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“You accuse me of illogic!” I said. “I expected to return to find you very angry with me.”

He barely seemed to hear. He looked from me to Arna, and I did see a flash of temper in his gaze then—but only a flash. “You have risked your life for her. Haven’t you?”

“Ah,” I began nervously. “Somewhat, I suppose.”

“Somewhat,” he repeated. “Somewhat, Em!”

“I had every confidence in my abilities!” I protested, and I told him how it had come about: my research, the journey to the mountain, Poe, the Hidden king’s assistance. When I came to his role Wendell looked so faint it seemed briefly possible that he might pass out. When I told him how Shadow and I had travelled through the Veil, he stood in complete silence for a long moment, staring at me. Then, abruptly, he pulled me into his arms again.

“You must allow your stepmother to live,” I said. I was about to launch into my reasoning, for I still had my speech to finish, but he forestalled me.

“Yes, obviously,” he said, pulling back to draw a handkerchief from his pocket and blow his nose.

“Obviously?” I said, puzzled and a little flustered.

He finished blowing and waved a hand, tucking the handkerchief away. “Good Lord, Emily! You think I would risk you doing something like that again? Name your demands and they shall be met.”

“I—” I stopped, feeling oddly put out that I could not deliver my speech as I’d intended. “I have only the one.”

He studied me. “All the time you were away I spent worrying that you were unhappy here.”

“What?” I said.

“Well, I could think of no other reason why you would leave me for so long. Please put my mind at ease. Are you?”

“Am I what?” I was beginning to feel as if the conversation were a wayward wind blowing me off course. We were supposed to be speaking of his stepmother! She stood not a yard from me; I could tell that she, too, had expected to occupy the bulk of Wendell’s attention, and was displeased to find that this was not so.

“Are you unhappy here?” he persisted. “I have made a number of improvements, such as hiring additional bookbinders—and I realize that I have neglected that all-important room, the library. Now, I will not use the word theft, as it is entirely inaccurate in this case, but if we were to borrow the contents of the dryadology library at Cambridge and make copies—”

“I am not unhappy!” I interrupted. To my surprise, I found myself laughing a little—he looked so dreadfully earnest.

He seemed relieved and glanced at his stepmother with more contempt than hostility. I hadn’t thought it would be easy to convince him, and in truth, it hadn’t been, but now that he had given way to me, he seemed almost to have forgotten why he’d been so adamant before about killing her. Leaves rustled overhead and I glanced up; to my dismay I found the boughs above us crowded with Folk, the largest number being brownies, black eyes glistening, but also some courtly fae less cognizant of their dignity, adolescents in the main.

“You should not forgive me so easily,” I said. “At least not without an explanation.”

I launched back into my speech, offering evidence to support my certainty that his decision to punish his stepmother would come back to haunt him, relying on my extensive knowledge of story patterns, as well as the discoveries regarding the Macan tale I had made at the cottage. I broke off when I saw that he was regarding me with a look of pure exasperation.

“Em,” he said, “if your aim is to convince me to allow this murderous lunatic to run free through the realm, you need not importune me further; it shall be done. But do not ask me to see the wisdom of it.”

“Your Highness,” Niamh said, looking as if she had been suppressing objections that could not be held back any longer. “Your stepmother has done great harm. Are we truly to accept her assurances that she will not try for the throne again? I agree she should not be tossed back into the Veil, but surely she should be held in the dungeons at least.”

“How much simpler it would be to kill her,” Lord Taran said from behind me. I had not noticed he was there—he had blended into the nebulous crowd of Folk—and turned to find him regarding us with a droll expression.

“Simpler, perhaps,” I said. “But not necessary. Now that she is caught, surely you can set enchantments upon her that will circumscribe her movements. Her powers may also be bound, though given that she is no longer queen, those must be greatly diminished already.”

Arna only shrugged at this. “What need have I for magic when I can have the smell of trees after rainfall, the melody of water tumbling over moss and stone, the warmth of a summer’s day, and the quickening chill of an autumn twilight upon my skin?”

“Good Lord,” Wendell said.

“And I shall not run free anywhere,” Arna went on. “My aim is to take up a quiet little cottage somewhere out of the way—you may choose the place, Your Highness, and have me spied upon at all hours if you wish. The Veil has taught me wisdom, where before—I know now—I had only canniness. I wish to pass this wisdom on to other Folk.”

Wendell’s only response to this speech was to turn back to me with a look of aghast disbelief.

“I believe she may be sincere,” I said. “After a fashion.”

“Very well!” he said. “If you wish to make a pet—or, as I suspect is more likely, an object of scientific study—out of the greatest villain our realm has ever known, I shall not stand in the way. I should have known you would appreciate such an opportunity more than any material gift I could give you.”

“Your words are pretty, sister,” Lord Taran said, “even unexpected—I say that as one who knows you better than any other. But I don’t believe you have changed, myself, for you have nothing to gain from it, and everything to gain from pretending. No doubt in time you shall manage to convince other Folk, enough to make some of them forgive you, perhaps. As you know, there is a way out of every enchantment, if one looks hard enough—and if one cultivates the right allies.” He looked at Wendell and me. “She will never stop being a threat if she is allowed to live.”