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‘Which is true for any battle,’ Creon countered without flinching. ‘So unless you’re waiting for her to surrender—’

My father gave another mirthless huff. ‘Please. Fae wars don’t end in surrender.’

‘Oh, I know.’ His smile said he did, indeed – a smile that could have won a small battle in its own right. ‘So then fight.’

Agenor looked close to the point of strangulation.

‘We might not even get all our allies to show up on such short notice,’ Lyn said, and as much as she was fighting to keep her voice composed, the small sparks dancing in and out of existence on her fingers and forearms betrayed her mounting anxiety. ‘Last time they heard from us, we promised them a convincing strategy to get through this alive. There are some who might resist a call to arms for something they have no reason to believe will be a winning battle.’

‘I’m more than happy to duel the head of any alf house causing trouble,’ I generously offered.

She whimpered. ‘Em …’

‘Much as I appreciate the violent spirit,’ Tared said wryly, ‘I suggest we try some alternative solutions first. A decent strategy will likely go a long way to convince them, too.’

‘Which we don’t have,’ Agenor muttered.

‘Oh, good gods – stopwallowing, Lord Protector.’ Rosalind’s withering glare was a masterpiece – a look that abruptly made me understand exactly how she’d managed to turn his world inside out in the span of just a few weeks, all those years ago. ‘Imagine we forced you at knifepoint to attack tomorrow. Whatwould you do? You used to be rather good at this sort of thing, so unless the years are finally creeping up on you …’

He groaned. ‘Below the belt, Al.’

‘All’s fair in love and war,’ she retorted, snatching one of the maps from the centre of the table – a hastily sketched overview of the White City, the rough shape of walls and a lake suggested. ‘Here you go. What do we do?’

Agenor parted his lips as if to object – then seemed to think better of it and sagged in his chair with nothing but a ragged groan, fingers rubbing over the cuff of his sleeve in restless, aimless circles. ‘So do I understand …’ His voice, deep and polished, gave way for a moment. ‘Gods and demons, is the conclusion that we are, in all seriousness, going to try and topple the empire on an unknown battlefield and with not even twenty-four hours of preparation?’

A madman’s gamble, indeed.

I should have been afraid. Somewhere, in a dark, neglected part of my mind, the fear was trying to make itself heard, clamouring to be noticed – trying to make me realise, fully realise, that I might lose half of my family tomorrow, that tonight's sunset might be the last I’d ever see. But the impatient thumping of my heart drowned out most of those thoughts, smothered the sharpest of my nerves; what was the sense in lingering on any of it, after all, if I wasn’t stopping anyway?

I’d prepared for this day since the first time I’d set foot on the fae isles. The thought of finally looking the Mother in her damaged eyes again came with more twisted eagerness than anything else.

‘I’m ready to go,’ I said.

It seemed ridiculous they were still listening tome– the very person whose opinions had landed them here in the first place. But Rosalind’s eyes flickered with satisfaction as she leaned backin her chair. Lyn and Tared exchanged a short look, then both nodded – his face grim, hers wide-eyed and anxious.

Next to me, Creon just smiled – that glass-edged smile promising violence.

Agenor let out a long sigh, eyes closing briefly. But all he said was, ‘Very well.’

And just like that, a plan was made.

Tomorrow.Impossibly close, suddenly, after months and months of hiding; I couldn’t even begin to imagine how the others must have been feeling, realising that a century of clandestine rebellion was abruptly coming to an end. Yet there was no theatrical gravity to their expressions, no sense of dramatic despair. Even Lyn managed the most watery of smiles as she settled her little elbows on the table surface, wiped the messy curls from her face, and said, ‘I would still like to have a strategy, though.’

That broke the strange, expectant stillness.

‘The rough plan we had in mind for the Crimson Court still holds, of course,’ Agenor muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Emphasis on weapons with a greater range. Find some way to distract the bulk of their army while Em and Creon try to reach Achlys and Melinoë in their throne room, wherever it is now. It's a shame we don't have the Labyrinth here to smuggle them in belowground, but—’

‘There are the tunnels, though,’ Rosalind unexpectedly interrupted. ‘If you need another way in, those might just come in handy.’

We all stared at her.

‘They’re supposed to be a secret,’ she added, snatching the sketched map away from Agenor with sudden feverish excitement. ‘Known only to the consuls and a handful of guards. They were created as an escape route after Consul Millard was murdered as he tried to flee to his bedroom.’

I blinked. ‘The one from the memorial?’

‘Same one.’ She firmly planted the pencil on the map, ignoring Lyn’s muffled objections, to draw a straight line from the White Hall to a spot on the west side of the city. ‘There are two of them, as far as I know. The first one ends up at a small door in the inner city wall, and this one’ – another line, now drawn to the east – ‘this one ends up next to the lake. Both of them give access to the basement of the White Hall, although the doors opening into the building are of course securely locked.’

‘Locks that could withstand a little blast of magic?’ I said.