I did my best to put the exchange out of my mind. I worked on deck by day, tending my plants or sweating and scrubbing in the galley, ignoring Perrault’s horror at my indignity and refusing his summons to further lessons. By night I listened to the crew tell stories, peering over Lang’s shoulder as he sketched.

I was always on the outside of their circle, but it was better than drifting across the ocean alone.

Every night, I fell asleep reading by moonlight. Sometimes, before I drifted off, I could have sworn I heard whispers in my godmother’s voice, her words a melody even when she wasn’t singing.

But on the twenty-seventh day after we left Potomac, there was no moon.

Lang had forbidden me to use the stove or the oven, but I needed my book’s company, and it was too dark to see. I lit a candle from the galley’s little bundle of matches and was carrying it downstairs to my room when his door flew open onto the landing.

Lang strode down the stairs and took the candle from me without a moment’s hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

“Homer’s allowed to have lamps.”

“You aren’t Homer.”

“But it’s dark,” I protested.

“You’re not afraid of the dark.” Lang doused the candle with a puff of his breath, and the stairwell suddenly seemed too small, too full of the two of us, our faces bathed in shadow.

“No.” My voice was uneven. “I just can’t see to read.”

Lang snorted. “Of course.”

“Don’t be rude,” I huffed. I reached for the candle, stretching after it as Lang held it high, and found my face very close to his.

“Hush,” he murmured. “The others are sleeping.”

“I need to read. I need the light. It’s your job to look after me.”

“It’s my job to make sure you don’t send this ship up in flames.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You wouldn’t mean to do anything,” Lang interrupted. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “But a single stray spark could burn us alive.”

I swallowed and stepped back, suddenly flushed despite the cool night. “Fine.”

And without another word, I rushed downstairs, into the embrace of the dark.

In olden times

fairies were sent to oppose the evil-doings of witches,

and to destroy their power.

—The Fairy of the Dell

[I]f 3e wyl lysten þis laye bot on littel quile,

I schal telle hit, as-tit, as I in toun herde,

with tonge;

As hit is stad & stoken,

In stori stif & stronge,

With lel letteres loken,

In londe so hat3 ben longe.

—Sir Gawayn and þe Grene Knyȝt

. . . and if ye will listen but a little I will tell it you

with tongue

As I have heard it told,

In a story brave and strong,

In a loyal book of old,

In the land it has been long.