I felt torn inside. Not in some oh, what do I do now kind of bullshit way, but like some muscle or organ deep inside me had pulled free and was pumping blood into places it wasn't supposed to be. I didn't think anything like that had really happened when Mother worked her card-stealing trick, but by the Twins, it sure felt like it. My body kept panicking, my heart pounding erratically and my head swimming. I wasn't surprised that everyone else Mother did this to died.

But I had my young self's card in my hand and I wasn't going to waste the moment. I was tempted to try to put the card into my soul even though she'd said I couldn't – she'd lied to me often enough that I sure as hell wasn't going to be squeamish about breaking my word to her – but I'd talked to Gale extensively about his card-loss experience when we'd been hunting the enemy army before the city fell, and I was fairly sure that the card needed not to have "died" in order to be easily reattached to its owner. That's what the Tenders taking care of him had told him, at least, and it made a certain amount of sense. You had to close a wound before the two edges started to heal on their own; that was the analogy he said they'd used. Mother had said it took a week or so for a card to die, so I had to get my Uncommon soul card back by then in order for it to heal back into place. This Epic of the younger me had solidified into a regular summon card a good ten years ago. Putting it under my tongue would do nothing but cut the corners of my mouth – if that was even what I was supposed to do; I hadn't quizzed Gale on the specifics of the re-insertion.

I was staring at the card and clutching my chest as my mind whirled. I was stalling, and I knew it. All these years I'd dreamed and schemed about getting this card back, and now… I was scared. It was like getting dressed up to meet Afi for the Gala, but a thousand times worse. A thousand times more consequential. I was about to meet myself.

Gritting my teeth, I pulled a card out of my already-full Mind Home – my Spell Drinker; I'd want that back in when I was done – and slipped the Epic in behind my ear. Pulling Source and cards, I cycled through until the Changeling Prince surfaced. Then, my breathing shallow and my pulse thready, feeling like twelve different kinds of shit, I summoned him.

He was short for his age. Or at least, he was shorter than either Bryll or Naydarin. But then, he was quite a bit younger than either of them. I'd only been six or so when he'd been taken from me. So little. How could she do it?

"What do you want?" he snapped. "Where's Mother?"

"She'll be back," I said. I automatically used the voice everyone uses for sick people and upset children and immediately hated the sound of it. Somehow, though, I couldn't stop. "She wanted us to meet."

His eyes flicked up and down me, and his lip curled in dismissive disdain. "All right, we've met. Unsummon me and hand me back over."

I grimaced at the tearing pain inside me. It wasn't getting any less. "Hull, I… I'm you. The you that you grew up into."

His face went still and cold. "Fuck off, old man."

"I mean it. She ripped you out of me and left me to die. Did she tell you that?"

The boy shrugged defensively. "If you were weak enough to let it happen, that's your fault." He sounded so much older than he looked. I had to remember that he'd lived as long as me, just in card form instead of a living one.

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"Aren't you mad?" I asked. "I want to kill her most of the time."

He looked out the window, eyes blank. "I want to kill everyone."

A new pain joined the others tearing at me. I knew that look on his face. I'd felt that way for as long as I can remember until I'd finally met some decent people and learned that life was more than just fighting and betrayal. I still felt that way sometimes. "I got us what we need," I told him. "I got strong."

His appraisal verged on disgust this time. "Is this what passes for strong among the humans? A bog imp could put you in the ground, by the looks of it."

"I'm not at my best right now," I admitted. Telling him I'd willingly taken on this weakness so I could talk to him wouldn't impress, so I kept it to myself. "But I've got one of the strongest decks in the city."

"You mean the city we just took from you?" little me scoffed. "So you're one of the strongest of the ones who lost. Congratulations."

I wanted to slap the little shit and hug him at the same time. He was all vinegar and spikes, but if we were alike at all, a gaping loneliness was hiding behind his tough words and careless shrugs. It occurred to me for the first time that of the two of us, I might have been the one better off all these years. I'd been a gutter kid and nearly died a dozen times, sure, but he'd been living in my Mother's Mind Home the whole time. Endless manipulation and instability. Loving words and lavished attention when she needed something and complete neglect the rest of the time. Even without most of my memories from the years this little boy represented, those patterns still lived inside of me, and when I'd started to deal with Mother again, they'd resonated inside of me like the world's oldest, ugliest song. I needed to get him away from her. I needed to show him what a good life looked like. "What if you were my card?" I whispered. "What if you didn't have to go back to her?"

His eyes went even flatter, even duller. He stepped right up to me, glaring like he meant to kill me. "You think I give a shit? A Mind Home is a Mind Home. If she gives me to you, then I'll be your card. Fine. Give me something to fight sometimes and I'll do it." He jabbed an accusing finger at me. "But I'm not you. I'd rather have my card shattered than end up like you."

His words stabbed the torn spot inside of me. I had to sit down. I was exhausted and I felt like I was going to puke. How was I going to handle four days of this? I seriously wondered if I laid down and closed my eyes if I'd just die. It seemed like a real possibility.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and spoke thickly. "You're not like me. I get it. But that's why I want to get to know you."

His laugh was bitter and ugly. "I've killed twenty-six of your humans in the last three weeks, and that's the only worthwhile thing that has happened in this shithole. I think that tells you enough about me."

I bit the inside of my cheek and kept my anger curbed. "I'd rather hear about your time in the Demon Realm. I can't remember it."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. He rubbed his fists near his eyes and mimed crying. "Wah, wah, my mean mommy made me fight demons and used my face to sneak around. It was so terrible and I'm so sad. Pwease, mister, won't you save me?" He dropped his hands, sneer firmly in place. "Is that what you want to hear, you pathetic pile of shit?"

I carefully unclenched a fist. Even that motion hurt. He's putting on a show. Don't even acknowledge it. "Not everybody's like her, you know."

"Nope," my young self said. "Not everybody wins."

With that, he turned his back on me and went to the window, looking out over the city he said he hated so much. No matter what I said, he refused to even admit he'd heard me. Questions, insults, and open-ended statements all met stony silence. I supposed it shouldn't surprise me that even as a little boy I'd been an unworkable pain in the ass.

When our hour was almost up, I unsummoned him and withdrew his card from my Mind Home. I laid it carefully on the table, stroking its surface gently. "I will make you understand, you little bastard," I said, knowing he couldn't hear me. It might take a long time, but I'd get through to him. It wasn't just enough to have his card in my Mind Home. I needed him to accept me. To comprehend me.

To forgive me.

I didn't know where that thought came from. It didn't even make sense. But somehow it rang true enough to wring a dribble of tears from my eyes. Just then the door handle turned, and I dashed them away, unwilling to let Mother see any pain. She didn't deserve to know how I felt. I pulled the Spell Drinker from my pocket and put it back in where it belonged. It didn't have the same weight as my younger self did, and I missed it already.

Pushing myself upright with a mighty effort, I left the card behind and staggered out the door, passing Mother and giving her the same silent treatment my card had given me. She didn't matter. The boy mattered. And Basil. And whatever the Queen wanted me to get from my father's treasure vault. Nothing else here in this Twins-forsaken Palace meant a damn to me.

I'd talk to my card more tomorrow. But the vampires were expecting me at their party in less than an hour, and half-dead or not, I was going. I'd get as much information as possible on this other enemy faction to pass on to Afi; that was a part of why I was here. And then I'd get to Basil. And then I'd get my cards back from Mother. And then we'd get out of here.

Somehow.

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