If there were passages in the walls, that meant there was always a chance of our conversation being overheard. I made a mental note not to speak too freely while we were here.

J.B. and Violet walked ahead of us down a long stone corridor lined with medieval armor. Amarantha apparently really enjoyed playing queen of the castle, down to all of the accessories. Then I got a closer look at one of the helmets on the suits. Inside was a human face, frozen in terror, mouth open, eyes wide. I gulped.

Nathaniel noticed the direction of my gaze. He leaned close to me as we walked.

“Those are soldiers from the War of the Roses in 1460,” Nathaniel whispered. “Amarantha kept them as trophies when she helped the Earl of Warwick defeat the Lancasters at the Battle of Northampton. She added the armor later.”

“Isn’t that in England?” I said.

“Yes. Amarantha had her castle moved brick by brick when she migrated here two hundred years ago.”

“Just how old is she, anyway?” I asked. This corridor seemed to be taking forever, especially now that I knew the suits of armor were filled with bodies.

Nathaniel frowned. “I am unsure of her precise age, but I believe she has recently entered the 1107th year of her reign as queen.”

“Wonderful,” I said sotto voce. “How come everyone I meet is a kajillion years older than me? They’ve all had centuries to practice being crafty. Me, I’m just a thirtysomething thrown in the deep end of the pool without a floatie.”

“I am your floatie,” Nathaniel said.

I giggled. I couldn’t help it. Nathaniel looked so stiff and formal, as he always did, even when he said the word “floatie.”

“You do not believe my assistance will be valuable? I assure you, I have had many dealings with Queen Amarantha,” he said, his voice frosty.

“Of course I believe you’ll be valuable,” I said, not wanting to deal with one of his hissy fits right now. “It’s just that—”

I was cut off as we finally rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and we were greeted by a set of polished oak doors. Violet finally took her claws off J.B.’s arm and turned to face us.

“If you will wait here for a moment, I will alert the queen to your presence.”

She disappeared inside the double doors so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to peek at the throne room behind them. Based on the rest of the castle, though, I was sure that Amarantha’s court would be dazzling, ostentatious and probably a little scary. I took a deep breath and steeled myself. Beezle fluttered back to my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze of his claws.

A few minutes later the doors swung open and I heard a voice announce, “Ambassador Madeline Black ap Azazel, on behalf of Lord Lucifer. Lord Nathaniel ap Zerachiel, escorting. Prince Jonquil of Queen Amarantha’s court, escorting.”

I gave J.B. a sideways look. “Jonquil?”

He took my arm very firmly and pressed his lips together. “Not a word.”

“Oh, no,” I whispered. “I am definitely not going to forget this.”

We stepped into the breach, J.B. on one side of me and Nathaniel on the other, both of them holding my arms. I felt like Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road between the Tin Man and the Scarecrow. Too bad I didn’t have a basket to put Beezle in.

The throne room was pretty much what I’d expected, although from a slightly different era. Rather than sticking with the medieval theme here, Amarantha had gone for Baroque. The ceiling was high and covered in gold foil and curlicues. The windows were draped with pink velvet and gold tassels. The parquet floor was polished to a high gloss. I half expected to see Louis XIV come striding down to meet me.

The room was the size of a ballroom rather than a throne room, and it was packed to the gills with faeries dressed like they were at a black-tie wedding. Amarantha’s throne was on a raised dais at the opposite end of the doors, so that we had to promenade in front of the assemblage in order to reach her.

As we entered the room, there was a momentary hush, and then the murmur of voices started up again, many of them declaring in disparaging tones that I looked terribly ordinary and other things to that effect.

I was reminded of the first time I entered Azazel’s court, when so many of the angels had found me wanting. I just hoped that this visit wouldn’t end the way that one had—with someone getting their head chopped off. I still had nightmares sometimes about Greenwitch’s head rolling to my feet, her pale eyes staring forever into the void.

J.B. patted my arms reassuringly. “You’re better than they think.”

I smiled at him. “I know that, but thanks for saying it anyway.”

He smiled back, and I felt that little flutter again, this time in the vicinity of my heart.

The crowd parted before us in ripples, and I finally got a look at Amarantha. She was looking pretty damned good for a woman over a thousand years old. She didn’t even look old enough to be J.B.’s mom. Of course, Azazel looked like he could be my handsome older brother. That was just a symptom of being the half-human child of an immortal.

Amarantha had mahogany hair pulled to a low knot at the base of her neck, the same glittering green eyes as J.B. and a perfect heart-shaped face. Rather than go overboard on the fashion front (as I’d expected, given the crazy gold and velvet all over the room), she’d chosen to set off her flawless skin with a simple, fluid dress the color of champagne. It left her shoulders bare and highlighted the diamond the size of my thumb that she wore nestled between her perfect br**sts.