Claire wrapped her arms around herself as her overwhelming emotions and memories of the night threatened to burst out. “Meanwhile, Estelle has the Royalists, who believe her. She controls the wraiths. She has the moontears! And the unicorn I freed is trapped somewhere, and we can’t find him!” The others looked at her, their expressions bleak, all except Francis.

“Nett, Sena, help me up,” Francis said, pushing off the quilts. Clean dressings had been applied to his chest wound, the bandages seeming expertly wrapped by a Spinner of high level. “Come, take me outside.”

“You—you want to garden now?” Nett asked, puzzled.

“You’re not strong enough,” Sena protested.

“I’m strong enough for this,” Francis said, swinging a trousered leg over the bed’s side and pulling on a thick green robe. “Will you help me or not?”

Using Nett, Sena, and, eventually, Thorn’s good arm, Francis was able to hobble out of the candlelit cottage and into the night. When Sena and Nett asked him to sit on a quilt in the pumpkin patch, Francis shook his head. “No, take me to the north wall of the cottage.”

Sena and Nett exchanged confused looks, but they did as they were told, and the group headed around the cabin. Still using his grandchildren for support, Francis leaned forward, examining the ivy that grew over the cottage and its wooden planks. After a moment, Francis plunged his hand into the leaves. First his wrist disappeared, and then his elbow, and then his entire arm. Claire blinked. She had no idea ivy could be so thick.

“What are you doing?” Sophie asked, curious.

Francis, panting heavily from even the simple act of standing, didn’t have the breath to answer, so Nett did instead. “It’s Concealing Ivy,” he said. “It’s a very loyal plant, passed down through generations. Anything hidden in its leaves can only be retrieved by a member of the family.”

Francis huffed and puffed and then withdrew his hand. It was empty. “It’s in there,” he said, “I can feel it, but I’m afraid I need to sit. Nett, Sena, can you try?”

Sena shook her head. “But I’m not—”

“Hush, Sena,” Francis said. “You are as much my granddaughter as Nett is my grandson. Of course the Concealing Ivy will recognize you.”

Sophie hurried to take Sena’s place next to Francis. Nett plunged his hands into the leaves without a second thought, while Sena was more cautious. Claire saw the look of wonder on the Forger girl’s face as her hand slipped in easily.

“What are we looking for?” Nett asked.

Francis opened his mouth, but only a wheeze came out.