“All your things have been brought down. You should be comfortable enough here.” Lang stuffed his hands into his pockets again, eyes trained on my luggage. “I’ll leave you be.” He nodded, sparing me a single, searching glance, and ducked into the hall.

And then I was alone.

I sank onto the floor, fiddling idly with the brass fastenings of my luggage, and began with a sigh to unpack.

I found my trunks full mostly with new clothes—gowns, more casual dresses, shirts, and pants. The process of smoothing and sorting and fitting them into my wardrobe should have been comforting, but I grew more and more apprehensive at their endlessness, at the rising expense I calculated in every layer of finery.

How far was I going? How long would I be gone? And at what cost to Potomac?

I thought of Perrault on deck with Alessandra, my folder in his hands.

I wanted to seek him out, to pore over its pages and make a plan.

I wanted to find the folder and fling it overboard, and let salt and water have their way with paper and ink and Alessandra’s plans.

Two-thirds of the way through my first trunk, I heard something shifting between a green lace gown and my favorite old waterproof boots. Curious, I paused.

Beneath the impractical dress was a blond wooden box. As I took it from its resting place, its contents made a rustling sound, like fingertips on pages.

Inside the box was a tiny library of rattling white packets. I lifted them against the light streaming through the portholes, one after another; some held curling shoots; others, black seeds small as pinpricks.

Taped inside the box’s lid was a note in Godmother Althea’s handwriting.

I sneaked bags of soil onboard for you. Go find them.

Stay muddy, sweet girl.

A lump formed in my throat.

“Gardening?” I asked her, giving a laugh that was half a sob. “On a ship?”

But my godmother was miles away. Too far away to hear. Too far away to answer.

A wave of exhaustion and misery collapsed over me at the scent of the box, of Potomac’s kitchen garden and home.

My heart missed it all already.

My hands kept unpacking.

Godmother Althea’s last gift I found cocooned in a soft yellow sweater that had been Daddy’s. I lifted it to my face to breathe him in, worrying for him so badly it hurt, then stared at what was left in my lap.

It was a book, a foot tall and a foot wide, as big as the Bible on the altar at Saint Christopher’s and bound thickly in green leather. Pages thin as butterflies’ wings were covered with spidery handwriting and illuminated with blossom-bright colors and gold leaf. The table of contents listed epics, myths, legends, and fairy tales from countries far and near.

My heart caught in my throat.