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I could not believe he was asking about flowers, what with everything else we had to worry about, and opened my mouth to tell him so, but he only touched my hand and said, “It’s an important matter, Em.”

“You know my dear sister hated the place,” Lord Taran said. “She ordered the gardeners to neglect it. And, well—I’m afraid it’s been claimed by the Deer.”

“One more thing for the to-do list,” Wendell said with a sigh.

“What on earth does that mean?” I said.

Wendell looked apologetic. “All lands claimed by the hag-headed deer are—unfriendly places. They have a tendency to go feral.”

While I contemplated what feral rhododendrons might look like, Lord Taran said, “Enough small talk, Your Highness—you must satisfy my curiosity. We have heard all manner of rumours about you over the years. You are employed at a mortal school as a common labourer, some say; others, that you have been in the north, harassing one of the winter kings.”

“Oh, that,” Wendell said, and launched into an account of our adventures in Ljosland, the bulk of which consisted of hyperbolic descriptions of snow and cold. Lord Taran seemed particularly interested in the concept of glaciers, and asked a number of questions. I waited, tamping down my impatience, until there was a break in the conversation.

“Whom were you fighting before we arrived, sir?” I asked, using a respectful form of address for the courtly fae, which they use to address one another, but not the most respectful form, which is used by brownies and the like. If Lord Taran took issue with this, I did not particularly care. The word has no direct translation, but shares a root with the Faie word for musician, an intriguing quirk that has been the subject of much scholarly debate.

“Oh, it was invaders from—” He used a word I had not heard before. The rough translation is Where the Ravens Hide.

“One of the realms conquered by my stepmother,” Wendell explained. “Scholars call it the Silva Orchis. Unpleasant place—bloody mountains everywhere.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if I could order the mountains in my realm to depart? We have hills enough—what more does one need?”

Lord Taran shrugged, evidently not much interested in the matter. “Anyway—the battle began with the invaders. But then some of the queen’s soldiers leapt into the fray—her personal guard remains loyal to the death and have generally been making a nuisance of themselves. They organized a performance last night in the castle gardens in which a dozen singers and flutists serenaded us with tedious ballads about disloyalty being the seed of decay; traitors must be put to death, etcetera. They kept at it all night; I slept very poorly. So I formed an alliance with Where the Ravens Hide and slew the moralizers instead.” He paused, seeming to consider. “I wonder where the invaders got to afterwards?”

“Good Lord!” Wendell said. “Flutes and minstrels—could they not have hired a harpist or two?”

“That’s just it—one cannot expect good taste from the warrior class,” Taran said.

“Who holds the throne now?” I interjected. Navigating the conversation was beginning to feel like swimming against a tumultuous and mercurial current.

Lord Taran sipped his tea. “Yesterday, it was one of the old king’s advisors. The day before that, the head of the queen’s guard tried to make himself regent in the queen’s absence. Thankfully, he was slain before he could make us sit through any ballads. Today—oh, who can say?”

“And where is my stepmother?” Wendell said.

Lord Taran spread his hand. “Dead, I presume. Well, she was dying when last I saw her. The poison caused a rapid deterioration in her health—you were perhaps overgenerous in your dosage, my dear.” He gave me a smile that I did not find pleasant. “She had her guards spirit her away somewhere before she could actually expire—I expect it was to spite you, Your Highness. You would have had an easier path to the throne if her death was irrefutable; now, though, those loyal to the queen will have an excuse to stay loyal.”

Wendell looked downcast at that, but then he shrugged. “I will fight them, I suppose.”

“And you will win,” Lord Taran said. “Of that I have no doubt. But there are so many contenders for the throne that it will be a long and tedious business. Many of the queen’s inner circle, as well as the old king’s, share my opinion that you are too young to rule. Others dislike you for the same reason they disliked your mother, the old queen—they do not wish to be ruled by one descended from the small Folk, particularly the oíche sidhe. It is unnatural.”

“Actually,” I said, as I leafed through the stories in my mind, organizing them like papers on a desk, “the real worry is that your enemies may not attempt to fight you. Instead they will smile and bow and make pretty speeches, and behind your back hire assassins or poisoners. It is, after all, one of the things your court is known for.”

Wendell groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair. Then he seemed to take note of something in my voice. He examined my face, and began to smile. “You’ve had an idea, haven’t you, Em? Please say yes.”

“I think,” I said slowly, “that we need your court to fear you. Enough that they will be too afraid to stand against you.”

“Well, of course; everyone is afraid of children,” Lord Taran said. “And what a fearsome reputation this one has! They say he was almost always the last to leave a party. Now he returns with a rumpled little scholar at his side! His enemies will be quaking.”

Wendell had not taken his gaze off me. “How?”

“Your trick with the cloak has given me an idea,” I said, resisting the urge to straighten the wrinkles out of my skirt.

Lord Taran’s smirk vanished. “You cannot think to throw us all into the Veil, my lord. You will have no one left to rule over. Well, spare me, at least—I am on your side.”

“Are you?” I snapped. “Forgive me, sir, but you do not seem much enthused by the idea of Wendell taking the throne.”

“Oh dear,” Lord Taran said. “It seems we’ve misunderstood each other. Indeed, I believe my nephew will make a terrible king. We might as well offer the throne to one of the gardeners and see how they fare. But I couldn’t care less who the king is. I am on your side because it will make Callum happy.”

I did not trust him one bit. “That’s all?”

He smiled. “Naturally that is all, because what else matters in life?”