Do I sound convincing? I don’t know. Probably not.

Randalin steps up beside me. “You heard her,” he barks, surprising me. “Take them.”

And that, more than anything I said, seems to bring the knights back to their task. They move to surround Madoc’s company, swords drawn.

Then the serpent moves faster than I could have expected. It slides from the dais into the crowd, scattering the Folk who run from it in fear. It looks as though it has become larger already. The golden sheen on its scales is more pronounced. And in the wake of its path, the earth cracks and crumbles, as though some essential part of it is being drawn out.

The knights fall back, and Madoc draws his massive sword from the earth. The serpent slides toward him.

“Mother!” Oak screams, and takes off across the brugh toward her. Vivi attempts to grab him. Heather calls his name, but Oak’s hooves are already pelting across the floor. Oriana turns in horror as he hurtles toward her and into the path of the snake.

Oak stops short, reading the warning in her body language. But all he does is draw a child’s sword from a hilt at his side. The sword I insisted he learn through all those lazy afternoons in the mortal world. Holding it high, he puts himself between his mother and the serpent.

This is my fault. All my fault.

With a cry, I jump down from the dais and race toward my brother.

Madoc swings on the serpent as it rears up. His sword hits its side, glancing off its scales. It strikes back, knocking him down and then sliding over his body in its haste to chase its real prey: Grimsen.

The creature coils around the fleeing smith, fangs going into his back. A thin, reedy scream fills the air as Grimsen falls into a withering heap. In moments, he is a husk, as though the poison of the serpent’s fangs ate away his essence from within.

I wonder when he dreamed up such a curse, if he ever thought to be afraid for himself.

When I look up, I see that most of the hall has been cleared. The knights have fallen back. The Bomb’s archers have made themselves visible high on the walls, bowstrings held taut. Grima Mog has come to stand beside me, her blade at the ready. Madoc is staggering to his feet, but the leg the serpent slid over doesn’t seem inclined to hold him up. I grab Oriana by the shoulder and shove her toward where Fand is standing. Then I get between Oak and the snake.

“Go with her,” I shout at him, pointing toward his mother. “Get her to safety.”

Oak looks up at me, his eyes wet with tears. His hands tremble on the sword, clutching it far too hard.

“You were very brave,” I tell him. “You just have to be brave a little longer.”

He gives me a slight nod, and with an agonized look back at Madoc, he races off after his mother.

The serpent turns, its tongue flickering toward me. The serpent, which was once Cardan.

“You want to be the Queen of Faerie, Jude?” Madoc shouts as he moves with a limping gait. “Then slay him. Slay the beast. Let’s see if you have the bravery to do what needs to be done.”

“Come, my lady,” Fand pleads, urging me toward an exit as the serpent moves back toward the dais. The serpent’s tongue flicks again, tasting the air, and I am gripped by fear and a horror so vast I am afraid I will be swallowed up by it.

When the serpent winds itself around the shattered remains of the throne, I let myself be led toward the doors, and once the rest of the Folk are through, I order them shut and barred behind us.

In the hall outside the brugh, everyone is shouting at once. The councilors are yelling at one another. Generals and knights are trying to secure who is supposed to go where. Someone is weeping. Courtiers are clutching at one another’s hands, trying to make sense of what they saw. Even in a land of riddles and curses, where an isle can be called up from the sea, magic of this magnitude is rare.

My heart beats fast and hard, drowning out everything else. The Folk are asking me questions, but they seem very far away. My thoughts are filled with the image of Cardan’s eyes going black, with the sound of his voice.

I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.

“My lady,” says Grima Mog, pressing a hand against my back. “My lady, come with me.”

At her touch, the present floods back in, loud and horrible. I am surprised to see the stout cannibal redcap in front of me. She grabs hold of my arm and hauls me into a stateroom.

“Get ahold of yourself,” she growls.

Knees weak, I slide to the floor, one hand pressing against my chest, as though I am trying to keep my heart from beating through the cage of my ribs.

My dress is too heavy. I can’t breathe.

I don’t know what to do.

Someone is banging on the door, and I know I need to get up. I need to make a plan. I need to answer their questions. I need to fix this, but I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t even think.

“I am going to stand,” I promise Grima Mog, who is probably a little alarmed. If I were her, looking at me and realizing I was in charge, I’d be alarmed, too. “I am going to be okay in a minute.”

“I know you are,” she says.

But how can I when I keep seeing the black shape of the snake moving through the brugh, keep seeing its dead eyes and curving fangs?

I reach for the table and use it to push me to my feet. “I need to find the Royal Astrologer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Grima Mog. “You’re the queen. If you need Lord Baphen, then he can come to you. Right now, you’re standing between any one of these low Court denizens and being the ruler of Elfhame. It won’t be only Madoc who wants to take over now. Anyone might decide that killing you would be a good way to make their case for being in charge. You need to keep your boot on their throats.”

My head is swimming. I need to get it together. “You’re right,” I say. “I need a new Grand General. Will you accept the position?”

Grima Mog’s surprise is obvious. “Me? But what of Yorn?”

“He doesn’t have the experience,” I say. “And I don’t like him.”

“I tried to kill you,” she reminds me.

“You’ve described pretty much every important relationship in my life,” I return, taking slow, shallow breaths. “I like you fine.”

That makes her grin toothily. “Then I ought to get to work.”

“Ascertain where the serpent is at all times,” I say. “I want someone to watch over it, and I want to know immediately if it moves. Maybe we can keep it trapped in the brugh. The walls are thick, the doors are heavy, and the floor is earth. And I want you to send me the Bomb. Fand. My sister Taryn. And a runner who can report directly to you.”

Fand turns out to be just outside the door. I give her a very short list of people to let inside.

Once Grima Mog is gone, I allow myself another moment of helpless misery. Then I force myself to pace the floor and think through what’s ahead of me. Madoc’s army is still anchored off the isles. I must discover what troops I have left and whether it’s enough to make him wary of an outright invasion.

Cardan is gone. My mind comes to a stop after that, and I have to force myself to think again. Until I speak with Baphen, I refuse to accept that Grimsen’s words have no answer. There has to be a loophole. There has to be a trick. There has to be a way to break the curse—a way Cardan can survive.