“Liar,” he said, and smiled again.

“Just hold on. Sylvester, why are you still here? Why aren’t you getting Jin?” I sniffled. “Please, hurry . . .”

Sylvester knelt beside me. “Look at him, Toby.”

I glanced at the knife again and winced. Thick, nearblack blood was starting to leak out around the blade. Blood isn’t supposed to be that color. “What’s happening?”

“Was that Oleander?” Biting my lip, I nodded. Sylvester sighed deeply, putting his hand on Manuel’s shoulder. “Manuel, can you hear me?”

“Of course, my liege.” Manuel opened his eyes, forcing another frail smile. “Can I be of service?” His voice was fading in and out, becoming weaker.

“No, son, you’re fine; rest,” said Sylvester. “I have something for you.”

“We need to help him.”

Sylvester raised his eyes, looking at me. “There’s no help for him now, October. You know that.”

“There must be something!” Connor put his hand on my shoulder. I fumbled to take it, clinging.

“Oleander does her work too well. Let go.” Sylvester looked at Connor’s hand and said nothing, turning back to Manuel. “You’re going to die, Manuel. I’m sorry.”

Manuel licked his lips, whispering, “I betrayed you.”

“I know,” said Sylvester. “I knew as soon as I saw Raysel’s face.”

“She betrayed you, too.”

“I know. Hush, now.” He closed his eyes. “By the root and the branch, the rose and the tree, by oak, ash, yarrow, and thorn, I say you’ve served me well; by the moon and stars, by ice and fire, by willow, rowan, elm, and pine, I name you a knight of my service, bound to Shadowed Hills until Faerie is no more. What say you of this?”

For a moment, I thought Manuel had already slipped past answering. Then, in a voice that was barely a whisper, he asked, “Really, Your Grace?”

“Yes, Manuel. What do you say?”

“Of course. Thank you, Your . . . ” He closed his eyes, sighing. I waited for him to take another breath and finish the sentence.

He never did.

THIRTY-THREE

SYLVESTER OFFERED ME HIS HAND as he stood. I laced my fingers through his, letting him pull me to my feet. Then I pulled away, stepping back to lean against Connor. The fae don’t age: purebloods stop when they hit adulthood, holding onto the illusion of youth forever. Despite all that, at that moment, Sylvester looked very old.

“I didn’t know he’d run ahead,” I said, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you did.” Sylvester smiled sadly. “He’s been waiting for that sort of cavalry charge ever since his sister died.”

“I guess so.” I glanced at Manuel. He looked more asleep than dead, if you ignored the knife sticking out of his chest. “The night-haunts . . . ”

“They’ll come.” He bent to pull the knife free, not flinching at the gush of black blood that came with it. “Follow me, both of you. We need to be away from here before the guards arrive.”

“The guards?” I asked numbly. Manuel was dead. Paradoxically, I wanted to wait for the night-haunts. I wanted to see Dare again; wanted to apologize for sending her brother to join her so soon.

“Yes. Rayseline knows you’re here. She must have called the guards by now, and told them you kidnapped Connor and attacked me—Connor, it’s good to see that you’re well. I was concerned.”

“Sir,” said Connor, sounding pained. I glanced back. He was still clutching his shoulder. “Sorry I didn’t call. I was busy.”

“I can see that,” said Sylvester. He touched the wall. A door swung open, revealing a narrow hall. “Raysel is doubtless going to say October killed Manuel and possibly kidnapped you, Connor. She’ll claim I don’t know my own mind.”

I stared at him. “Sylvester, she’s your daughter. How can you—”

“Simon was my brother. How can I not?”

I bit my lip before I could say anything more and followed Sylvester into the wall.

Sylvester closed the door once Connor was through. “They won’t find us here,” he said, dropping the poisoned knife. “Raysel thinks she knows my halls better than I do. Half the plans were drawn with me watching over the architect’s shoulders, and yet she thinks she can sneak around without my knowing. Can I have the other knife?”

“What—oh.” I offered the knife I’d taken from Manuel. He took it delicately, dropping it beside the first. Then he turned and pulled me into a tight hug, pressing my face to his chest.

“Stop dying on me,” he whispered fiercely.

“I don’t do it on purpose.” His betrayal still stung. I hugged him back anyway. Angry as I was, I’d loved him for too long to let that come between us. There’d be time to yell at him for lying to me later, when we weren’t all in danger.

“I know you don’t. It’s still becoming a habit.” He pushed me out to arm’s length, studying my face. “Are you hurt?”

“A little scorched, but okay. None of the poison got in my mouth. Connor is—”

“Connor is fine,” said Connor firmly. “Just go on.”

“Right.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, Sylvester. I didn’t know—”

“I know.” He reached out to tuck my hair behind one pointed ear, and sighed. “You look so much like your mother. I’m sorry. Now come on.” He stepped back and started down the hall.

I followed him, shivering slightly; Connor followed me. When the silence got to be too much, I said, “I wasn’t sure Raysel was involved.”

“Of course she was.” Sylvester sighed. “I hoped you’d find it was someone outside the knowe, even someone outside my fiefdom altogether, because if it was someone on the inside, Raysel was involved. It’s that simple.”

“But how did you—”

“I didn’t; not until Connor vanished, and she took it as calmly as if a vase had been broken. If I’d known for sure—if I’d known anything for sure—I’d have stopped her.” There was ice in his voice. “Being my daughter wouldn’t have protected her.”

I glanced at Connor. He was looking steadily forward, face an expressionless mask. Hearing that your wife didn’t care when you vanished had to hurt, even if the marriage was strictly political. There was nothing I could say to make it better, and so I turned my attention to Sylvester. “We left the knives.”