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.
And then there are the Folk who must be convinced that I am the legitimate Queen of Faerie.
By the time the Bomb comes into the room, face covered and in her long, hooded cloak, I am composed.
Nonetheless, when we look at each other, she comes immediately over and puts her arms around me. I think of the Roach and of all the curses that cannot be broken, and for a moment, I hug her tight.
“I need to know who is still loyal to me,” I tell her, letting go and returning to my pacing. “Who is throwing in their lot with Madoc and who has decided to play for themselves.”
She nods. “I will find out.”
“And if one of your spies overhears plans for my assassination, they do not need to bring me word. Nor do I care how vague the plot or how uncommitted the players. I just want them all dead.” Perhaps that is not how I ought to handle things, but Cardan is not here to stay my hand. I do not have the luxury of time or of mercy.
“It will be done,” she says. “Expect me with news tonight.”
When she goes out, Taryn comes in. She looks at me as though she’s half-expecting an enormous serpent to be in here, too.
“How’s Oak?” I ask.
“With Oriana,” she says. “Who isn’t sure if she’s a prisoner or not.”
“She showed me hospitality in the North, and I aim to return the favor.” Now that shock is receding, I find that I am angry—at Madoc, at Oriana, at the whole of Elfhame. But that is a distraction, too. “I need your help.”
“Mine?” Taryn asks, surprised.