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“Emily,” Wendell said after a little pause, during which the only sounds were the wind moving through the leaves and the bloody oak blinking moistly at us, “as we have established, your thought process moves apace; I often struggle to keep up. You must learn to explain yourself.”

“ ‘The Tale of the Bard’s Stolen Dirge,’ ” I said. “ ‘The Robin Lord’s Reckoning.’ Just to name two examples—there are a dozen more. Don’t you see?”[*2]

“I know my stepmother must be dealt with,” Wendell said. “My uncle has sent scouts—”

I shook my head. “That’s not good enough. We must see what your stepmother has wrought, and without delay.”

Wendell gave a breath of laughter. “Well, naturally we will, then.”

“Oh, and you must remove the Lady East Wind from your Council,” I said. “And, if possible, banish her from court. She had a series of clandestine meetings with the head of the queen’s guard before he was executed. Apparently, she helped your stepmother plot the assassination of your father and siblings.”

“What!” Wendell exclaimed. “But we won’t have an even number now. I shall have to find somebody to replace the Lady with, and there is nothing more tedious than dealing with councillors, as I have recently discovered. I am out here hiding from them, in fact.”

“You should also banish Lord Carlin and someone who calls herself the Keeper of the Secret Brook,” I said. “They too are plotting against you.”

“How I hate politics!” Wendell heaved a sigh. “Oh, well. All this is useful material for your book, is it not?”

I could not help smiling at this. “Indeed, though I would rather said material did not come in the form of people wishing to kill you.”

He made a noise of agreement. “Well, Em, I am now convinced that your stay in Corbann has done you good. You are quite yourself again, ink-stained and full of schemes to burden me with, as if I do not already have enough to do.”

I paused. “You do not wish to know how I came by this information?”

“Yes, but only because you clearly wish to tell me,” he said, smiling.

I blushed under the warmth in his gaze. “The servants proved exceptionally knowledgeable,” I said. “The oíche sidhe. I have asked their leader to report to me should they learn anything else of note. I believe this should solve the assassination threat. The courtly fae either ignore the little ones or treat them with condescension, particularly the servants. That they might be listening in on their conversations seems barely to cross the minds of the nobility, even when they are plotting regicide.”

Wendell stared at me, and then he began to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “The common fae have come to our rescue again, have they?”

“The head housekeeper,” I said after a short pause. “He—seemed to feel some affection for you. He said you were theirs.”

Wendell’s amusement faded, and he looked momentarily disturbed, then a little lost. “Did he?”

“Have you had any contact with that side of your family?” I said.

“None. It was not—” He sighed. “Well, I suppose I could make excuses and say that I never knew my grandmother. She died long ago. The oíche sidhe are prone to injuries, given the nature of their work, which compound with age and wear away at their health. But the truth is that I never wanted to know them. It is not usual for my kind to mingle our bloodlines with the common fae. The resulting children are aberrations.” He amended, “That is how most Folk see us. Of course, as one in line for the throne, I was insulated from much of this sentiment. Few dared insult me to my face. Generally it was a thing that most at my father’s court went out of their way to ignore.”

“Which is not the same as saying it was accepted,” I noted.

Wendell shrugged, looking moody and unsettled. “It is kind of so many of the common fae to help us.”

“You are their king, too,” I said.

He seemed not to know what to do with this, and I reminded myself that it was uncommon for the courtly fae to bestow any consideration at all upon the small Folk of their realms. Had Wendell, over the course of his life, had additional motivation to avoid giving them much thought? I decided to change the subject.

“Have you been to see Deilah?”

“My sister?” Wendell wrinkled his nose. “What has she to do with this? Yes, I visited her this morning—briefly, but that was long enough. The brat merely spewed insults and laughed in my face when I suggested she renounce her wretched mother and swear fealty to the new king and queen. She’s convinced her mother will have her revenge upon us somehow. My uncle wants to execute her, naturally—that is his solution to everything.”

“In this case, it is sound advice,” I said. “She attempted to have you assassinated, after all. But I am glad you haven’t taken it. In many of the Irish stories, faerie monarchs who murder innocents are punished for it in some way. It would strengthen your stepmother, more likely than not.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Wendell said, frowning at me. “I haven’t killed her because she is a child, Em. Let her stew in the dungeons a fortnight or so, and we shall see if her vindictiveness holds.”

“I have another idea,” I said.

Wendell groaned and put his face in his hands.

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