“I remember my father, a little. But I was raised an orphan.”

She winced. “

Dio , Harry.” Her fingers squeezed mine. “You never had anyone, did you?”

“And if I did find someone,” I said, feeling my throat constricting as I spoke, “I would do anything necessary to protect him. Anything.”

Anastasia looked out the window, letting out a hiss of what sounded like anger. “Margaret. You selfish bitch.”

I blinked and looked at her, and nearly got us both killed when a passing car cut me off and I almost couldn’t stop the monster Rolls in time. “You . . . you knew my mother?”

“All the Wardens knew her,” Anastasia said quietly.

“She was a Warden?”

Anastasia was silent for a moment before shaking her head. “She was considered a threat to the Laws of Magic.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she made it a point to dance as close to the edge of breaking the Laws as she possibly could whenever she got the chance,” Anastasia replied. “It took her all of a year after she was admitted to the Council to start agitating for change.”

I had to focus on the road. This was more than I had ever heard from anyone in the Council about the enigmatic figure who had given me life. My hands were sweating and my heart was thudding. “What kind of change?”

“She was furious that ‘the Laws of Magic have nothing to do with right and wrong.’ She pointed out how wizards could use their abilities to bilk people out of their money, to intimidate and manipulate them, to steal wealth and property from others or destroy it outright, and that so long as the Laws were obeyed, the Council would do nothing whatsoever to stop them or discourage others from following their example. She wanted to reform the Council’s laws to embrace concepts of justice as well as limiting the specific use of magic.”

I frowned. “Wow. What a monster.”

She exhaled slowly. “Can you imagine what would happen if she’d had her way?”

“I wouldn’t have been unjustly persecuted by the Wardens for years?”

Anastasia’s lips firmed into a line. “Once a body of laws describing justice was applied to the Council, it would only be a short step to using that body to involve the Council in events happening in the outside world.”

“Gosh, yeah,” I said. “You’re right. A bunch of wizards trying to effect good in the world would be awful.”

“Whose good?” Anastasia asked calmly. “No one is an unjust villain in his own mind, Harry. Even—perhaps even especially—those who are the worst of us. Some of the cruelest tyrants in history were motivated by noble ideals, or made choices that they would call ‘hard but necessary steps’ for the good of their nation. We’re all the hero of our own story.”

“Yeah. It was really hard to tell who the good guys and bad guys were in World War Two.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve read the histories written by the victors of that war, Harry. As someone who lived through it, I can tell you that at the time of the war, there was a great deal less certainty. There were stories of atrocities in Germany, but for every one that was true, there were another five or six that weren’t. How could one have told the difference between the true stories, the propaganda, and simple fabrications and myths created by the people of the nations Germany had attacked?”

“Might have been a bit easier if there’d been a wizard or three around to help,” I said.

She gave me an oblique look. “Then by your argument, you would have had the White Council destroy the United States.”

“What?”

“Your government has drenched its hands in innocent blood as well,” she replied, still calm. “Unless you think the Indian tribesmen whose lands were conquered were somehow the villains of the piece.”

I frowned over that one. “We’ve gone sort of far afield from my mother.”

“Yes. And no. What she proposed would inevitably have drawn the Council into mortal conflicts, and therefore into mortal politics. Tell me the truth—if the Council, today, declared war upon America for its past crimes and current idiocy, would you obey the order to attack?”

“Hell, no,” I said. “The U.S. isn’t a perfect place, but it’s better than most people have managed to come up with. And all my stuff is there.”

She smiled faintly. “Exactly. And since the Council is made up of members from all over the world, it would mean that no matter where we acted, we would almost certainly be faced with dissidence and desertion from those who felt their homelands wronged.” She shrugged—and grimaced in pain before arresting the motion. “I myself would have issues if the Council acted against any of the lands where my family has settled. They may not remember me, but the reverse is not true.”

I thought about what she’d said for a long moment. “What you’re saying is that the Council would have to turn on some of its own.”

“And how many times would that happen before there was no Council?” she asked. “Wars and feuds can live for generations even when there isn’t a group of wizards involved. Settling the conflicts would have required even more involvement in mortal affairs.”

“You mean control,” I said quietly. “You mean the Council seeking political power.”

She gave me a knowing look. “One of the things that makes me respect you more than most young people is your appreciation for history. Precisely. And for gaining control over others, for gathering great power to oneself, there is no better tool than black magic.”

“Which is what the Laws of Magic cover already.”

She nodded. “And so the Council limits itself. Any wizard is free to act in whatever manner he chooses with his power—provided he doesn’t break any of the Laws. Without resorting to black magic, the amount of damage an individual can inflict on mortal society is limited. As harsh an experience as it has created for you, Harry, the Laws of Magic are not about justice. The White Council is not about justice. They are about restraining power.” She smiled faintly. “And, occasionally, the Council manages to do some good by protecting mankind from supernatural threats.”

“And that’s good enough for you?” I asked.

“It isn’t perfect,” she admitted. “But it’s better than anything else we’ve come up with. And the things I’ve spent my lifetime building are there.”

“Touché,” I said.

“Thank you.”

I stroked her fingers with my thumb. “So you’re saying my mother was short-sighted.”

“She was a complex woman,” Anastasia said. “Brilliant, erratic, passionate, committed, idealistic, talented, charming, insulting, bold, incautious, arrogant—and short-sighted, yes. Among a great many other qualities. She loved pointing out the areas of ‘grey’ magic, as she called them, and constantly questioning their legitimacy.” She shrugged. “The Senior Council tasked the Wardens to keep an eye on her. Which was damn near impossible.”

“Why?”

“The woman had a great many contacts among the Fey. That’s why everyone called her Margaret LaFey. She knew more Ways through the Nevernever than anyone I’ve ever seen, before or since. She could be in Beijing at breakfast, Rome at lunch, and Seattle for supper and stop for coffee in Sydney and Capetown in between.” She sighed. “Margaret vanished once, for four or five years. Everyone assumed that she’d finally run afoul of something in Faerie. She never seemed able to restrain her tongue, even when she knew better.”

“I wonder what that’s like.”

Anastasia gave me a rather worn sad smile. “But she didn’t spend all that time in Faerie, did she?”

I looked up at the rearview mirror, back toward Château Raith.

“And Thomas is the son of the White King himself.”

I didn’t answer.

She exhaled heavily. “You look so different from him. Except perhaps for something in the jaw. The shape of the eyes.”