I watched the fisherman raise his fist; an accusatory finger pointed toward the people gathered. None of the Red Kingdom dwellers seemed to be listening anymore. A mocking smile traced the edge of Sullen Sprit-Spellborrow’s mouth, and he went back to writing his article.

“Take me back now,” I said. “I’m convinced.”

Without another word, Porethius headed back to the orchard.

The ride back felt longer. But when we got to my bedroom in the factory, Porethius headed for my nightstand and lifted the lid of the silver teapot resting there. A faint wisp of steam curled out. “Eat. Rest. And grow merry again,” she said, sliding the tray off the nightstand and setting it on my bed. Fruit slices and warm bread with chocolate syrup rested on the wooden platter.

When Porethius headed for the door, she cast me an unexpected smile. “I suppose I should have said this before, but welcome back, Carrier.”

It took some self-coaching to be able to leave my room, but when I finally worked up the nerve to open my door, Zane was standing there like he’d been ready to knock. He was sporting a white t-shirt, of all things. It was so normal, and for a moment I imagined him standing amidst a Trite Waterloo crowd and fitting in. But I shook the thought from my mind.

“Zane—”

“It’s alright, Helen. I know you’re upset—”

“I’m—”

“—and after the meeting, I’m going to find a way to cheer you up.” His hand came out, ushering me into his minty presence, and I glanced at his skull tattoo he no longer hid.

I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since we’d collided on the field in Waterloo. I hadn’t been able to focus then, but now I realized his hair was different—longer. His electric blue eyes were as remarkable as always, and he’d gotten a smidgen taller. There was a new scar on the side of his neck, below his ear. I reached to touch it, and he went still.

“Where’d you get this?”

Zane’s mouth tightened at the edges. “It’s an unmerry story for another day, Trite. We have scotchier troubles to face presently.”

I glanced past him toward the stairs. “Does everyone think I’m crazy?”

“Yes,” he said, and my face fell. “I mean…No?” he tried again.

I shot him a look, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me and curled up.

“Ragnashuck, Trite, what do you want me to say?” he grinned. “You pitched a bloody tray at the wall!”

My hand came over my face. “The Patrol are going to abandon me.”

He peeled my hand away from my eyes and chuckled. “The Patrol might. But I would never.”

The sound of conversation lifted up the stairs and I swallowed. Zane put an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward it. “Anyway, they want to meet again. I came to get you,” he said.