She turned her head suddenly to face him, eyes wide in mock excitement. “No more vagueness? I will find out who she is? You will tell me how you first met?”

Chance nodded. “I will tell you how I first met her: years ago, in the City, sitting on a bench in the shade. And after that, since you know me so well, I will tell you the other story . . . about how she first met me.”

—

In the years that followed her return from the labyrinth and from death, Miranda recovered and readjusted. Life in the real world did not mirror the labyrinth experience, but Patience had known or guessed well enough for the final outcome to be quite similar. With Khabir’s support, Miranda studied and worked hard to meet and surpass his challenge to change the City. She became an advocate for the rights of non-Freemen and gained such a reputation that two benevolent trusts appointed her as their special counsel. Her mother was proud of her at last, and though it did not fully mend their relationship, it allowed her to visit home without the bitter sense of being seen as an apostate.

Kieran came to terms with his new responsibilities and, with Miranda’s blessing and Priya’s help, turned the upper floors of the town house into a hostel for transient youth. Fae was distant, always traveling, often studying, and Miranda might easily have lost track of her except for family gossip . . . and that memory of a flirtatious prince with far too much worldly and otherworldly power. If he approached her cousin, if he abused his power, Miranda promised she would find her own way to deal with him.

Throughout it all, Miranda remembered. She remembered the Mermaid . . . no . . . the Dancer. She remembered the wrenching grief of watching Niko and Marinel, and the searing shame when she silently stood by as Chance and Ajit interrogated Xandre’s grandmother. Miranda could do nothing for the dead and departed, but she wondered about the grandmother. She investigated and eventually found out where the old woman lived. A few more months passed before she found the courage to visit her. The woman’s relatives, though absent, were taking care of her well. The town house apartment was comfortable with a housekeeper to keep things in order and a lovely sea view from the back rooms. She was installed on an upper floor, something Miranda at first found strange, but there was a stair lift for emergencies that was kept firmly locked into position on the lower floor because, as the housekeeper cheerfully put it, sometimes Mistress Joy’s wandering mind set her feet to wandering as well.

Perhaps it was one of her good days, but she was far more alert than Miranda had dared hope. She almost recognized Miranda in spite of the scars and the cane, even though they had never been formally introduced.