“Good morrow, sweet sister,” Cordelia growled. “Have you come to play blindman’s bluff with me? Come, we are a merry gathering, Tania.” She swept her hand in a low gesture along the floor in front of her dirty bare feet. “See how my friends are gathered? Mice aplenty to sing and dance. And shall I have the spiders weave you a ball gown of finest silk and set the flies to playing sweet melodies for you upon the horse-hair fiddle?” Cordelia’s wide eyes closed and opened slowly. “Or would you pluck me by the tail and tweak my furry ears and whiskers and mock me, sister?”

“Cordelia . . . ?” Tania took another step forward, unable to take in what she was seeing and hearing.

Jade’s voice whispered at her back. “I thought she was meant to be . . .”

“. . . dead,” murmured Tania. “Yes. She is.” No wonder the birds had been flocking about this tower—they had sensed Cordelia’s presence. They had gathered here to be close to her.

Tania crouched, bringing the candle closer to Cordelia’s face. Her sister shrank back, huddled in on herself in the corner like a wounded and terrified animal. Heartbreakingly, Tania saw that she was still dressed in the ragged remnants of her wedding gown, sky blue and gold showing among the rents and tears, some few jewels still glimmering on the bodice. But the long sleeves were gone and the hem was ripped, so that Cordelia’s bare, grimy arms and legs showed.

Her face was framed with a matted tangle of tawny hair, her freckled cheeks smeared with dirt, her eyes burning like blue ice, her lips pulled back in some limbo between snarling and grinning.

“Mad as the moon when mayhem calls.” Cordelia’s voice was a bleak singsong. “Empty castles and empty halls.” She pointed a trembling finger to the candle flame. “Is that your soul, sister mine? My, how it does shine. Come.” She stared distractedly at the floor. “My mice would sing for you—we have been practicing—’tis a song fit for a king. The song of a princess set adrift on the never-ending sea.”

“She’s lost her mind,” said Jade breathlessly. “Tania? Is this how you treat people with mental illness in this world?”

“No!” Tania gave Jade a quick look. “Not at all!”

Why has Cordelia been locked away like this? What’s going on?

Cordelia half rose, her head drawn down on her shoulders, her back squeezed into the corner of the room. She pointed at nothing. “Look!” she cried. “See how the ducks swim on Robin Goodfellow’s pond! But they must watch out for the crocodiles among the soapy suds.” She held her trembling hand out to Tania, palm upward. “Do you see this stag? Did you ever see such a small stag, Tania? Why, ’twould fit in a poke and leave room enough for all our hopes and desires besides.” She cocked her head. “Listen! Do you hear him? He sings songs of the deep forest.” She nodded vehemently. “He has been the greatest friend to me. A great comfort, although he has no head . . .”

Tania stood up, backing away from the wretched sight of her sister. “They told me you were dead, Cordelia,” she murmured. “Why are you here? Why have you been put in this terrible place?”

Cordelia’s eyes flitted from Tania to Jade. “Come, uncle, you can do better than this puppet show.” She poked a finger at them. “I see you! I see through your masks, uncle—do you think you are sweet, dead Zara that you can play upon me as upon a flute?”

“We have to get her out of here,” said Jade. “How could anyone leave her like this?”

But something Cordelia had said had lodged in Tania’s mind. “Did Uncle Cornelius bring you here?” she asked.

Cordelia grinned, padding forward and wagging her finger in Tania’s face. “Fie, uncle—would you blame others for your deeds? ’Tis not honorable, indeed. We shall have to convene the parliament of owls if you persist! And to draw a veil over those sharp eyes is a thing not possible.”

Tania felt a sudden rush of pity and dismay for her sister. She stepped forward, throwing her arms around Cordelia’s shrunken shoulders, careful to keep the candle away from her hair and clothes as she held her close.

“I’ll make it better,” Tania said, tears pricking. “I promise—I’ll do everything I can to make it better.”

Cordelia’s body was cold—so terribly cold. But as Tania’s warmth seeped into her sister’s icy flesh, she felt the slender body stiffen in her arms.

“Tania?”

Tania pulled away, startled by the change in Cordelia’s voice. Her sister was peering intently at her, all trace of lunacy gone from her face.

“Tania? Is it truly you?”

“Cordie—yes! Yes, it’s me!”

“I thought you but another illusion sent to torture me.”

“No. No. I’m real! I promise!”

Cordelia’s finger stabbed toward Jade. “And who is she?”

“A friend,” said Tania. “A Mortal.” She frowned, confused. “You’re not . . .”

“Out of my wits?” Cordelia said, wiping straying locks of hair off her face. “I am not, sister—not now. Not for the past five days.”

Five days? Cordelia’s madness must have passed when the plague was lifted from Faerie.

Cordelia smiled bleakly. “But I have feigned madness still, sister,” she said. “In order to keep him at bay. I do not know what he might do if he knew I am whole again.”

“Him?” Tania asked. “Who do you mean?”

“Do you not know the author of this chaos, Tania?” said Cordelia. “It is our father’s older brother—Prince Lear.”

“No. He’s gone, Cordie. He was here—but I got rid of him.”

Cordelia looked thoughtfully at her. “You are deceived, Tania,” she said. “He is not gone. Lear is still the puppet-master in this realm—and all dance as he pulls the strings. All save me—and that only because I was lost in the madness that his plague brought down on me, and his Great Enchantment could not take hold in my mind.” She nodded vehemently. “Had he but waited a brief time with his spell, I would have been caught up in it, too. But he unleashed the spell while the plague was still in my blood, and so I was spared.”

Jade took a step forward. “I’m sorry—I need to get this straight in my head. Are you saying that this Lear guy has brainwashed everyone?”

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. “I do not know the word you use,” she said. “But Lear has come here often and delights in telling the tale of his great evil.” Her clear eyes turned from Tania to Jade as she spoke. “He told me how he came first into Faerie with deadly force, taking our family unawares as they strove in the Throne Room of Veraglad Palace to keep the Gildensleep intact. I was sick and under the power of the Gildensleep, but all others of our family he imprisoned in amber. He then brought us to this place, the better to savor his victory. Far from my wits I was then, and he did not seal me up in an amber prison, because it amused him to toy with me and listen to my ravings. Most entertaining, he thought it. He comes betimes and taunts me still.”

She nodded, her hands resting on Tania’s shoulder. “I know what you did in the Throne Room. He laughed when he spoke of it. How he had fooled you into thinking you had defeated him. How he let loose the greatest sorcery the world has ever known—sorcery enough to fog the mind of every man, woman, and child in Faerie—even of the King himself and his most powerful ministers.”

Horror and dread ran like ice water through Tania’s body. “It was a trick?” She gasped. “He wasn’t banished?”

After everything she’d done—Faerie was still not free?

When will this ever end?

“He was not,” said Cordelia. “Behind the masks he rules in Faerie.” She gave a slow smile. “When my sanity returned, I was wise enough to keep the fact from him. He still thinks me raving and witless, my mind ruined beyond repair by his plague, and so he has not sought to bring me under his spell.”

“But why’s he doing all this?” asked Jade. “It doesn’t make any sense. If he can play mind games like you say, why aren’t Tania and I affected?”

“You are not of Faerie, mistress,” Cordelia said, turning to Jade. “And Tania’s mind is only half Faerie. His sorcery cannot get a tight hold on minds not wholly of this realm. You, Mortal, are immune to his spells, and Tania can be only partially controlled. But he had the power to put false memories into her mind and to hide certain truths from her.”

“Like the truth about this tower,” said Tania.

“Indeed,” said Cordelia. “And I think it amused him to see you jump through his hoops, Tania, while he prepared you for the Darkling Tide.”

“I don’t know what that means,” said Tania, a chill running through her.

Cordelia lifted her head and sniffed. “’Tis almost dawn,” she said. “You should not tarry—oft times he comes at sunrise to bring meager food and water and to mock me with his achievements.”

Tania remembered the footsteps she had heard the last time they had been in the courtyard.

“Where is he hiding?” Tania asked.

Cordelia laughed softly. “Hiding in plain sight, sister,” she said. “Have you not guessed it yet?” Her eyes darkened. “Do you not know that your memories of Master Cariotis are not real? There is no such man as Raphael Cariotis—there never has been such a man. Under his spell Lear caused Eden to plant false memories of him in your mind.”

Yes! Tania remembered how Eden had touched a finger to her head in the Great Hall and how her memories of Cariotis had followed.

She heard Jade swing around behind her. “Cariotis!” Jade’s voice was a frightened gasp.

“Well met, human child,” said a gentle, soft voice. “Well met, my pretty nieces. And what coil do we have here, Cordelia? Have you been fooling your fond uncle these past days?”

Tania turned, anger blazing in her.

Raphael Cariotis stood in the open doorway, a jug and a cloth bag in his hand, a smile on his face.

Jade leaped at him, her leg rising for a high kick.

Cariotis dropped the bag and jug, and with a swift but seemingly casual gesture he sent Jade crashing headlong into the wall.

Tania flung herself at him, but his hand rose again, and she froze, hanging helpless in the air, unable to move, the blood pounding in her head like the galloping of ten thousand horses.

From the corner of her eye she saw Cordelia lift the chair to hurl it at Raphael. But his eyes flashed red, and with a shout of pain Cordelia dropped the chair and fell back two paces before becoming as immobile as Tania.

“’Tis a pity indeed that my devices should be laid bare so soon before all subterfuge becomes unnecessary,” said Raphael, walking slowly around Tania.

Her skin prickled painfully, her every joint and muscle and sinew locked, only her eyes able to follow him as he circled her. She managed to form words through her gritted teeth. “Why are you doing this?”

He tilted his head. “Ah, you mean why are you not already dead, my child?” he said smoothly, no trace of emotion in his voice. “That is simple, Tania—I need you alive and alert if my great endeavor is to be fulfilled.” He smiled, reaching toward her and brushing a lock of hair off her cheek. “In all of Faerie only you have the power to move between the worlds without the aid of enchantments. For all my mastery of the ancient sorceries of Ynis Borealis, I cannot pierce that strange veil.” A cold smile grew on his face. “And yet I would be king of both worlds, Tania, my most cherished and beloved niece. And with your help I shall conquer both Faerie and the Mortal World.”

Tania forced the words out between her lips. “Never! I’ll never help you do that!”

“Oh, you misunderstand, Tania.” He smiled. “I do not need your cooperation—I merely need to harness your gift.” His eyes burned red. “In a certain place at a certain time shall all my plans come to full bloom. And you will be there, Tania. And when you stand with your back to the Quellstone Spire as the sun dims on the noontide of the Pure Eclipse—so shall I lead my armies into the Mortal World, and so shall you perish in fire and smoke!”

He gave a gesture and Tania was suddenly surrounded by a ring of cold, red flame. She could hear Jade, sprawled on the floor, groaning.

I should never have brought her here!

She managed a few painful words between aching jaws. “They have Isenmort . . . in the Mortal World. . . . They will destroy you if you . . . go there. . . .”

Raphael Cariotis laughed softly. “Do you think I have been idle in my ten thousand years of exile, child?” he asked. His voice snapped. “I have not! Over the slow millennia I learned all the ancient sorceries of Ynis Borealis. I learned to wield powers far older than the Mystic Arts of Faerie. Older and mightier by far! I became the lord of the strange men that lived on that bleak northern island. I had them build me a great dark castle—the castle of Gralach Hern!”

So Gralach Hern is not even part of Faerie! And the knights of Gralach Hern come from Ynis Borealis—they’re not Faerie folk at all!

Cariotis began to circle Tania again, and by the power of his eyes she was compelled to spin to follow his slow pacing, her whole body wracked with pain. She saw Cordelia standing frozen—Jade crumpled unmoving by the wall.

“Great spells I brewed in the high towers of Gralach Hern,” Cariotis intoned. “One spell to make us immune from the bite of Isenmort, and another to allow me to enter and control the minds of others.” He smiled like a wolf as he looked up at her. “So, dear niece, seventh child of my dear brother, I do not fear Isenmort, and neither do my warriors. We have drunk the dark brew of the Isenkur Goblet—nothing of metal can harm us!”

He began to laugh softly. “And as for your part, child? There I deceived you, Tania. When you touch the Quellstone Spire, it will not be to hold back the blending of the two worlds. As the stars align and the moon crosses the face of the sun in the time of the Pure Eclipse, I shall use your gift of moving between the realms to make the blending of the worlds last for all time.” His voice rose. “Faerie and the Mortal World will be as one forever—and I shall rule in both realms, using the power of the ancient sorceries to keep all Mortals and Faerie folk under my sway! And you are to be the instrument of my utter victory! Without you my triumph would have been impossible!” He lifted his hand and a bloom of red fire flared out toward her from his palm. “Know that, and forfeit all hope, Tania Aurealis! You are the doom of both worlds!”

The ball of fire struck her forehead and her brain erupted into screaming agony.