“There has never been a mortal Queen of Elfhame. And there should not be one now.” “Do you really expect me to give up such enormous power on your say-so?” I ask. “You were a good seneschal,” Randalin says, surprising me. “You care about Elfhame. That’s why I implore you to relinquish your title.” It’s at that moment that the door swings open. “We did not send for you, and we do not need you!” Randalin begins, clearly intending to give some servant—probably Fand—the tongue-lashing he wishes he could bestow on my person. Then he blanches and lurches to his feet. The High King stands in the
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