“She may not be able to stay back,” said the Luidaeg. “Remember when I took you to break my brother’s Ride? You had to have a connection to the rider in order to be allowed to intercede. Depending on who she has, October’s help may be necessary.”
“I certainly hope not,” said Tybalt sharply.
The vague outline of a building was appearing ahead of us, blurred by the fog but clearly more sound than the knowe itself. We kept walking, and it resolved into a long, low stable complex flanked by a barn and a riding ring.
About two dozen horses milled in the ring, already prepared for their riders. Titania had managed to find replacements, but the Ride had yet to begin.
I looked around at the small group of my injured, overwhelmed allies and nodded, once, before starting toward the ring. If the horses were there, Titania’s company would be nearby, preparing for their grand attempt at remaking the world on a permanent basis.
We had been so busy determining who the sacrifice couldn’t be that I felt as if we’d neglected to properly review who it could be, and I was terrified of finding some unbearable surprise when I rounded the ring and looked into the open barn doors.
Instead, what I found was Titania and her guard, dressed to Ride, adjusting their clothing as they finished their preparations. She looked up and smiled, sweet as anything.
“Oh, good,” she said. “The guests of honor have arrived.”
Tybalt’s hand closed on my shoulder, fingers digging in almost painfully. “Don’t trust her,” he hissed, mouth close to my lips. “Something here is not as it seems.”
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he responded. “It takes a moment to shake off an illusion when skillfully cast. I can’t be sure what part of this is false.”
“Reality is just a mirror throwing back one way that things might be,” said Titania, and stepped to the side, giving me a better view of her company.
I didn’t recognize most of the figures behind her. They were fae, all of them, and strange and glorious in their forms and faces, beautiful beyond description, almost painful for me to look at directly. Then the crowd eddied, and I saw one face I knew.
Mother’s cheeks flushed red as she turned away to adjust the ties on her silken gown, eyes cast down at the knots so she could avoid facing me. I blinked, and stared.
“Mom?”
She wasn’t, not anymore—not since the divorce—but I didn’t know what else to call her, and after the last four months, the word came easy to my lips. I couldn’t look away, just like she couldn’t quite look at me.
“Mother!” August sounded like I felt, confusion and despair in her voice as she flung herself toward the company. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know what she’s intending to do? We can’t be a part of this! Mother, say you understand!”
“I do, sweet girl,” said Amandine, finally looking up as the daughter she had actually wanted called out for her. Her cheeks were still red, and she still didn’t face me. “I’m helping to guarantee a world where we can both be happy, and together, always. She’s promised me you won’t remember this when it’s all over. No one’s going to remember this except for your worthless sister, and she’s not going to be able to speak of it, to anyone.”
I frowned. Quentin wasn’t among the people preparing to Ride. “We’re here for your sacrifice, Titania,” I called. “It’s over.”
“Yes, you’re here to bring my sacrifice,” she said, agreeably. “I appreciate it greatly, because it’s not over. It’s never over before I say it is.”
She smiled, venomous as a snake, and snapped her fingers.
Vines burst from the ground and wrapped around our legs, holding us in place—all of us were suddenly tied down, even August, still reaching for Amandine. Her expression was pure confusion. Amandine sighed and smiled, reaching out to run her fingertips down August’s cheek.
“Dear child,” she said. “I would destroy Faerie to have you home again. Fortunately, I don’t have to. Thanks to the Summer Queen, I can save it, instead.”
I frowned, suddenly suspicious. “Are you the sacrifice?” I demanded.
Amandine shot me a sour look. “Child, no,” she said. “My lady decided, in her glory and her wisdom, that whoever rode today should do so with nothing they could lose in this world. Someone it would hurt you to lose. I suggested the cat, but she refused; said it might taint the sacrifice.”
Tybalt strained against the vines at her implied threat, trying to move closer to me. When he failed, he began to make a low snarling noise deep in the back of his throat, rising and falling in a vicious harmony of promised pain. I reached back to take his hand, holding tightly.
“Nor would I harm my sweetest girl.” She touched August’s cheek again, not seeming to notice when August tried to shy away, expression turning disgusted. “You were such a good child before you fell in with poor company,” she said. “That won’t happen again. We’re making a perfect world. No more cats. No more cowards. No more changelings.”
I stiffened as her meaning finally became clear. “You can’t,” I said.
“But child.” Amandine looked at me, eyes wide and guileless. “I already have.”
She kept smiling as Titania and her company vanished, leaving Amandine alone.
I turned my head, heart sinking as I realized what I was going to see. The riding ring was empty, horses gone.
So was Simon.
TWENTY-FIVE
FOR A MOMENT, I was frozen, shock sweeping over me and knocking the breath out of my body. “Luidaeg,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “You said she couldn’t hurt my family. You promised me.”
“I also said that the Heart might give Titania a loophole where that binding was concerned,” she said, genuine regret in her voice. “Now that you’re no longer under her spell, can you honestly say you still consider him family?”
My mouth worked silently. I remembered a lifetime of him loving me; I also remembered a lifetime of believing he was the monster waiting in the shadows to catch and destroy me. Finally, I found the answer. “I can. I can.”
I whirled to face Amandine, barely noticing the way the vines rubbed against my skin. “You give him back! He’s my father, and you have no right to touch him!”
“I haven’t laid a finger on him, nor will I, but I have every right,” she said, voice poisonously sweet. “He was my husband. What he isn’t—and never has been—is your father. He wasn’t your father when this began, and he won’t be your father as he dies.”
“How dare you? He loved you!”
“He left me,” she said, as if that were the only thing that had ever mattered, or ever could. “No one leaves me.”
“I did,” I said. “August did.”
“And now we all are,” said the Luidaeg. She moved one hand through the air in a slashing gesture, and the vines dropped away, withered and dry before they hit the ground. “Toby, the key.”
I dug the Summer Roads Key out of my pocket and slapped it into her charred hand. One of her blisters broke, fluid and small, wriggling creatures seeping from the wound. She didn’t seem to notice.