We repeated that pattern twice more—turn, parry, retreat. The fourth time, she came at me too fast for a simple block to stop. She’d been fighting for centuries, and I barely knew one end of a sword from the other. I didn’t know how else to stop her, and so I swung at the air as hard as I could, putting all my weight behind the blade.

It hit resistance. I opened my eyes.

Oleander was visible again, staring in wide-eyed amazement at the sword driven deep into her side, almost bisecting the older of her wounds. Her knife toppled from her fingers as she raised her head to stare at me, and she dropped to her knees on the hard-packed dirt, hands starting to scrabble uselessly against the hilt.

Connor stepped up behind her, the bow he’d taken from the armory in his hands. He had an arrow notched and ready to fire. Placing the tip against the back of her neck, he said, pleasantly, “Make one wrong move, and I swear to Maeve, I’ll shoot you.”

“There’s no more damage to be done,” she said, in a faint, almost thoughtful voice. “No more damage, no salvation. One more of Faerie’s glorious monsters lost.”

“If you’d left us alone—” I began.

“You’d have sent some hero after me, given time enough. I killed, I die. At least I killed like a monster kills, instead of with iron, and dying by inches. That’s Titania’s way, the Queen who stands in darkness and screams about her light. My poisons are kinder.” Oleander touched the sword’s pommel gently. “This is how it should end. They won’t remember the way I died, but they’ll remember how I lived, forever. I was the monster under your bed, wasn’t I? I’ll be the monster waiting for your children.”

“Be still,” I said. “Sylvester will be here soon.”

“I suppose you want me to think you told him where you were going?” Her laughter was harsh, punctuated by gasps. “I know better.”

“Why did you do this?” Grianne would have found the others by now, and she’d left us recently enough that her Merry Dancers would be able to lead her straight back to us. The cavalry was coming. That might not matter, because Oleander was fading fast.

“There’s only one person I’d tell, and neither of you is her.” She shuddered, her hand dropping away from the sword. “This ends here.”

“Who are you waiting for?” I asked. “The Duke?”

“That dandy fool? No.” She laughed again, bitterly. “I’ve finished my business with that one. I’m waiting for the one who got away.”

The one who . . . I froze. “You’re waiting for October.”

“Yes,” she said. “Bring her, and maybe I’ll tell you. Bring me Amandine’s heir.”

They always ask for the one thing you don’t want to give. “I’m here,” I said.

She opened her eyes and frowned, looking at me. “I’m dying. I’m not stupid.”

Scratch that idea. “I’m under an illusion spell.”

“So drop it.”

“I can’t. It’s Gwragen crafting.”

Her frown remained. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying! I just—”

“It’s her,” said Connor, quietly. “On my skin, it’s her.”

“Don’t make oaths for her sake, Connor,” I snapped. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

Oleander suddenly smiled. It was the kindest expression I’d ever seen on her face. “You are Amandine’s daughter. Only her children ever manage that sort of self-righteous disgust.”

“Children?” I echoed. “What are you talking about? Why are you here?”

“The Duke’s little daughter invited me.” Her smile didn’t waver. “Oh, I hurt her once, and it seems she held more of a grudge than I knew, but she still invited me, because I had something she wanted. I had the power to make the ones who failed her suffer. I may have helped to break her, but you, October, you and your kind . . . you’re the ones who let me do it.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Of course you can say that. You’re sane.” Oleander sighed. “Sometimes I wonder how that marshmallow of a man spawned someone so beautifully insane. But I really made her, didn’t I? Sylvester’s flesh, my heart. A fair return for what your mother stole from my Simon—what she stole from me.” Her voice was weakening. It wasn’t going to be much longer. Musingly, she added, “I should be grateful. Without her theft, without her desertion, he’d never have been mine to break.”

I knelt, careful to stay out of reach. “I’d kill you if you weren’t already dying.”

“A rich sentiment from a woman who drove a sword through my gut, Amandine’s daughter. At least my death is my own.” The fierce lucidity was fading from her voice, leaving it cracked and broken. “You don’t even know how much you’ve lost, do you?”

“Fourteen years, a husband, and a daughter. I have a pretty good idea.”

“Like that matters? Mortality ends. We did you a favor.” Oleander’s laugh tapered into a bubbling cough. “We should have killed you then.”

“You tried.”

“We almost succeeded. It was a game.” She sighed. “A wonderful game. I wasn’t ready to stop playing.”

“Well, you just lost.” I didn’t feel sorry for her anymore. She’d admitted to kidnapping Raysel; not in so many words, but still an admission. Whatever she was getting, she’d earned it.

“The game is just beginning. I was only a piece on the board.” She sighed again, slumping backward. “Not even the strongest piece, although I tried so hard to take her.”

“October?” Sylvester strode onto the practice grounds, with Garm and Etienne close behind him. All three of them stopped, Sylvester’s eyes going wide. “You really found her.”

Oleander didn’t acknowledge their arrival. “You don’t know how much you paid. Silly little bitch. You should’ve stayed in the pond. You should . . .” She coughed, blood foaming on her lips. “You should have taken the death I offered; at least it was yours alone. You could have ended the verses, then and there. How many times before your traitor’s blood gets it right?”

I stood. Sylvester put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from stepping forward. “No,” he said. “Don’t let her goad you.”