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As Seelie sovereign, my subjects will obey,

But I am no queen of the lowest fae.

Who am I?”

Kaline throws Ruskin a look, then sticks out her chin as she gives the answer.

“Evanthe Dawnsong.”

The nixie nods, then dips beneath the water. Moments later, a narrow bridge—little more than a plank of wood—rises to the surface, and we begin to cross.

Ruskin says nothing, but I furrow my brow, thinking that as passwords go, it’s not a particularly good one. The riddle’s so easy to work out that it’s almost not a riddle at all.

But that’s the point. It weeds out traitors not because its answer is a secret, but because it requires the answerer to denounce Evanthe. No fae loyal to her could answer her name to that description, because it requires claiming that she isn’t queen of the Low Fae at all. The resistance already knows Ruskin doesn’t consider his mother the true queen, but I assume this test is to make sure none of the Low Fae in the resistance are secretly working for her.

On the other side of the river, Kaline nods to Gapir. He eyes the tree trunks, before picking one that has amber sap leaking from the surface, the golden tracks leaving a pattern I’ve noticed on trees in the Emerald Forest before—designs that I thought looked deliberate. It seems I was right. The imp taps a few times across the surface, and the front of the trunk swings outwards to reveal that it’s hollow inside.

“My people have been making hollows for generations,” Gapir says. From the way the others nod, I assume this is normal imp behavior. “Never thought we’d be using them for something like this, though.” He shifts dried leaves from the bottom of the empty trunk to reveal the opening of a tunnel.

We follow it down, and I wonder how long it took the Low Fae to construct the passage. It’s wide and deep and must run right along the Emerald Forest. When we emerge, it’s into one of the dwellings in the Low Fae town on the edge of the forest. I remember that Hadeus’s miners were Low Fae, of clans who were particularly good at digging. It seems there’s lots the Low Fae are capable of that the High Fae don’t value as they should. Overlooking these skills might be their downfall.

Other fae await us in the resistance’s safe house. A few I recognize vaguely from the palace, others are strangers to me. They watch us with a range of expressions: suspicion, hope, fear. They may prefer us over Evanthe, but I get the sense they’re not ready to hang out the bunting because Ruskin’s returned.

General Sunshard speaks first, and when I watch all heads turn to her, I can see that she has their faith. We’ll have to earn the same.

“His Majesty and Lady Thorn have arrived with a plan to remove the queen’s iron power from her.” A tree-like fae with a mossy beard crosses his thick arms.

“And then what?” he grunts.

“And then he will retake the Seelie Court, and rule over it again,” Lord Sunshard answers.

There’s some murmuring among the group.

“We’ve made a promise to the humans,” Gapir, the imp, says. “We said they’d get their freedom if they helped us. I won’t go back on that promise.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” says Ruskin. “In the past I have turned a blind eye to the fae who punish humans by bringing them to Faerie against their will. I have been guilty of a version of it myself,” he says, looking at me. “Not anymore. I will release all the human servants once I rule again.”

We haven’t spoken about this, I’ve never asked it of him, and even as he makes his promise, I wonder why. The crueler fae’s practice of kidnapping humans was an injustice that made me furious when I first came to Faerie, but I also came to learn that when he was cursed, Ruskin was too weak to do anything more than pick his battles with those fae. And later, when he was well again, we had bigger problems on our minds. But now…the court has been ripped apart in so many ways, but maybe that destruction is giving an opportunity to rebuild in new ways. Better ways. I see Ruskin looking to me, and his gaze is questioning—he wants to know what I think about his words, even more than the resistance’s reaction. I nod my approval, and he looks relieved. When I glance around, I see some of the suspicious expressions the Low Fae were wearing are starting to melt away.

Then Kaline’s voice cuts through the chatter, clear and cold.

“Do you know my brother, Falstir, can’t walk anymore?” She pauses, staring between Ruskin, Destan, and me. “Some of the Hunt caught him eavesdropping on a conversation between them and Evanthe—he had a good reason to be there, but they wanted him punished all the same. They chased him into the woods, and Lord Vanis’s Calasian trampled his legs. When I tried to take Falstir to the healers, Vanis stopped them. I petitioned Evanthe, but she did nothing.” Her voice breaks, a shining tear rolling down her cracked cheek. “It would’ve taken them half an hour to fix, and he’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

A distinct sense of guilt blooms in my gut. We left these people behind to suffer under Evanthe’s rule. While we happily bided our time in Unseelie, they were here, on the frontline, falling victim to the cruelty she’s letting run rampant in the Court.

“I’m so sorry, Kaline,” I say, my own voice breaking a little. She sniffs and shakes her head as if to shake off her sadness too. Her expression hardens again.

“I don’t need your sympathy, Eleanor. I’m just explaining why when you go to face Evanthe, I’m coming with you.”

“I never even knew this was here,” Destan whispers as we shuffle through the dark cellar. “Ruskin,” he murmurs. “How many times did we sneak into the kitchens for food as kids, without ever realizing there’s a whole unguarded store right underneath them?”

Destan sounds almost indignant that this fact has been kept from him, and I turn to him to make a wry comment, only to be thrown for about the tenth time that hour by his appearance. Gone is the curly hair and golden-brown skin, to be replaced with a complexion like bark and locks with the texture of wheat grass. A couple of fae who were gifted in illusions created new Low Fae disguises for each of us.

Kaline scrambles up a few steps to a hatch in the low cellar ceiling and knocks three times in a deliberate rhythm. There’s a pause, and then the hatch opens, revealing one of the palace cooks. Her small, wide-set eyes examine us for a moment, and then she stands back to let us pass.

The resistance chose to limit the number of servants who knew exactly who they were smuggling into the palace. Even the servants here who are on our side might hesitate to help in a plan this risky—a plan that could lead to their torture or execution if we fail. As far as the cook knows we’re just more members of the resistance, coming in to sabotage Evanthe and her followers. Still, she squints at us as we climb out into a side room of the kitchens, and I get the feeling Ruskin’s illusions don’t have her completely fooled.

“Even with the disguises, we should keep our heads down,” I murmur to the group as Kaline escorts us past the bubbling pots and steaming stoves.