There were no cheers when I returned to the encampment, no fanfare or celebration. I retrieved Morgause where I'd left her and we rode back, returning just as dawn broke over the forest. We were welcomed by rows of House Silvering armsmen, their faces drawn with exhaustion beneath the brims of their helms. They allowed me through the gate and parted ways as I approached the Empress's tent.

Rosanna waited for me at the center of the camp, not far from the spot the troll had died. She hadn't done up her hair or changed out of the gown she'd been in the previous night. She didn't much look like a monarch then, but like a very tired woman, and a fearful mother.

I dismounted, then lifted the Prince down. He stared around at the throngs of people watching him, looking dazed. He hadn't said a word the whole way back.

Rosanna watched her son stiffly, her countenance regal, stern. Kaia was behind her and a bit to the side in her customary position, still fully armored, though she stood a bit more distant than was typical.

I gave Darsus a gentle push. "Go to your mother."

He walked forward a few steps, moved more by my hand than his own volition. Rosanna blinked, then started walking forward at a fast clip.

The Empress of the Accorded Realms approached her son and — heedless of the cold mud and her rich gown — fell to her knees and clutched him close to her chest.

Karledalers are a very proud people. The knights, archers, valets, squires, pages, and pikemen watching the scene all respectfully averted their gazes from their monarch's display of humanity. Were anyone ever to ask about that morning, they would all claim Rosanna Silvering accepted her son's return with stoic grace. They would claim it to a soul, and dare anyone to deny it.

A few of those watching detached themselves from the crowd and approached me. They were a group of four, all still wearing the dust of the road, and they did not show the colors of Karlesian chivalry.

The leading member of the quartet wore blood-red armor and a basket-hilted sword at her right hip. She spoke in an aristocratic drawl.

"This is all quite dramatic. You know, you don't have to try so hard to impress us? It's embarrassing."

Perhaps the euphoria of succeeding in my rescue mission got to me, because I felt a rare, genuine smile tug at the corner of my lip. "It's good to see you too, Emma."

"They arrived only an hour before you did," Rosanna told me some time later. We were all sitting inside her royal tent, at a table set for seven. I occupied one seat, the Empress another, and my lance an additional four. The Prince was absent, fallen into an exhausted stupor after his terrifying misadventure.

The seventh seat, inexplicably, remained unoccupied. I noticed it, but didn't question it aloud.

"Her Grace filled us in," Lisette said with a quiet smile. The cleric wore her white-and-yellow adept's habit, and her blue eyes were shadowed with fatigue. "It seems we were just a bit late to a share of trouble. Apologies, Ser Headsman."

Emma scoffed. "Oh please, choir girl, you can drop the Sers and the Headsmans. Didn't you know him even before I did?"

Lisette shot the other girl an annoyed look and sniffed. "We can still observe proper protocol. I will remind you that we are at table with the Empress."

"Who can still hear you," Rosanna said, arching an eyebrow. Lisette blushed, but the Empress just waved an indulgent hand. She'd cleaned up, and now wore a fresh dress and brushed hair. "Be at ease. You are my guests, and Alken has not been my vassal in a long time."

A servant offered me wine, which I waved away, while Hendry tucked into his food with gusto. My lance — my personal band of followers in the knightly tradition — had been in the coastal duchy of Mirrebel while I'd been in the south, attending to another problem. I hadn't seen any of them in months, and seeing them there so suddenly, casually chatting and bantering, was somewhat surreal.

Emma, my squire and disciple, was a nobly born young woman of nineteen years. She'd doffed her armor and now wore a red tunic and breeches, her posture in her seat casual. She'd cut her hair since I'd last seen her, clipping it short so her black-brown curls framed her ears rather than shrouding them. She'd lost weight over the winter, and with it some of that lingering softness of youth, and looked both sharp and dangerous, a hawk taking its ease as she slouched in her chair. Her gaze was always wandering, always calculating.

"We got the short version of the story," she said to me, taking the Empress's permission for casualness to heart. "But what happened?"

I hadn't touched my food yet, though it steamed invitingly in front of me. My mind was still mulling over that exact question.

"The Prince experienced an honor few mortals do, and fewer survive." I met Rosanna's green eyes across the table. "He was, briefly, a guest of the lords of the Sidhe."

My lance and the Empress stared at me in shock. Rosanna knew elves were the ones who attacked us the previous night, but this revelation took even her aback.

I gave them the short version, going over my arrival at the ruins in the deep woods, my invitation to an audience with Maerlys, and the revelation that the seydii and wylde elves had a new monarch.

Penric, my archer, leaned back in his chair and braced a palm on the table. "Fuckin' 'ell. Erm, forgive my language, Your Majesty."

A lowborn soldier, former assassin, and reanimated corpse, Penric cut an intimidating figure. Lean and tall, as many trained in the yew longbow tended to be, he'd been a man in his twilight years when he died. His skin was pallid as a three day old corpse, his flesh sunken against sharp bones, and silver eyes — actual silver — peeked out from beneath the brim of a bycocket hat. His real eyes were eaten by demonic insects the previous summer, but he'd eventually replaced them with artificial ones.

Not unlike the new Faerie Queen, ignoring the color. His ghostly complexion was broken only by the gleam of golden stitches across the side of his face.

Rosanna laced her fingers together, seeming to care more about what I'd revealed than the dyghoul's lack of decorum. "Why would she take him?"

She seemed surprisingly calm. I honestly hadn't known how she would take this news, but I saw her working through the implications.

"To throw the Dales into chaos." I shrugged. "The elves always think about the long game. Our lives seem short and meaningless to them, so they don't think much of us as individuals. Your son was an opportunity to attain control over the southern realms decades down the line. By raising him… grooming him... they would have a champion to both erect a new order in the south and represent their interests."

"Which would require me to be dead," Rosanna said. "Me and Josric. No other claimant to the southern throne, and no one to produce more Silvering heirs."

She seemed stoic at this realization.

"That's evil," Hendry said in a tense voice. While not quite as tall as Penric or myself, the young knight was built like a bear, even more so than when I'd last seen him. He had curly brown hair, a distinctly round face ill-matched to a powerful frame, and a tawny complexion. He usually wore the brass-tinted armor gifted to him during his service to the Emperor as a Storm Knight, but now only wore his gambeson.

He'd also attained a new scar. I noted the shadow of a bad gash near the right side of his mouth.

"To be fair…" Emma studied a piece of meat stuck to her fork idly. "We humans do this and worse to one another all the time."

"I do not need reminding of that," Rosanna said darkly. "Before my sons were born, I was the last of House Silvering, Emma Orley."

Emma winced and threw me a guilty look. I shook my head at her.

"I just don't understand what the Princess — I mean, the Queen — hoped to gain from this." Lisette frowned as she posed the question. "I mean, I understand why she might want a future king with ties to two thrones under her influence, that makes an amount of sense. What I don't understand is why the southern kingdoms being in disarray suits her. Why did she have to attack us? Why kidnap the boy? Why not just a thief in the night, or something more subtle with a higher chance of success?"

I tapped a finger against the table's surface. "It's a good question. Especially now, with this war against the Demon Lord of Seydis starting to escalate."

Was it just a sudden opportunity Maerlys tried to seize, poorly planned and quickly executed?

No, that wasn't like the elves. Their longevity didn't always make them patient — they could very much live in the moment — but if Maerlys was anything like her father, she didn't play a hasty game.

"It might have been retaliatory," I said.

Rosanna's gaze, previously distant, sharpened. "Retaliatory? Are you suggesting I did something to earn this?"

The hardness in her tone was dangerous. I held up a hand to forestall her anger. "Not you specifically, Your Grace. The Sidhe don't always distinguish our factions or care about our politics. Humanity is like a big mob to them, a…" I searched for words that made sense. "A weather pattern. Even if many of us might mean them no harm, they treat a threat from any of us as a potential threat from all of us."

Rosanna's eyes narrowed. "The Inquisition."

"That, and this new crusade. I've seen things during my travels, and even back before I settled in at Garihelm. People are scared and angry, they see the Sidhe as the monsters in the dark, which they sometimes are. The world went mad twelve years ago, and besides that… Elves haven't always been benevolent. We found a balance with them, but now that balance is shattered. I think Maerlys was sending a message as much as working to build her new regime."

"That I am not untouchable," Rosanna murmured. "That none of us are."

I leaned back in my seat. "Also, a High House in their thrall would help prevent future inquisitions. If it worked. I don't think she anticipated me this time. We got lucky."

I saw decisions and orders simmering behind Rosanna's closed expression. Dropping my voice I said, "Rose, I know what you're thinking. They hurt you here, and every norm of rule grants you the right to take retribution. But please, consider the cost. This isn't just another House we're talking about."

"What about the cost of forgiveness?" Rosanna spat. "I cannot afford to be weak. She took my child, Alken."

"And he's back. He's safe." I met her gaze levelly. "Think about what happens if you try to take revenge for this. Elven feuds can last millennia. Vengeance is satisfying, but do you really want your son to inherit a cursed House?"

"It's not fun," Emma muttered as she lifted a grape for inspection. "Rather droll, really."

"The Sidhe are the land," I continued. "You can't go to war with that."

Rosanna's voice became chillingly calm. "They are not invincible. That was proven twelve years ago."

"So you'd become another Reynard?" I asked harshly. "Another Hasur, trying to put a blade through the natural order out of pride?"

Silence. My lance wouldn't look at my face or the Empress's as we glared at each other over the table. Only in the thickness of that tension did I realize what I'd just said, and to who.

"You tread on very brittle ice, Ser Hewer." Rosanna's use of my surname let me know just how angry I'd made her, even more than the coldness in her words. "I will remind you that I am Empress of the Accorded Realms. And you are a mere knight, vassal to me and my husband."

No taking the words back now. I blinked once and fixed a steady expression onto my face. "You said yourself I haven't been your vassal for a long time," I reminded her. "And I'm not just an Accord knight, Your Grace. If a mere soldier could have brought your son back, then you would have sent Kaia."

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Penric tilted his hat down further over his eyes. Hendry practically squirmed in his seat, and Lisette's face was ghost pale. Emma merely looked bored, though I knew she often did when she was tense.

I hadn't wanted to have this conversation in front of an audience, and not like this. I was exhausted. It'd been days since I'd slept, but that wasn't much of an excuse.

I didn't want Rosanna starting a blood feud with the Queen of Elvendom. It would be a fucking disaster. But I also knew her. Rosanna had earned her moniker, the Bloody Rose of Karles, for good reason. She did not take threats to herself or her family sitting down.

Twenty years ago, she probably would have ordered me from her presence, maybe even demanded I be thrown into a dungeon. There would have been blood, fire, death. She'd built a kingdom on her ruthlessness, and it'd been just, because she'd battled evil men and sought vengeance for her family.

This was not that girl. This was a queen and a mother, and though she'd been stung, she knew the score as well as I did. So I tried to take some of the heat from my voice and tried a different tact.

"We're not just letting it go. I have another audience with her over a different matter."

Rosanna's brow creased. "Another matter?"

I decided transparency would serve me here. "Choir business. I was seeking Maerlys already, before I even showed up here."

She studied me coolly over the table's surface, hard then even for me to read. "I see. Is this the part where I accuse you of having mixed loyalties?"

I grunted in exasperation. "Damn it, Rose! I have your best interests in mind, here! I would have burned that entire fucking forest down and fought every hobgoblin, troll and irk that came at me to get your son back. Do you not believe that?"

Her expression softened, and I saw a touch of regret form there as well. "I… I know, Al. I know. I'm just…"

"Furious. I am too, believe me." I offered her a tight smile. "What I mean to say is that I'm not planning to just let this go. Maerlys has a lot to answer for, and I'm planning to make sure she does, one way or another. She has Jocelyn in her custody too."

Rosanna leaned forward. "Truly? You're sure of this?"

"I saw him, while I was there getting your son. Between that and witnessing the raid on your camp, I have a lot of shade to throw at her. I'm on a job for the Choir now, but when it's done I plan to bring this up. Officially."

Penric was picking at his teeth with a thumbnail. "And that'll work? The… Well, they will listen to you?"

He waved his hand vaguely upward, indicating the sky.

I didn't actually know. I'd realized a while back that the Choir played their own games of power over mortal societies. Perhaps they were even in on this, though I hoped not.

That wouldn't instill confidence, so instead I said, "I have the means to bring it to their attention, at least. I stopped a rival realm of immortals from invading Urn over the winter, and if I succeed on my current task then I expect to have some good will to barter with. I need the Elf Queen's cooperation until then."

I met Rosanna's worried eyes. "Let me handle it, before you go scorched earth."

"It's not just about my son," she argued. "People died last night, Alken. What am I to tell my men?"

She had a point. Drumming my fingers against the table for a moment, a thought came to me. "Reparations. Human nobles do it."

"That won't cool tempers," the Empress insisted.

"Maybe not, but it's a common way to avoid war in these circumstances. Your nobles will accept it."

Rosanna considered a while in silence. No one dared interrupt her, not even me.

"You can compel her to agree to this?" She finally asked me.

"I will make her see reason." I'd have to.

"And my son is safe?" Her green eyes were still shimmering with a restrained fury that'd been building since the previous night.

I nodded. "As much as he can be. I don't think Maerlys is going to try anything so brazen again, not with you or yours. But we can't expect her to go meek on us, either. I think she's trying to rebuild some of what her people lost during the Fall."

Hendry frowned, looking confused. "How so? Lisette had a point earlier. This seems like something that might just make things worse for them."

I felt all the faces in the room fix on me, waiting for my explanation. That was unsettling. When had I become the expert on magic and faeries? That had always been Lias's job.

Probably when you became half an elf yourself, you golden-eyed monster. This was easier than sparring with Rosanna, so I decided to take the change in topic gratefully.

"I don't pretend to know their minds," I admitted. "But I think Maerlys wants the Accord to break down."

Rosanna hid her reaction well, though I saw her clasped fingers flex. Emma raised her eyebrows, and Hendry leaned toward me. Lisette just frowned. No reaction from Penric.

"Isn't Maerlys a member of the Accord?" Emma asked.

"She is. I don't know what her game is, not entirely. Probably there are layers… I hope to get a better idea of her mind when we speak again."

"And I should not consider this woman an enemy?" Rosanna asked in a tense voice.

"For one thing," I said, "she's not a woman. She's a goring force of nature. Even if she falls, another monarch will rise, and each time the land will shift to match the ruler. Tuvon presided over an era of relative peace and understanding between mortals and elves. Maerlys might be a darker influence, but she's still her father's daughter."

I felt that remained true, if by Tzanith's loyalty more than by my impression of Maerlys herself. She played the part of the mad queen, but she'd once been kind and wise before Hasur put a torch to her.

Unless that was always an act, a more cynical part of me whispered in the back of my head. Remember her story about Edvard. She's old, and she's been doing this sort of thing for a long time.

Maybe the current Maerlys was the true one and always had been. Recusant fire tearing away that outer mask so she couldn't hide it anymore, save with very thin glamour. Hard to say.

"And this task of yours?" Rosanna asked.

"Death is missing," I said and took that moment to finally tuck into my food. I could also have a sense of drama.

When I came up from a mouthful, everyone was staring at me. Rosanna did not look amused.

I swallowed and added, "What? I'm being serious."

"Death?" Hendry asked.

"Specifically, the Doombearer for Draubard, the Land of the Dead. She's a drow elf, and something of a colleague of mine."

"You're friends with the grim reaper?" Penric asked me, looking like he couldn't decide whether to be awed or horrified.

Emma's brow was furrowed during the exchange, but then her eyes glinted with recognition. "Wait… You're talking about Lady Rysanthe."

I nodded, having almost forgotten Emma knew about her. "Yes, that's right. She was on a mission for the Choir over the winter and something went wrong. She's vanished, and someone else has her job in the meantime. They want me to figure out what happened to her and punish whoever is responsible."

"A grand quest," Rosanna noted. "Almost mythic."

I shrugged. "My only lead is that she had audience with Maerlys before disappearing. So I need to get the damned Queen of the Elves to tell me what she knows."

"A strange coincidence that this all happened seemingly in tandem with this move against me," my queen noted.

I'd had the same thought, but no answer to give just yet. Only one being did, and she would give me nothing for free.

"Rest up," I told the group. "Tonight, we're going to have an audience with a faerie queen."

The lance had been traveling hard for many days, and both they and I needed rest. We took the day, then when dusk started to creep back over the forests we set out. Though I was happy to see the quartet seemingly well, and there was a whole season of misadventures on both sides to discuss, there ended up being little time for catch-up.

I spent most of the morning with the Empress, discussing and strategizing what we'd do next and giving her more details about my mission in Osheim.

There were some things I would not talk about, however. I didn't speak of Delphine Roch, or of everything that happened in the crypt beneath the Grand Basilica.

I spent most of the day after that resting. I did not need as much sleep as an ordinary mortal, but fatigue could catch me if I didn't mind it, and the exhaustion tugged me under into a dreamless black until Emma was shaking me awake. I had my own small tent set not far from the royal one, was in my underclothes, and immediately had my rondel in my fist.

"Whoah there," my squire said with a nervous laugh. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot you're probably not used to being woken anymore. Let's sheath the steel, shall we?"

I let out a sigh of self-recrimination and slipped the blade back into its scabbard. "Sorry. What time is it?"

The light outside the tent looked dimmer. Near dusk, I thought, which Emma confirmed.

"Are we really heading out in the dark?" She asked me as she started to gather my belongings and prep them.

"I think Maerlys's court is only halfway material. We try to find it in the daytime, and we'll just find empty ruins. That's how faerie palaces are — they're mostly phantasm, and—"

"Phantasms are stronger at night," Emma finished for me. "You and Maxim taught me that."

She handed me my shirt, which I slipped into, and then helped me get my armor on. It was oddly familiar, like no time at all had passed since we parted ways in Garihelm.

"Sidhe magic at least," I agreed. "Some sorcery works just fine in the daylight, but for the most part fires burn brighter at night. Don't ask me to explain it, I'm not a wizard."

She finished buckling my pauldrons on and then helped me pin my cloak. Emma seemed on the verge of saying something, but hesitated. I didn't rush her.

"It was bad?" She asked me. "The south?"

I grunted. She stood behind me, adjusting the cloak so it was situated better between my shoulder armor. "Why do you ask?"

"I know you fairly well at this point, I'd like to think. You leave a lot unsaid and say much with your face, that way you scrunch."

"I don't scrunch."

"Grimace, then? Brood? You look constipated when you're sad, which is often."

"You know," I said dryly. "I was starting to miss you, just a bit."

She relented. "In truth, we've heard things. People on the roads are saying that Osheim is at war, that the rest of the Accord might be sending soldiers. People say there were demons there."

She paused a moment before adding in a quieter voice, "People are saying the Lion was there."

I blinked for a lasting moment as a bestial, cackling face drifted through my mind. "He was. And yes, it was bad. I'll tell you about it when there's time, but there's a lot to tell and it's not all easy to explain."

"Well, you're alive and still very… erm, solid." She slapped one of my pauldrons. "Also, what's the story with that?"

She pointed to the wolf pelt folded up in the tent's corner, which looked like an ordinary scrap of dead animal hide and hair that moment. I felt my heart skip a beat. How did I explain that to her?

"I'll tell you later," I said and grabbed the pelt, draping it over my shoulder. "First, I want you to explain this."

I nodded to her new armor, which was a dramatic addition to her look. It was stylized to resemble a human body stripped of its skin, so ribbons of red steel showed plain like naked muscle fiber. The suit had a vaguely effeminate shape, curves suggested if not dramatized, and looked solid and intricately articulated. It sported interconnected lines of white metal between the red, just like tendons.

Emma lifted a single gauntleted hand. The red fibers and web of white tendons extended all the way up her fingers, her digits almost fully white and resembling skeletal claws. "Ah, do you like it? A gift from Faisa Dance for services rendered, much as she gave you your tourney armor. She is a great collector, you see."

I nodded, wondering if I should be honest and how she would take it. "I've heard as much. It's just… Kind of macabre, isn't it?"

Emma gave a little twirl, which might have been fetching if it didn't do anything to make the armor look less like it was — a tortured corpse, or an anatomical model fashioned of blood-and-bone-hued steel. "Faisa thought I needed more protection than that chain shirt, and gave me a pick of several sets. This one drew my eye. Something about it… Oh, I don't know. I just thought it suited?"

I couldn't deny it did suit her, though it was rather ghoulish.

Emma rolled her eyes at my pensive silence. "Oh please. Between your black armor and that red cloak, you can hardly criticize my fashion."

"I acquired all of this piecemeal," I argued. "I didn't choose it."

"Even the surcoat?" She pointed at my featureless black overgarment. "How about the belt and that creepy tree on it? You look like a cliche."

"A cliche of what?" I asked defensively.

"You look like the villain in a village tourney," she drawled. "The black knight? Or the classical executioner. Was that not intentional?"

"I mean…" I shuffled, feeling self-conscious. "Perhaps a bit, but—"

"You're just jealous because you look sad and grim, and mine is erotic." Emma distractedly admired the articulated ridges of her vambrace.

"Erotic? Emma, you look like a flayed carcass!"

"I know!" She was almost gushing. "Wait until you see the helmet."

Before I could reply, the tent flap opened and Penric peeked in. "You two ready?" He asked. He was wearing his archer browns, his pointed hat angled over one eye. His longbow was slung over his back with a full quiver, feathered bodkins peeking over his shoulder.

"We are," I confirmed.

I met my lance out in the center of camp. They all had their gear and their own mounts lined up next to my mare, a small zoo of different chimeric breeds. Rosanna stood with them, speaking with Hendry. One of her handmaidens held little Josric and cooed to him. Some of her knights, including Ser Kaia, were also in attendance to see us off.

Rosanna turned and addressed me in a formal voice. "I wish you luck, Ser Headsman. You have the thanks of the Karledale and of the Accord both for the rescue of my heir."

I dipped my head in acknowledgment of the honor, and caught Kaia Gorr's stare over the Empress's shoulder. The former adventurer looked drawn, her eyes deeply shadowed from lack of sleep and pain. Her injuries were treated and she should have been resting, but I knew the look she wore.

Before I mounted my chimera, I spoke to Rosanna in a quiet voice. "You shouldn't punish Kaia. I'm sure she's punishing herself already."

Rosanna's reply was stiff. "I will mind my own people, Ser."

She's still angry at me for earlier. Comparing her to Hasur Vyke was perhaps a step too far. Why had I said that?

"Rose…"

"There are people listening," she said without looking at me. "You will address me as Your Grace."

I closed my eyes, took a quick breath, and opened them again. When I spoke, my voice was gentle. "Maerlys says she can help your son with his curse."

The color bled from her face. "What?"

"I thought you should know. We'll talk about it another time, alright?"

She threw me a quick glance, one full of fear and uncertainty, but nodded.

I decided to leave it at that. Mounting my mare, I turned to my group and gave them a cursory inspection. Something had changed about them. They no longer looked quite like the misfit band of draftees and outcasts they had back in the Emperor's city. Whatever they'd gone through in Mirrebel, it sharpened them. More than just fancy new armor and scars had been gained.

Emma road a demigryphon, a wingless offshoot of a more famous breed of chimera. It was sleek, and some mixture in the alchemy that created it gifted the bird-horse with a steel beak capable of puncturing a knight's armor. It suited its rider well. Hendry rode a heavy kynedeer, a creature favored in his home country. This was a male specimen with a rack of iron-capped antlers, its saddle decorated with horn and its eyes gleaming an uncanny green. The young knight wore his brass armor and the sigil of House Hunting on his heart-protector, a spear-wielding rider chasing a sickle moon.

Penric was more humble in his archer's garb, which sported very little metal. He rode a drab-colored cockatrice, a bipedal bird-reptile hybrid with a serrated beak and slit pupils. He shadowed the lance's cleric, Lisette, who lacked her own mount and instead shared Hendry's saddle. His stag was plenty big enough to carry two, and the young adept was light enough with her slim frame and lack of war gear.

"Ready?" I asked them. When they answered with nods of affirmation, I led them out into the wilderness and into the jaws of the unknown.

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