“What else aren’t you telling me?” He started to protest. I shook my head, stopping him before he could get a word out. “No. Maeve’s teeth, Sylvester, I’m mad at you for keeping secrets, and you’re still doing it. Why the hell would you do a thing like that? You know you’re on thin ice right now.”

“My dear, I’ve been on thin ice for a very long time, especially where your family is concerned.” Sylvester ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he turned to look at the forest blocking our view of Amandine’s tower. “There is so much history between your mother and me, between all of us . . . I don’t even know where to begin. But there are also things that I promised her I would never tell you. I broke one promise to her. I won’t break a second. I’m sorry. I truly am. I love you more than I can ever make you believe, but I gave her my word.”

I stared at him. Finally, I asked the one question I was sure he would actually answer: “What promise did you break?”

“She came to me when she was pregnant with you. She asked me to stay away from her child, from her mortal life, until she chose to reenter Faerie on her own terms.” Sylvester turned back to me. “I won’t apologize for coming to get you before she could make you mortal, but that betrayal has been a wall between us ever since. She’s never forgiven me. I don’t think she ever will.”

“Wait.” I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was one of the people I’d always counted on to never betray me. Unfortunately, right now, it was more important for me to be smart. Purebloods take promises seriously; it’s part of why they hate saying “thank you,” a prohibition that most changelings catch from their fae parents, like catching cooties on the playground. And the next step up from a promise is a geas, a binding enchantment compelling someone to do something—or not to do something. Like, for example, never to tell certain secrets. Ironic, and annoying. “Simon said something while he was at my house. He said he couldn’t speak the name of his employer, because his geas still held. Do you have any idea who might have hired him to kidnap Luna and Rayseline?”

“I have asked myself that question a thousand times without finding an answer. If I had even the faintest clue, I would have tracked that person down years ago and made them pay for everything they had done to me, to my family, and to you,” said Sylvester, a new chill leeching into his words, until every one of them could have frozen me where I stood.

Or maybe that was just the snow we were all standing around in. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to conserve warmth, and said, “Okay. So you don’t know anything that can help us find Simon, and some old promise to my mother matters more to you than I do. Good to know where I stand.”

“October—”

“We’re leaving.” I turned to head for the doors. Sylvester grabbed my arm. I stopped, slowly turning back to look at his hand. Voice level and calm, I said, “Let go of me.”

“I would never allow anyone or anything to harm you. If you believe nothing else, I need you to believe that.”

Except that he was harming me; he had been harming me every time he kept the things I needed to know secret from me. He just couldn’t see it. “I need you to let go of me.”

And then Tybalt was there, shoving his way between us, forcing Sylvester to let me go. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. A low growl was rolling through Tybalt’s chest, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I glanced at Quentin, who was watching the whole scene with wide, frightened eyes.

“I speak to you now as a King to a Duke, and with the utmost respect,” said Tybalt, in a tone that made it clear he could care less if Sylvester took offense. “If October is hurt because you kept a promise to her mother rather than upholding your duty to one who is your sworn vassal, believe me when I say that I will return here on my own, and I will make you sorry you ever allowed harm to come to her.”

Sylvester smiled a little, eyes still filled with shadows. “Tybalt, if October is hurt because of what I didn’t tell her, I’ll leave the door open for you.”

“Great. Since we’re at the threats and dick-waving part of the day, I guess this is where we go,” I said. “Sylvester, if you decide to change your mind about being an asshole, you have my number.” I turned and stormed back into the knowe before he could reply, with Quentin and Tybalt close at my heels. Everything felt wrong. My stomach was a hard, cold knot of anger and dismay. The world—my world—was changing again, and I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like it one bit.

The halls of Shadowed Hills were deserted, which made sense, given the time of day: any sensible purebloods would be asleep, and most changelings who live in the Summerlands learn to keep pureblood hours. We were almost to the door before I heard footsteps hurrying up from behind, and turned to see Etienne walking toward us as fast as decorum allowed. He was wearing his uniform, but it looked a little more rumpled than I was used to, like he had finally allowed himself to relax a little bit. It was a surprisingly good look on him.

Etienne had always been the most hidebound of Sylvester’s knights. We were all expected to wear ducal livery if we were standing guard, but most of us called it a day when we reached “presentable.” Not Etienne. If he had to leave his quarters, his boots gleamed with polish, and his hair was styled until it looked shellacked. Not now. His tabard was only laced halfway down the sides, and his hair was mussed in that “straight out of bed” way endlessly imitated by fashion magazines and aspiring models. For the first time, I could understand what Bridget had seen in him. He looked like a man, and not like a Ken doll with a sword.

“October, wait!” he called, and walked a little faster, not quite breaking into a run. Running in the halls was against the rules, after all.

I stopped walking. Quentin and Tybalt did the same, and Quentin shook his head. “I’ve never seen Sir Etienne this unkempt.”

“Me neither,” I said. “I wish I had a camera.”

Etienne, who was close enough to hear us, glared. “Show some decorum,” he said. “It might serve you well in your future dealings with the nobility.”

I wanted to protest that I didn’t intend to have any future dealings with the nobility, but as I was standing between my boyfriend the King of Cats and my squire the Crown Prince of North America, that would have been a little disingenuous. “I’ve done okay without any decorum so far,” I said. “I’ll take my chances. What’s got you out of bed in the middle of the day? Please tell me you’re not going to ask me to babysit. I’ve got a sort of full plate right now.”