Papa was the last to emerge from our cottage. He carried the book of nightmares, and I watched as he delivered the tome to Lennox Vesper, who waited by a patch of daisies in the yard, Phelan at his side. My father gave him the book and the key to the cottage, and it was officially done and over. Papa was no longer warden of Hereswith, and we were homeless.

I buried my face in Dwindle’s fur, to hide the tears that burned my eyes. I felt Imonie’s hand on my shoulder, and her attempt to comfort me only made my emotions spin harder. I could feel the weeping in my chest, threatening to rise.

Oh gods, I thought. Please don’t let me cry here. Let me at least get out of sight of the Vespers.

Despite my resolve, a sound slipped from me. The strangled sound of a girl trying to swallow a sob, and halfway succeeding.

Dwindle let out a disgruntled meow. I was squeezing her too hard, and when I lifted my face, my nose was running. A few tears had escaped, and I hurried to dash them away before anyone but Imonie could notice.

“And where will you be heading, Mr. Madigan?” Lennox was asking. He was a blurry shape at the corner of my eye, but I saw how he cradled the book of nightmares in an awkward stance. The weight of the book had caught him by surprise.

“Wherever the wind blows,” Papa said.

He helped me and Imonie settle in the wagon bench before he climbed up himself. His hands trembled as they took the reins and he clucked to the horse, urging the gelding onward.

I wanted to look back at the cottage, at our friends, one last time, but I didn’t. Because I feared I would break into hundreds of pieces if I did.

We didn’t talk until eventide, each of us lost to our own thoughts until Papa drew the wagon off the road and we chose to camp in a copse of oak trees. Imonie built a fire and made a quick stew of wild onions, potatoes, and some summer sausage, and we gathered around the light and ate, our mood somber.

I had noticed the mountains were growing distant. My father was taking us east, and it made me feel lost. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders as Dwindle curled up on my lap. And I looked for something I recognized, something to ground me. I found it on the dusky horizon, where the fortress in the clouds was carved into the mountaintop, so distant now I could hardly discern it. But it was a familiar sight and made me feel less adrift. Weary of the silence, I asked, “What do you think is up there? In the fortress?”

Imonie was sitting in the grass, knitting a shawl. “Nightmares. And the lost one.”