I raised my hand. “Not dead.”

“Who said he was going to kill me?” asked Quentin.

“I’m pretty sure that was Raj’s dad,” I replied.

“He said he gutted you like a fish,” said Raj. He pulled away from Tybalt, just far enough to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand. “There was no way you’d survive that.”

“Surprise,” I said grimly. “Tybalt? Is this normal?”

“Not in the slightest.” Tybalt pushed Raj the rest of the way away from him, holding his nephew and heir at arm’s-length. “Raj, I am sorry to do this, but I have no choice. Your father has seen to that. Do you stand with him? Or do you refute him as your parent and stand with me?”

Raj’s eyes went wide. “What?”

Tybalt sighed. “You were misled, and I am sorry. I allowed this to happen. I knew he wanted you to hold power because he never could, and I allowed it because I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to know your mother’s eyes. I wanted to give you what most Princes never have. I was a fool. Perhaps your father is right, and I am unfit to be King—but you are unprepared. If you are loyal to him, run. Go to him, tell him you failed and have to flee, because otherwise, I will be forced to kill you both. Do you understand?”

Raj nodded mutely.

“Good. If you are loyal to me…stay. Your father will be punished for what he has done, but you are still a Prince, and you are mine to punish or to pardon.” Tybalt looked at Raj, hope and anguish both clear in his face. “The choice is yours. The choice is always yours.”

It sometimes seems like Faerie reserves the hardest choices for the children. Raj bit his lip, glancing past Tybalt to me. His eyes widened again when he noticed my shredded shirt. Then they narrowed, his expression hardening. He turned back to Tybalt. “I won’t help you kill my father,” he said.

“I wasn’t planning to ask you to. Believe it or not, I have long since tired of killing.”

Raj nodded. “Okay.”

“Just ‘okay’?” asked Tybalt, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay,” repeated Raj. He stepped back and knelt, seeming not to notice the blood soaking through his pants. “My King, I beg forgiveness for my actions. I was misled.”

“I know, Raj,” said Tybalt tiredly. “Rise.”

“Being a King sort of sucks,” I said.

Quentin wrinkled his nose. “So does your outfit.”

“Blood is in this season.” I cleared my throat. “If we’re done with the political upheaval, can we move on to finding Chelsea, figuring out what Riordan thinks she’s doing, and stopping Samson from turning the Court of Cats against us? Because those all seem like high-priority items, and instead, we’re just standing around getting blood on everything in sight.”

“You need new pants,” said Quentin. “And a new shirt. And maybe new hair.”

“And we’re missing the point,” I muttered.

Tybalt turned to face me. “Not at all,” he said. “Samson has doubtless intended to have me overthrown for quite some time. He hasn’t been foolish enough to force his son to challenge me, but I’ve heard him talking to the guards, implying that I am not fit for my position. He lacks the power to take my place. Sadly, that doesn’t stop him from taking my life.”

“Only Raj isn’t strong enough to kill you empty-handed,” I guessed. “Hence the gun.”

Raj looked deeply embarrassed. He set the gun down on the nearest table, muttering, “Father didn’t think I could take Uncle Tybalt without help, even if he was wounded.”

“Your father is wrong about many things, but right about that much,” said Tybalt. “If Raj kills me, however he accomplishes it, he becomes King. Samson’s co-conspirators would then be absolved of their part in this. There is no shame in backing a revolution that succeeds.”

“And if you live?” I asked.

Tybalt didn’t say anything, but his smile seemed to hold far too many teeth.

I sighed, retrieving my jacket from the floor and shrugging it back on. “Okay. Raj, you’re with us now. Etienne, you go with Quentin. We know Riordan’s involved. I think she’s using a blood charm to call Chelsea back to her. Quentin has a duplicate of the charm I showed you. Take some of the power dampening solution from the cooler in the car. You see her again—”

“I’ll pour it on her,” said Quentin.

Etienne and Jin blinked. I raised a hand, signaling that I’d explain later, and said, “Good. Tybalt, can you reach the Shadow Roads, or are you still too beat up?”

Tybalt looked at Jin, who rolled her eyes, wings buzzing in annoyance. “I don’t suppose I can stop you from flying around like a pixie with its head cut off any more than I can stop Toby,” she said resignedly.

“No, you can’t,” he said, looking amused.

“Hey,” I protested. “I’m always careful after a healing.”

Jin didn’t dignify my blatant lie with a response. She glared at Tybalt instead. “Will you at least try to go easy on yourself for the next few days? I know it’s hard. Toby’s essentially a walking bad influence. But please.”

Tybalt quirked a faint smile. “I bow to the wisdom of milady chirurgeon.”

“Huh?” said Quentin and Raj, almost in unison.

Jin smirked. “It means ‘doctor.’ I’m glad someone here knows how to take medical advice.”

“He’s using words that are no longer recognized as valid in Scrabble,” I said.

“I don’t care, he’s a smart cat. And before you try to tell me where to go, I’m staying here. You people are going to need patching up, I’m sure of it.”

I wished I could argue with her. Sadly, she was probably right. “Fine. Tybalt and I will go to Berkeley on the Shadow Roads, see if we can pick up Chelsea’s trail where we saw her last. After that—”

My phone rang.

I blinked, digging for the phone. “What the—I thought my battery was dead.”

“It was,” said April cheerfully. “I recharged it for you.”

“Without taking it out of my pocket?”

April blinked. “Why would I need to take it out of your pocket?”

“Right.” The display said it was May calling. I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”