The raft finally ran aground a bit too close to the village for Luce’s comfort, but she was too tired to care. She flung her upper body onto the beach as her father scrambled ashore, staring all around him as if he really were seeing glinting diamond facets in all the trees. Smoke blue dusk blurred the waving grass. “Oh, Luce! It’s hard to trust it, but it’s all so beautiful!” He pulled himself upright and staggered a few dizzy steps, and Luce slipped the harness off her shoulders. Blood raced back into her arms like a hundred spinning razors, and she stretched and closed her eyes for a moment to fight the pain.

How could she possibly say goodbye now? But there was Dorian, and she’d already made him wait for so long. It was cruel. He must be so worried about her, maybe even afraid that she was dead.

Her father twirled messily, still clearly half-maddened by his brush with enchantment. “It’s so beautiful! I’ll never ask where I am again. Luce, baby doll, wherever it is, you brought me to it!” He was shouting, and Luce glanced nervously toward the shining windows of that tiny village: tiny enough that any disturbance would attract attention instantly. Humans would come. Already Luce caught sight of yellow light abruptly slicing from an opening door. Someone was calling and a dog barked.

“Dad? I’m going to . . . I have to go. In just a minute.” Another door opened as if it were answering the first. They’d definitely heard him, then. “I—we have to say goodbye. It might be a long time—”

“No!” He staggered into the water, and Luce gaped in alarm. “No, doll, I’m going to do right by you this time. I swear it. Now that I’ve found you again, I’m going to change everything.”

She could already hear faint footsteps, and the barking was getting louder. A blot of yellow from a swinging flashlight crisscrossed a path; it wasn’t all that far away. “You can’t. You’ve—done everything you can for me, and I love you so much, but I have to go.” Luce heard the childish appeal rising in her voice. As if she was begging him to forgive her.

“How am I even going to reach you? Lucette, you can’t just—”

“I have to.” She considered the problem, but there was no time to come up with a good solution. “Make sure Peter always knows where you are. That way, if I ever . . . I’ll have a way to find you.”

Her father snorted. “Don’t think Peter will want to do me a lot of favors. Not when I get done with him.”