“Jude—” he begins, but I cut him off.

“I’ll make a bargain. Swear to me that you’ll never raise a hand against Oak, and I’ll help. Promise me that when he comes of age, you will immediately step down as regent. You’ll give him whatever power you’ll have amassed, and you’ll do it willingly.”

Madoc’s mouth twists. His hands fist. I know he loves Oak. He loves me. I’m sure he loved my mother, too, in his own way. But he is who and what he is. I know he cannot promise.

I draw my sword, and he does, too, the scrape of metal loud in the room. I hear distant laughter, but here in the hall, we are alone.

My hands are sweating, but this has the feeling of inevitability, as though this is what I was careening toward the whole time, my whole life.

“You can’t beat me,” Madoc says, moving into a fighting stance.

“I already have,” I say.

“You have no way to win.” Madoc flicks his blade, encouraging me to come toward him, as though this is just some practice bout. “What can you hope to do with one missing prince, here in Balekin’s stronghold? I will knock you down, and then I will take him from you. You could have had anything you wanted, but now you will be left with nothing.”

“Oh, yes, let me tell you my whole plan. You’ve goaded me right into it.” I make a face. “Let’s not stall anymore. This is the part where we fight.”

“At least you’re no coward.” He rushes at me with such force that even though I block the blow, I am thrown to the floor. I roll into a standing position, but I am shaken. He has never fought me like this, full out. This will be no genteel exchange of blows.

He’s the High King’s general. I knew he was better than me, but not how much better.

I cheat a glance toward the window. I can’t be stronger than him, but I don’t need to be. I just need to keep on my feet a little while longer. I strike out, hoping to catch him by surprise. He knocks me back again. I dodge and turn, but he expects the blow, and I have to stumble inelegantly back, blocking yet another heavy chop of his blade. My arms hurt from the strength behind his blows.

This is all happening too fast.

I come in with a series of techniques he’s taught me and then use a bit of swordplay I learned from the Ghost. I feign left and then land a clever slice to his side. It’s a shallow hit, but it surprises us both when a line of red wets his coat. He thrusts toward me. I jump to one side, and he elbows me in the face, knocking me back to the ground. Blood gushes over my mouth from my nose.

I push myself dizzily to my feet.

I’m scared, no matter how I try to play it off. I was arrogant. I am trying to buy time, but one of his blows could split me in half.

“Surrender,” he tells me, sword pointed toward my throat. “It was well tried. I will forgive you, Jude, and we will go back into the banquet. You will persuade Cardan to do what I need him to. All will be as it should be.”

I spit blood on the stone tiles.

His sword arm trembles a little.

“You surrender,” I say.

He laughs, as though I have told a particularly rich joke. Then he stops, grimacing.

“I imagine you’re not feeling quite yourself,” I tell him.

His sword sags a little, and he looks at me in sudden comprehension. “What have you done?”

“I poisoned you. Don’t worry. It was a small enough dose. You’ll live.”

“The cups of wine,” he says. “But how did you know which one I would choose?”

“I didn’t,” I tell him, thinking that he’ll be at least a little pleased by the answer, despite himself. It is the kind of strategy he likes best. “I poisoned them both.”

“You will be very sorry,” he says. The tremble is in his legs now. I know. I feel the echo of it in my own. But by now, I am used to drinking poison.

I look deep into his eyes as I sheathe my sword. “Father, I am what you made me. I’ve become your daughter after all.”

Madoc lifts his blade again, as though he’s going to rush at me one final time. But then it falls from his hand, and he falls, too, sprawling on the stone floor.

When the Ghost and the Roach come in, a few tense minutes later, they find me sitting beside him, too tired to even think of moving his body.

Wordlessly, the Roach hands me a handkerchief, and I start to wipe the blood from my nose.

“On to phase three,” the Ghost says.

When I rejoin the feast, everyone is taking their place at the long table. I walk straight to Balekin and curtsy.

“My lord,” I say, pitching my voice low. “Madoc asked me to tell you that he is delayed and to begin without him. He wishes you not to worry, but some of Dain’s spies are here. He will send you word when he’s caught or killed them.”

Balekin regards me with slightly pursed lips and narrowed eyes. He takes in whatever traces of blood I couldn’t wash from my nostrils and my teeth, whatever sweat I couldn’t wipe away. Madoc slumbers in Cardan’s old room, and by my calculations, we have at least an hour before he wakes. It feels as though if Balekin looked carefully, he could see that on my face, too.

“You have been more helpful than I would have guessed,” Balekin says, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. He seems to have forgotten how furious he was when I first came in with Cardan and expects me to forget it, too. “Continue and you will find yourself rewarded. Would you like to live as one of us? Would you like to be one of us?”

Could the High King of Faerie really give me that? Could he make me something other than human, something other than mortal?

I think of Valerian’s words when he tried to glamour me into jumping out of the tower. Being born mortal is like being born already dead.

He sees the look on my face and smiles, sure that he has ferreted out the secret desire of my heart.

And, indeed, as I walk to my seat, I am troubled. I should feel triumphant, but, instead, I feel sick. Outmaneuvering Madoc wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I wanted it to be, especially since I was able to do it because he never thought of me as someone who would betray him. Perhaps years from now, my faith in this plan will prove justified, but until then I will have to live with this acid in the pit of my stomach.

The future of Faerie depends on my playing a long game and playing it perfectly.

I spot Vivi, sitting between Nicasia and Lord Severin, and I give her a quick smile. She gives me a grim one in return.

Lord Roiben looks at me askance. Beside him, the green pixie whispers something in his ear, and he shakes his head. At the other end of the table, Locke kisses Taryn’s hand. Queen Orlagh looks over at me curiously. There are only three mortals here—Taryn, me, and the redhead with Severin—and from the way she regards us, Orlagh is imagining mice presiding over a convocation of cats.

Above hangs a chandelier made from thin sheets of mica. Tiny glowing faeries are trapped inside for the purpose of adding a warm glow to the room. Occasionally, they fly, making shadows dance.

“Jude,” Locke says, touching my arm, startling me. His fox eyes crinkle in amusement. “I admit, I am a little jealous to see Cardan parading you around on his arm.”

I take a step back. “I don’t have time for this.”