“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, holding up a forbidding, long-fingered hand. “Jude, it isn’t safe.”

“I’m going,” I insist. “The girl’s name is Sophie, and she’s really freaked out—”

Vivi snorts. “I bet.”

“I don’t think she’ll go with you. You look like one of them.” Maybe I am more afraid of my nerve running out than anything else. I worry about the adrenaline ebbing out of my body, leaving me to face the mad thing I have done. But given Sophie’s suspicion of me, I absolutely think that Vivi’s cat eyes would be enough to send her over the edge. “Because you are one of them.”

“Are you telling me in case I forgot?” Vivi asks.

“We’ve got to go,” I say. “And I am coming. We don’t have time to debate this.”

“Come, then,” she says. Together, we go down the stairs, but as we are about to go out the door, she grabs my shoulder. “You can’t save our mother, you know. She’s already dead.”

I feel as though she has slapped me.

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” she demands. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Tell me this girl isn’t some stand-in for Mom. Some surrogate.”

“I want to help Sophie,” I say, shrugging off her grip. “Just Sophie.”

Outside, the moon is high in the sky, turning the leaves silver. Vivi goes out to pick a bouquet of ragwort stalks. “Fine, then go get this Sophie.”

She is where I left her, hunched in the hay, rocking back and forth and talking softly to herself. I am relieved to see her, relieved she didn’t run off and we weren’t even now tracking her through the forest, relieved that someone from Balekin’s household hadn’t ferreted out her location and hauled her away.

“Okay,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “We’re ready.”

“Yes,” she says, standing up. Her face is tearstained, but she’s no longer crying. She looks like she’s in shock.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her again, but she doesn’t answer. She follows me mutely out behind the stables, where Vivi is waiting, along with two rawboned ponies with green eyes and lacy manes.

Sophie looks at them and then at Vivi. She begins to back away, shaking her head. When I come near her, she backs away from me, too.

“No, no, no,” she says. “Please, no. No more. No.”

“It’s only a very little bit of magic,” Vivi says reasonably, but it’s still coming from someone with lightly furred points on her ears and eyes that flash gold in the dark. “Just a smidgen, and then you won’t ever have to see another magical thing. You’ll be back in the mortal world, the daylight world, the normal world. But this is the only way to get you there. We’re going to fly.”

“No,” Sophie says, her voice coming out broken.

“Let’s walk to the cliffside near here,” I say. “You’ll be able to see the lights—maybe even a few boats. You’ll feel better when you can see a destination.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Vivi reminds me with a significant look.

“It’s not far,” I argue. I don’t know what else to do. The only other choices I can think of are knocking her unconscious or asking Vivi to glamour her; both are terrible.

And so we walk through the woods, ragwort steeds following. Sophie doesn’t balk. The walk seems to calm her. She picks up rocks as we go, smooth stones that she dusts the dirt from and then puts in her pockets.

“Do you remember your life from before?” I ask her.

She nods and doesn’t speak for a little while, but then she turns back to me. She gives a weird croaking laugh. “I always wanted there to be magic,” she says. “Isn’t that funny? I wanted there to be an Easter Bunny and a Santa Claus. And Tinker Bell, I remember Tinker Bell. But I don’t want it. I don’t want it anymore.”

“I know,” I say. And I do. I have wished for many things over the years, but the first wish of my heart was that none of this was real.

At the water’s edge, Vivi mounts one of the steeds and puts Sophie up before her. I swing up onto the back of the other. Sophie gives the forest a trembling look and then glances over at me. She doesn’t seem afraid. She seems as though maybe she’s starting to believe that the worst is behind her.

“Hold on tight,” Vivi says, and her steed kicks up off the cliff and into the air. Mine follows. The wild exhilaration of flying hits me, and I grin with familiar delight. Beneath us are the whitecapped waves and ahead the shimmering lights of mortal towns, like a mysterious land strewn with stars. I glance over at Sophie, hoping to give her a reassuring smile.

Sophie isn’t looking at me, though. Her eyes are closed. And then, as I am watching, she tilts to one side, lets go of the steed’s mane, and lets herself fall. Vivi grabs for her, but it’s too late. She is plunging soundlessly through the night sky, toward the mirrored darkness of the sea.

When she hits, there is barely even a splash.

I cannot speak. Everything seems to slow around me. I think of Sophie’s cracked lips, think of her saying, Please, just tell me this isn’t real. I don’t think I can live with any of this being real.

I think of the stones she filled her pockets with.

I hadn’t been listening. I hadn’t wanted to hear her; I’d just wanted to save her.

And now, because of me, she is dead.

I wake up groggy. I cried myself to sleep, and now my eyes are swollen and red, my head pounding. The whole previous night feels like a feverish, terrible nightmare. It doesn’t seem possible that I snuck into Balekin’s house and stole one of his servants. It seems even less possible that she preferred to drown than to live with the memories of Faerie. As I drink fennel tea and shrug on a doublet, Gnarbone comes to my door.

“Your pardon,” he says with a short bow. “Jude must come immediately—”

Tatterfell waves him off. “She’s not fit to see anyone right at the moment. I’ll send her down when she’s dressed.”

“Prince Dain awaits her downstairs in General Madoc’s parlor. He commanded me to fetch her and not to mind whatever state of dishabille she was in. He said to carry her if I had to.” Gnarbone seems repentant at having to say that, but it’s clear that none of us can refuse the Crown Prince.

Cold dread coils in my stomach. How did I not think that he of all people, with his spies, would find out what I’d done? I wipe my hands against my velvet top. Despite his order, I pull on pants and boots before I go. No one stops me. I am vulnerable enough; I will keep what dignity I can.

Prince Dain is standing near the window, behind Madoc’s desk. His back is to me, and my gaze goes automatically to the sword hanging from his belt, visible beneath his heavy wool cloak. He does not turn when I come in.

“I have done wrong,” I say. I am glad he stays where he is. It’s easier to speak when he’s not looking at me. “And I will repent in whatever way—”

He turns, his face full of a wild rage that makes me suddenly see his resemblance to Cardan. His hand comes down hard on Madoc’s desk, rocking everything atop it. “Have I not taken you into my service and given you a great boon? Did I not promise you a place in my Court? And yet—and yet, you use what I have taught you to endanger my plans.”

My gaze goes to the floor. He has the power to do anything to me. Anything. Not even Madoc could stop him—nor do I think he would try. And not only have I disobeyed him, I have declared my loyalty to something completely separate from him. I have helped a mortal girl. I have acted like a mortal.

I bite my bottom lip to keep from begging for his forgiveness. I cannot allow myself to speak.

“The boy wasn’t as badly hurt as he might have been, but with the right knife—a longer knife—the strike would have been lethal. Do not think I don’t know you were going for that worse strike.”

I look up, suddenly, too surprised to hide it. We look at each other for several uncomfortable moments. I stare into the silvered gray of his eyes, taking note of the way his brows furrow, forming deep, displeased lines. I note all this to avoid thinking of how I almost gave away an even greater crime than the one he’s discovered.

“Well?” he demands. “Had you no plan for being found out?”

“He tried to glamour me into jumping out of the tower,” I say.

“And so he knows you can’t be glamoured. Worse and worse.” He comes around the desk toward me. “You are my creature, Jude Duarte. You will strike only when I tell you to strike. Otherwise, stay your hand. Do you understand?”

“No,” I say automatically. What he’s asking is ridiculous. “Was I supposed to just let him hurt me?”

If he knew all the things I’d really done, he would be even angrier than he is.

He slams a dagger down on Madoc’s desk. “Pick it up,” he says, and I feel the compulsion of a glamour. My fingers close on the hilt. A kind of haziness comes over me. I both know and don’t know what I am doing.

“In a moment, I am going to ask you to put the blade through your hand. When I ask you to do that, I want you to remember where your bones are, where your veins are. I want you to stab through your hand doing the least damage possible.” His voice is lulling, hypnotic, but my heart speeds anyway.

Against my will, I aim the sharp point of the knife. I press it lightly against my skin. I am ready.

I hate him, but I am ready. I hate him, and I hate myself.

“Now,” he says, and the glamour releases me. I take a half step back. I am in control of myself again, still holding the knife. He was about to make—

“Do not disappoint me,” Prince Dain says.

I realize all at once that I have not gotten a reprieve. He hasn’t released me because he wants to spare me. He could glamour me again, but he won’t because he wants me to stab myself willingly. He wants me to prove my devotion, blood and bone. I hesitate—of course I hesitate. This is absurd. This is awful. This isn’t how people show loyalty. This is epic, epic bullshit.