, the only thing that stops him from hissing at me all the—"

He cut himself off and glanced at me with a guilty expression.

"Ser Hewer already knows about your affliction," Tzanith said calmly. "You do not need to keep it a secret from him."

"You know?" Jocelyn blinked at me, then let out a sigh that almost seemed to contain relief. "You know."

"I do. I also know what happened after that knight tried to kill you at the Coloss."

I glanced at Tzanith, gauging her reaction. She didn't seem interested in stopping me from saying anything. She only watched. Vicar also remained silent.

He clearly didn't remember what he'd done. What would happen if I told him? How would he react if I let him know that he'd killed so many people, many of them innocent, many of them his friends, allies, and peers? That he'd almost slain the woman who'd earned his affections?

Part of me wanted to. A vindictive, ugly part of me I couldn't deny. I remembered that day. The way the monster chuckled in mirth as it crushed people. The screams, the stink, the viscous horror of the dragon.

It lay inside this man still. Watching, whispering. He was a nightmare waiting to be unleashed again.

"Why am I here?" I said aloud and stopped, now on the far side of the glade so Jocelyn was between me and the entrance.

Jocelyn looked confused, but Tzanith answered me smoothly. "My Queen wishes to demonstrate her good will, to show you he is safe and cared for. That there is no danger."

Danger to who, I wondered? To Jocelyn? To the rest of us? Did she mean to imply he was contained? Did she mean it as an assurance, or a threat?

I could kill him here. The thought formed in my mind as I considered, that I could end the problem once and for all. Perhaps that was the offer, though it could just as easily be a trap.

Perhaps Jocelyn did deserve to die. Only… He hadn't wanted to kill those people. That wouldn't matter to everyone else — he was dangerous, a bomb waiting to detonate. No one would blame me for ending it here.

He kept looking between me and Tzanith, almost childlike in his confusion. How long had he been kept isolated like this, drugged and made to forget? I suspected the maze outside was ensorcelled, so he couldn't escape.

This quiet glade was a cage. And Jocelyn wasn't a murderer, but a weapon, and it was the hand who wielded him that needed to answer for the tragedy at the Coloss.

I loosed my grip on the axe. "Tzanith, take me to Darsus. No more detours this time."

The elf bowed her head in acquiescence. "As you wish, Lord Headsman."

Jocelyn watched us go without dropping that despairing expression, but he didn't stop us. Once Tzanith and I were back out in the maze, I spoke to her in a quiet voice.

"Your queen will answer for that."

"Answer to who?" Tzanith asked.

I didn't know how to reply, and she didn't bring the topic up again as she took me to the Empress's son. But I did know one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt now — that Maerlys had planted Jocelyn at the tourney. He'd been her agent the whole time.

The only thing I didn't understand was why. What was the scheme, and why show him to me and give me evidence she'd been behind it?

I would wait until I understood her game, then I'd do something about it. The child remained my priority.

Tzanith led me next to the top of an old tower, one of the few intact structures in the castle complex. Trees and vines coiled around most of its length, but its windows were intact and a strong door waited at the top of an outer spiral of stairs.

The elf stopped here. "The Prince waits for you inside."

I stepped past her and placed my hand on the door latch, but paused before pushing it open. Glancing at the handmaiden I said, "No more tricks. I've lost my patience for them."

She only stared at me levelly, which wasn't much assurance.

The door wasn't locked. Inside lay a large, comfortably furnished room, with a bed and vanities, an ordinary fire crackling for warmth. At its center, sitting on a rug, was Rosanna's son.

Two of him.

They both sat with their legs folded, facing each other, mirroring each other. They wore the same outfit, checkered tunics over black leggings and laced boots, all the buckles silver. The Silvering Sun was stitched to the left sleeve of the boy on my right, and on the right sleeve of the one to my left. They both looked to be about six years of age, possessed unruly mops of black hair, and dark eyes.

"I said no more goring tricks," I said through my teeth.

Tzanith might have laughed under her breath as she peeked in behind me. "To ask us not to play tricks is like asking you humans not to make art, or war. It is in our nature."

More harsh words came to mind — I expected this was meant as a test, making me choose which was the real one — but Tzanith spoke over my rising irritation. "Peace, Ser Knight. The Aufr is only a guard."

The Darsus to the left turned his face toward me, and I realized that one looked wrong. His eyes were set too far apart, were lopsided, and both were a different shade. One was onyx black and the other mossy green. There were other imperfections, in the clothing as well as the flesh.

I beckoned to the boy on my right. "Come here, Darsus, away from them."

The boy glanced at me. He looked stiff. Scared. I didn't think he'd moved from that spot on the floor in some time.

When he didn't obey, I tried softening my voice. "Do you recognize me?"

As he stared, I saw recognition dawn in his eyes. His were both a soft shade of green, almost sage, somehow echoing his mother's emerald and his father's flint at the same time.

The creature sitting across from him, the Aufr, tilted its head curiously as it studied the boy. Its flesh seemed to liquify for a brief moment, then its eyes settled into a more natural alignment. Their color changed too, closer to the real prince's.

The boy didn't seem drugged or glamoured. I breathed a silent sigh of relief at that. "I'm here to take you back to your mother," I told him.

That got more of a response. Darsus leapt to his feet and scurried to me, all but slamming himself against my leg. I shifted just in time to avoid him hurting himself on my armor, and let my cloak fall protectively over him. He held to me tightly.

I glanced back at Tzanith. She gave a small dip of her chin. "We relinquish him to your care, as promised."

"You alright?" I asked Darsus in a quiet voice.

The prince peeked up through my cloak and his dark hair. So small. One day he'd be a king, and the fulcrum on which nations turned.

For now, he was a child. The child of a woman part of me still loved.

"We're going," I said to Tzanith as I turned, my hand still on Darsus's shoulder.

"You will return to speak with my queen?" She asked me.

"Yes. But I'm not keeping him here one second longer than I have to."

I let Darsus hide within the safety of my cloak as we departed the corpse of that old palace. He didn't say a word, and a thousand sets of inhuman eyes marked our passing. I didn't let my hand relax on my weapon until we were far from the castle, and even then I felt the forest watching us hungrily.

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