“I do understand,” I said. “You forget I was a mother, too.”

Luna sniffed. “Only for two years.”

It was funny. She had betrayed me with her silence; she had tried to forbid me to love Connor because she’d felt it would be inconvenient; she had been the one who’d roped Connor into a loveless, dysfunctional marriage in the first place. But until that moment—until those four words—I had never actually believed that I could learn to hate her.

“So what do you want from me?” I asked, balling my hands into fists to keep myself from going for her throat.

“I want you to take me out of her. Or her father. It matters little, as long as one of us is removed.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I know what you did to the false Queen of the Mists. She was one thing, you put your hands on her, and she became another. I know what you did for Sir Etienne’s child. I’m asking you to do the same for Rayseline.”

Oh, oak and ash. I had considered offering the Torquills this very thing, but I had never been able to figure out the way to word it. “Luna, this will hurt her.”

“I know.”

“It’ll hurt her bad, and it’s not going to wake her up. You know that part too, right? All it will do is change her, and it can’t be undone.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” said Luna, waving my objections away as if they were of no consequence. “She’ll sleep until one of the alchemists finds a way to counter the specific blend they used on her, or until she’s slept enough to satisfy the elf-shot. Either way, she’ll wake up in a body where her blood is not at war with itself. She’ll wake up with a chance. That’s more than she has now.”

When I first met Rayseline, she was a bright-eyed little girl who had yet to be kidnapped by her uncle. Her years of growing up in darkness were ahead of her, part of a dark and undreamed-of future. I loved her then. I would have done anything to protect her. Had that really changed, or had it just been buried under the bad blood and ill faith that stretched between us after she became an adult?

“I want Tybalt to be here,” I said, before I could think better of it. “He knows how much blood magic takes out of me. And you have to tell me everything you know about Evening.”

“But you’ll do it,” she said sharply. “Before you leave Shadowed Hills, you’ll do it.”

“Evening—if she is what I think she is, using that much blood magic could lead her straight to me. It could put Quentin and Raj in danger.” I was less worried about myself and Tybalt. I was damn hard to kill, and he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Luna smiled slightly. “I don’t care about anything but my daughter. You’ll change the balance of her blood, and then I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

I bit back a curse. “Fine. Open the door to the servants’ hall. I want to tell Tybalt what’s going on.”

“It’s behind you,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

I turned, unsurprised to see the plain wood panel now set into the glass-and-silver wall. It slid open easily under my hand, revealing a distressed-looking Tybalt caught in mid-pace. He stopped when the light flooded into the hall, his head snapping up and his pupils narrowing to slits. Then he was through the opening and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me into an embrace as comforting as it was incomplete: his head stayed up the whole time, and I knew by the tension in his body that his eyes were fixed on Luna.

“Hey.” I pulled away. He let me go, albeit reluctantly. The wooden panel was gone again, I saw, taking our only easy means of escape with it. “I have to do something before we can get the information we need. I’m sorry, but we’re going to be here a little longer.”

“What does she want you to do, pick lentils out of a fire?” he asked.

“Nothing so simple,” said Luna. “Although I suppose the concept is the same.”

Tybalt’s eyes narrowed. “You must be joking.”

“She’s not, and I already said I’d do it,” I said wearily. Maybe the confirmation of Evening’s identity wasn’t as important as I was making it out to be—but then again, if I was right, we needed to be prepared. There were only two ways to know for sure. This was one of them. The other involved trying to kill her and seeing if we could make it stick without using both silver and iron at the same time. For some reason, I wasn’t all that excited about potentially breaking Oberon’s Law again just to test a theory.

“I’m coming with you,” said Tybalt. He didn’t look happy, but to his credit, he didn’t tell me not to do it. He knew better.

“I hoped that was what you’d say,” I said.

Luna rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re very sweet together, it’s lovely to see a relationship so stable. Perhaps if you’d pursued each other rather than ruining my daughter’s marriage, we wouldn’t be standing here now.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that. Tybalt was not so restrained. “Much as I disliked the good Master O’Dell, his marriage to your daughter was dissolved, not through October’s actions, but through Rayseline’s. I believe she attempted to assassinate you, did she not?”

“She wasn’t in her right mind when she did that,” said Luna, drawing the tatters of her serenity around herself until it seemed almost believable. “She hasn’t been in her right mind in a long time. Some of that is trauma, and will take a very long time to heal, but being what she is hasn’t helped her.”

“Being part plant probably does a number on your sense of reality,” I agreed, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Where is she, Luna? If you’re going to make me do this, we need to do it now, before Evening comes looking.”

“Didn’t my husband tell you I was in mourning?” She waved her hand, almost carelessly, and the vines she’d been pruning this whole time writhed, twisting and pulling back to reveal the glass coffin at the center of the growth.

It was almost like a miniature greenhouse in its own right, designed to complement the architecture of the room. That said something about Faerie, right there: Luna had not only commissioned a coffin for her daughter, she’d made certain it wouldn’t clash with her décor. Rayseline was lying inside, her hands folded on her chest in the classical fairy-tale position, her fox-red hair spread out across the pillow that supported her head. She was wearing a gown that appeared to have been made entirely from goose feathers, adding to the fairy-tale quality of the scene. She looked like something out of a painting, serene and pure and untouchable.