“Your little alchemist does delight in surprises, doesn’t he? May I?” She didn’t actually wait for permission before snatching the bag out of my hand, opening it, and removing one of the larger blood gems. She held it up so that it glittered in the candlelight. “Hmm. Good work. I couldn’t have done better.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She dropped the blood gem back into the bag. “I’m not an alchemist. What he’s done is tricking your body into believing that it’s being fed. That’s flower magic, like illusions, and he gets that from his connection to Titania. I’m all blood and water. I could turn you into a turtle so you’d die a little slower, but I couldn’t make your mind into a turtle’s mind.”

“That’s a charmingly specific distinction.” I reclaimed the baggie, tucking it back into my pocket. “I need help.”

The Luidaeg snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I can’t stay this human. The goblin fruit will kill me. I’m not sure how to call my mother—and given what she wanted to do to me before, I don’t know whether calling her would do any good.”

“Ah,” said the Luidaeg softly. “I guess I can see where that would be a concern.”

“Yeah.” When my mother first changed my blood, she wasn’t trying to make me more fae; she was trying to turn me human, to protect me from whatever lunatic destiny she was afraid lurked for our bloodline. And maybe we have some sort of destiny. I’ve had more than a few soothsayers and prophets predict that I’m going to be involved in something big, whether or not I want to be. She thought that turning me human would save me, and maybe she was right; I don’t really know one way or another. But I do know that when I was elf-shot and would have died immediately, she’d changed the balance of my blood to make me more fae.

I just wasn’t sure she’d be willing to do it again.

“What were you hoping I could do for you? I don’t have Amy’s gifts. I can’t make you any more or less mortal than you are right now.” The Luidaeg grimaced. “I could wrap you in a Selkie’s skin, but that’s a step that can’t be taken back. You’d never be Dóchas Sidhe again.”

My eyes widened. For the Luidaeg to even offer . . . “No. I don’t want that. I was hoping you’d be able to tell us whether there were any hope chests in the Kingdom other than the one the Queen is holding.”

“Ah.” The Luidaeg looked relieved. I couldn’t blame her. The Selkies were skin-shifters, and the skins they wore had been flayed from the living bodies of the Roane. Every Firstborn had his or her own descendant races. The Roane had been hers.

The Luidaeg’s relief faded quickly, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Toby, but no. The only hope chest in this Kingdom is the one you surrendered to the Queen. If you want it, you need to get access to the treasury.”

“And we’re back to insurrection.” I sighed. “That’s still the plan, mind you, but I was hoping to be a little more indestructible when I pulled the trigger. Also, alive. Alive figures heavily in my long-term plans.” As human as I was at the moment, I wasn’t even sure the night-haunts would come if I died. The thought filled me with a new form of sick terror. Faerie lives on in the night-haunts. They’re the closest we can come to actual eternity. I’ve never been in a hurry to join them, but the idea that I might not join them at all was . . . unsettling.

“So what’s next?”

“There’s a book at the Library. No title, bound in blue samite, written by Antigone of Albany. It has records of where the hope chests went after they were handed out—including the one the Queen has now. Got any ideas on where we could find her? Maybe this Antigone lady can give us some suggestions on where to get our hands on an alternative.”

The Luidaeg stared at me for a long moment. Then, mirthlessly, she laughed. “Oh, how quickly they forget. Yeah, Toby. I know where to find Antigone.”

“Great!” I moved to stand. “Where—”

“That’s the name my parents gave me, after all.”

I jumped the rest of the way to my feet. “What?”

“Oh, Toby, Toby, Toby.” The Luidaeg reached over and pushed me gently back into a sitting position. “You didn’t think Maeve looked at me in my cradle and went ‘let’s name her Luidaeg,’ do you? My name—my given name—is Antigone. I was born in Scotland. We called it ‘Albany’ at the time. To be honest, I like that name a lot better, but what kind of vote do I get? I moved out centuries ago.”

“You—I—what?”

“All Firstborn have names, Toby. We chose to hide them behind titles a long time ago, when we realized it was time for us to take a big step away from Faerie. Even the strongest of our descendants were weak compared to us, their parents and originals. We didn’t have to leave. But we did have to create a barrier, to remind the children of our children that we were something more than tools to be used.”

“Blind Michael,” I said, softly.

“Yes. And Black Annis, and Gentle Annie—her name was Anglides, before she shortened it and turned it into a warning. The Mother of Trees.” The Luidaeg looked at me levelly. “We took titles as a warning. ‘Stay away. Here there be monsters.’”

“So you can’t help me,” I said quietly.

“I didn’t say that.” She held out her hand. “Give me one of those chunks of blood.”

I pulled out the bag, eyeing her warily. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to, stupid.”

“Right. Do not argue with the woman who could take your head off.” I pulled one blood gem from the bag and dropped it into her palm.

“See, if you were always that smart, we’d have a better working relationship.” The Luidaeg closed her hand. “I’ll be right back.” She turned and left the room, leaving the two of us alone.

Tybalt moved to sit down next to me on the bed. I scooted over so that my leg was pressed against his, and rested my head on his shoulder. He sighed, a sound that was somewhere between exhaustion and relief, and raised a hand to stroke my hair.

“We will come through this,” he said. “If I have to find your mother myself, and drag her kicking and screaming from whatever hole she is currently hiding in, we will come through this.”