Lucas guided Kara and Taff toward a beacon of torchlight shimmering at the end of the beach. They were followed by a group of armed men who stayed close enough to make their presence felt.

“What’s going to happen to Safi?” Kara asked. “What’s the Stonehouse?”

“Just a jail,” Lucas said. “She’ll sit in a cell until we straighten all this out with the Mistrals, and then she’ll be released.”

“You sure?”

“These aren’t the Children of the Fold. The people of Nye’s Landing are much clearer-headed about these things.”

“They didn’t seem so clearheaded just now.”

Lucas ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. Everyone’s a little on edge. But these are good people. They’ll see reason in the end.”

Kara wanted to believe him, but seeing the mob eager to drag Safi to her death had resurrected painful memories.

Lucas doesn’t understand how quickly notions of right and wrong can change when people are terrified.

“Who are these Mistrals, anyway?” Taff asked.

“Sort of like the Elders back on De’Noran,” Lucas said. “A council of four. South, East, West, and North—who you’ve already met. Their titles harken back to an older time, when Nye’s Landing used to harness wind for power.”

“We saw the windmills on our way into town,” Taff said.

“Most of the old ways have changed since then, but the Mistrals have remained. Three of them will give you fair counsel.”

“And the fourth?” asked Kara.

Through the black leather of his glove, Lucas scratched at the stumps of his missing two fingers.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Just tell the truth and you’ll be fine.”

A few minutes later the beach ended in a massive rock wall that jutted into the ocean. A ring of torches had been set into the sand.

Four figures wavered in the light.

The Mistrals sat on cragged boulders arranged like the points of a compass. Using stern-looking North as her starting point, Kara figured out who was who. East, younger than the rest and nearly bald, fixed her with a haughty expression. South, the only woman, wore many necklaces of shells and smiled warmly as they approached. Only West, the oldest by far, did not seem to notice their arrival, concerned as he was with twirling his long white hair around his left wrist.

Taking Kara’s hand, Lucas made his way to the center of the circle.

“Good evening, Mistrals,” he said, kneeling on one knee and clasping his hands above his head. Kara, unsure what to do, awkwardly followed his lead. “I humbly apologize for the unannounced arrival, but I believe I have a solution to our town’s problem. Do you recall, when I first came here, what I said of De’Noran and all the dark things that happened there?”

“Witchcraft and magic,” North said. “We thought you a fool at the time. Or crazy.”

“This started long before Lucas’s arrival,” South said in a gravelly voice. “For how many years have we all laughed at the Children of the Fold? ‘That crazy cult that actually believes the old legends,’ we said, ‘slavers who scoff at the World and think the forest that covers their island is inhabited by monsters.’” She sighed. “Perhaps if we had not been so closed-minded we could have been better prepared.”

“It’s not too late,” said Lucas. “This girl here is Kara Westfall. She’s the one who used her powers to save our entire village from an evil witch. And now she can save Nye’s Landing.”

All four Mistrals turned to look at Kara.

“What are you doing?” she whispered to Lucas. “I never said anything about saving anyone.”

Lucas gave her a half smile.

“It’s what you do,” he said.

“You dare bring a witch before us?” asked East, rising to his feet. Purple veins bulged from his forehead.

“A good witch,” said Lucas.

“There is no such thing!”

“How can you be so sure of yourself?” South asked. “This is new for all of us. Just because this girl can use magic doesn’t make her evil.” Her brow furrowed as a thought occurred to her. “You’re not evil, girl? Are you?”

“No,” Kara said. “Not evil.”

She considered adding And I’m not a witch anymore, either, but wasn’t sure if that would be the wisest decision. It might be best for Safi if these adults believed that Kara had the ability to help them, at least for now.

“How old are you?” asked North.

“Thirteen.”

Kara had celebrated a birthday right before they left Kala Malta. She had forgotten entirely, but Taff remembered and surprised her with a hairpin he had whittled from a piece of wood.

“Tall for your age,” said South.

“Tell me about these unghosts.”

“Like you don’t know already . . . ,” started East.

“Oh, hush,” said South. She turned toward Kara. “Children started disappearing a few months ago—straight from their homes. They’d just go to sleep, everything normal as can be, and the next morning their beds would be empty. We sent search parties out but found no trace of them.” She sighed. “And then they started coming back. Only at night. They call out, ask for help, and . . . they’re children, so it’s just so hard to refuse them.”

“But you must,” said North. “We don’t think they mean to do any harm, but their touch upon the living is . . . unnatural.”

Kara held up her bruised wrist, showing that she understood.

“Why do you call them unghosts?” she asked.

“Because though these children may act like spirits,” replied North, “we are certain they are simply under some kind of spell and will someday return to us. Ghosts, if they exist at all, cannot touch the living.”

“The children are enchanted, that’s all,” South said, her voice wavering. “Enchanted. Not—not—”

Dead.

The Mistrals’ logic was flawed at best, but Kara understood why they so readily accepted it. To think otherwise would be to sacrifice all hope.

“There was a witness,” said North. “Harren Lake. Saw a small figure in a cloak holding a book just like your friend’s. Except . . .” North paused, remembering something. “Your friend’s book is white. Harren said the book he saw was dark. Black or gray, maybe.”

In Kara’s mind, pieces began to slide into place.

Someone in this town has a grimoire. They must have gotten it from Rygoth—it’s too much of a coincidence to think otherwise. This is exactly what she planned. Bring the spellbooks to the World, get them into the hands of unwitting witches. Sow disorder and chaos. Kara remembered the Bindery in Kala Malta, the tall piles of grimoires stacked in stone storehouses. There had been hundreds of books, maybe even thousands—and the great beast Niersook had carted them all across the ocean. How many grimoires has Rygoth already distributed by now? How many towns and villages are suffering from her malice?

A painful knot tightened Kara’s stomach.

I’m the one who set her free. This is all my fault.

“I’ll help you,” Kara told the Mistrals.

“We did not ask for your help, girl,” snarled East. He addressed the other Mistrals, slashing his hands through the air to punctuate each point. “Need I remind you that it is magic that is our true enemy? After everything that has happened, why would we trust a witch? As far as I’m concerned, the best thing would be to put an arrow through her chest right now.”

“Let us not be rash,” said North. “She is only a child.”

“There is magic in the world!” East shouted. “We can’t just sit here and act like the same old rules still apply.”

Kara thought that the oldest Mistral, given the soft snoring sounds coming from his direction, had fallen asleep, but now he spoke for the first time. West’s voice was quiet, like crinkling paper.

“What rules, exactly, are you speaking of?” the old man asked. “The ones that forbid us from ordering the death of an innocent child?”

“She’s not innocent,” East replied, but even he was deferential to the old man. “Neither is her friend.”

“They have harmed no one.”

“She had a spellbook! A weapon.”

“My grandson here has a bow. Shall we murder him too?”

Grandson? Does he mean Lucas?

“That’s different. He’s one of us.”

“Ah,” said West, templing his fingers beneath his chin. “Are we at that point already? ‘Them and us’?” His eyes grew dark, and East shifted uneasily in his seat. “You must be very wise indeed to understand this situation so completely when I, doddering old fool that I am, find myself completely lost.”

“May I speak?” Kara asked.

The four Mistrals turned in her direction.

“Perhaps we should not let you,” West said. “After all, our youthful East, having not looked into your eyes and seen the kindness there, is no doubt afraid your words will bring lightning and calamity from the skies.” The old man smiled, revealing one last tooth dangling from his upper gum. “But since I’m so much closer to the Final Wind I’m willing to risk it.”

Kara spoke slowly, taking the time to meet each of the Mistrals’ eyes in turn. She remembered her father doing the same thing when trying to mediate difficulties between other farmers, back in the days before Mother had been taken from him.

“There is a witch among you,” Kara said. “What she is doing is wrong, and must be stopped, but it’s not entirely her fault. She is being controlled by her grimoire.”

East scoffed. “That’s just an excuse. Protecting her own kind.”

“You can’t possibly understand.”

“And I suppose you do?” questioned East.

“All too well.”

East held Kara’s gaze for just a moment and then looked away.

“So what do we do?” asked South.

“Let me find her,” Kara said. “Perhaps she’ll listen to me.”

“This isn’t a time for talking—” East began.

“She’s the only one who can undo the spell on these children!” exclaimed Kara. “If you kill her, you’re killing them as well!”

The other Mistrals considered this and then nodded, which only served to infuriate East more.

“I refuse to sit here a moment longer and listen to this . . . child!” East exclaimed. “I’ve already sent for help. An expert on these matters. He will be here any day.”

“Far too long for the children taken to wait,” South said. She offered Kara a bright smile. “The wind has brought this child here for a reason. She is the one who will help us. I can feel it.”

“There are two things I would ask in return,” Kara said.

“See!” East shouted. “She’s after a reward. I knew it!”

“First, I’d like my friend Safi to be released.”

“I find this reasonable,” North said. “After you’ve helped us, however. Not before.”

Kara grimaced. Safi’s powers would have been very useful while searching for the witch. Then again, after what happened she wasn’t sure if Safi would even be willing to help her anymore.

“My second request is transport to Sablethorn.”

Three of the Mistrals exchanged bewildered looks, while West, deep in thought, stroked his long hair.

North cleared his throat and spoke. “As the Northern Mistral, it is my duty to compile the most current maps of the land. There is no such place.”

“We’ve only recently discovered that magic is a real thing,” said South. “Is it so strange to think there might be a place not on your precious maps?”

“Those maps are constructed by the finest cartographers in the world! Just because you don’t understand—”

“I know of Sablethorn,” West said quietly. “Though I was only a boy when I heard the name, and even then it was the distant memory of one as ancient and wizened as I am now. Really no more than a folktale. I cannot guarantee that it’s even real. But as long as you’re willing to take that risk, I’m happy to provide you with transport to its supposed location.”

It wasn’t the guarantee that Kara had been hoping for, but in the end it didn’t matter; her course had been set since she learned of Rygoth’s involvement. I freed her. That means what happened to those children is my fault. I have to set things right.

“I’ll find your witch,” Kara said.

She requested to be taken to Safi immediately so she could let the girl know they hadn’t forgotten about her, but East argued that any contact between the two witches should be forbidden. The other Mistrals, too tired to argue the point, had granted East this minor victory.

Kara and Taff were dismissed.

Lucas led them back along the beach, the guards lingering even farther behind this time. Kara told him all that had occurred. When she reached the part about their need to discover the hidden witch, his face brightened.

“A problem!” Taff exclaimed.

He split off from the older children, deep in thought, walking so close to the waves that water soaked the soles of his boots.

Lucas eyed him curiously.

“What’s he doing?”

“Being brilliant,” Kara said. “Is West really your grandfather?”

Lucas nodded.

“On my mother’s side. Once he found out we were linked by blood he took me in immediately. Grandfather is a great man.”

Kara started to ask another question but Lucas raised his hand.

“We’ve but a short walk back to the inn and mine’s not the story that needs telling tonight.”

Kara started to talk, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, like a boulder rolling downhill. She told him everything she could remember as she remembered it, sometimes in the right order, sometimes not. She told him how the villagers of De’Noran had nearly stoned them to death. She told him about the Draye’varg and notsuns and other horrors of the Thickety. She told him how she had mistaken Sordyr for her enemy and Rygoth for her friend.

She did not tell him about losing her powers, however. Lucas had spoken so highly of her to the Mistrals (“the hero of De’Noran,” he called me) and she wasn’t ready to face his disappointment when he learned she was just an ordinary girl now. Instead, Kara told him that she was currently unable to do magic because she didn’t have a grimoire. It was a half truth at best, and his look of sympathy made her burn with guilt.

By the time they reached the door of the inn Kara was so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open. Taff slipped inside without saying good night, muttering something about “wanting to check his sack for answers.”

“Sack?” Lucas asked.

“Magic toys,” Kara said, stifling a yawn. “I forgot that part. The witch named Mary Kettle, the one whose age was broken . . .”

Smiling, Lucas pushed the inn’s door open for her.

“Tell me tomorrow. There’s nothing more embarrassing than falling asleep during your own story.”

“Tomorrow,” Kara said, backing through the door.

It had been a terrible day. She had been roped into a dangerous search for a witch she had no hope of finding. Safi sat in a dark cell, probably cursing Kara’s name. Sablethorn, the place she had to reach if there was any hope of saving her father, might not even exist. And yet, as Kara’s head touched her pillow, sleep already tugging her into oblivion, she felt oddly optimistic for what the morning might bring.

Tomorrow I’ll see Lucas again.

Kara fell asleep smiling.