Wood. The poison turned flesh to wood. I twisted my neck as far as it would go and stared down at myself. The edge where flesh and wood collided was visible now as a ridge just below my ribcage, tendrils of bark weaving through my sweater. I caught my breath, suddenly aware of how little of my body I could feel. “Oberon . . .” I whispered.

“My father won’t help you,” Acacia said. “Where is my daughter? Where is Luna?”

I shifted to stare at her, wide-eyed. “Your father?”

“Yes,” she said. “My father.”

“But . . .”

“My mother was Titania of the Seelie Court; my father Oberon, King of all Faerie.”

Firstborn. Another Firstborn. Bitterly, I said, “Can’t you people just leave me alone?”

“You came to me, changeling, carrying my half sister’s candle and stalking my husband’s subjects. There’s no reason for me to leave you alone. Quite the contrary: there’s every reason for me to kill you where you lie and collect my lord’s bounties for it.” She paused. “Every reason but one.”

“What’s that?” I said, fighting to keep the terror from my voice. She’d hear it; she’d have to hear it. The Firstborn are good at that sort of thing. They’re legends—they’re practically gods—and they’re supposed to have the decency to be dead or in hiding. Why the hell was I suddenly running into them around every corner?

At least this one hadn’t mentioned my mother.

“You know where my daughter is.”

I closed my eyes. So that was it. Voice numb, I said, “After you kill me, let Spike go. It didn’t do anything to you.”

“Are you refusing to tell me?”

“My lady, you’re bigger and meaner than I am. I know that. But I can’t save my kids like this; I’m going to die here, whether I tell you what I know or not.” I sighed. “I can be a coward sometimes, but not today. If I’m going to die, I’m not betraying Luna while I do it.”

“But I’m her mother.”

“You don’t look a thing like her.” I forced myself to relax. If I was going to die, I could at least pretend to do it with dignity.

“I see,” she said, after a long pause. Her cloak rustled as she leaned closer, and then her hand was pressed against my cheek. Her skin was as cool and smooth as willow wood. My headache faded under the touch, and I sighed inwardly. I hate it when the villains tease.

“Just get it over with,” I said. I felt the prickle of Spike’s claws as it jumped onto my chest, still “purring.” At least one of us was happy.

“And so I shall.” She placed her other hand on my opposite cheek and leaned down to kiss me on the forehead. Dignity suddenly wasn’t an option. I screamed.

It felt like I was dying. Worse than that, it felt like I was being born. Every muscle in my body was pulled tight, flayed open, and made new again. It seemed to last forever, and part of me wondered through the screaming if this was the true effect of the poison; not to kill or to change, but to hurt. Forever.

Then the pain stopped, replaced by the tingle of pins and needles in my reawakening flesh. Acacia pulled her hands away, sounding slightly bemused as she said, “You can open your eyes now, daughter of Amandine. It’s over.”

“How do you know my mother?” I asked, and opened my eyes. Spike climbed up to my shoulder as I sat up, looking down at myself. My legs were flesh again: sore, aching flesh, but flesh all the same. I ran a hand down my side. There was no lingering roughness; even my headache was gone. “Everyone seems to know her, but no one tells me why.”

“She was very . . . visible, once. A long time ago, before her choices were made. You have her heat in you. I should have seen it sooner. I would have, but I was unaware she had a child. I thought her line had ended.” I looked up to find Acacia watching me, half smiling. “Believe me, I’ve left you no surprises; you are as you were when first you snuck into my woods. I couldn’t stop the scarring, but the wound is healed.”

“Why?” I asked, bemused.

“You wouldn’t betray my daughter.” She shook her head. “She must be a good friend.”

“She is.”

“Is she . . . well?”

Maybe it was the longing in her voice; maybe it was the fact that I know what it feels like to lose a child. If someone had offered me information on Gillian, the chance to know that she was thriving . . .

Whatever it was, I believed her. However strange the idea might seem, she was Luna’s mother. I couldn’t trust her with anything important, but what harm could a little news do? Acacia spared my life—hell, she saved my life. I owed her that much. “She’s good,” I said. “She’s married now; she has a daughter.”

“A daughter.” She rolled the words on her tongue like wine. “What’s her name?”

“Rayseline.”

“Rayseline—rose.” Acacia laughed. “She named her daughter ‘rose’?”

“Yes.”

“Is she still in the Duchy of Roses?”

“The . . .” I paused. Some people call Shadowed Hills the Duchy of Roses because of Luna’s gardens. I don’t know any other place with that name. “Yes. She’s still there.”

“I thought she would be.” She lowered her lantern, smile fading into something sadder. “I don’t know where else she could have gone. She could never leave her roses.”

“I don’t understand how she can be your daughter,” I said, risking honesty. “Luna isn’t . . . she’s not a Dryad.”

“She never was. She wore a Kitsune skin when she left me, but you could see the truth of her if you knew to look. Who she was, where she began, it was always there. It always will be.”

“I don’t understand.”The Kitsune aren’t skinshifters—you either are one or you aren’t. They’re not like the Selkies or the Swanmays, who can give their natures away.

“That’s all right, you weren’t meant to. Just believe me when I tell you she is my daughter, and that she lived here with me once, before she left to live where roses can grow.”

I slid out of the hammock, catching myself on the netting as my feet hit the ground. My legs were full of pins and needles, but it was a welcome sensation; it meant they were mine again. “I need to go. I have to save my kids.”