Scratch reached up to touch the glowing flowers. Brella slapped her hand.

“Don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to.“

“Yes you were.” Brella frowned. The moment Nana had directed the brewer to enter the cottage, she had stopped crying, sniffling so hard Scratch could almost believe Brella was sucking all her tears back into her face. She was stiff, crinkles of tension blooming beside her bloodshot eyes. Scratch wanted to touch her again, but her hand was still stinging from that slap. She couldn’t risk another.

“Sit, sit.” Nana indicated the couches. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

Scratch blinked. The table, which had before held an empty plate, now groaned under a platter laden with freshly baked scones, steam curling off them in the form of what Scratch could have sworn was a beckoning finger.

She looked to Brella for approval. Can I? Brella ignored her, flopping onto a couch and grabbing a scone for herself.

“Thanks, Nana,” she mumbled through the crumbs. “We were in a pretty tight spot.”

“I gathered. Sit, my new guest. And you too, Vel.”

Vel trembled, his eyes darting toward the two closed doors Scratch only now noticed sat on either side of the room. “Our friend.” He gulped. “Is he . . .”

“He’s fine, Vel,” Nana tutted. “Now, come sit. I made your favorite: gurgleberry.”

Scratch followed Vel to the unoccupied couch and reached for a scone. Fruit dotted the surface like garnet in ore. She bit. Sweetness zinged across her tongue, a mixture of cherries, chocolate, and the memory of one sunny day she and James had spent laughing over dirty books by the Academy pond.

“This is,” she whispered reverently through her mouthful, “the best thing I have ever eaten.”

Nana beamed. “Thank you, child. You’re just like my Umbrella. A healthy appetite.” She pursed her lips. “You could use some fattening up, though. If you stay for a while, my dear, I’d be happy to—”

“We’re only here for a little while, Nana.” Brella wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Just until James heals.”

“James.” His name sat in the fae’s mouth for a moment, a little ball of sunshine. Then, as Scratch watched in dumbstruck fascination, she swallowed it. “And the other?”

“Uh, Gultin?” Scratch supplied. There was a danger, she suspected, in this fae knowing names. Not just knowing—keeping. But Nana already had Brella’s, Vel’s, and James’s names, so it couldn’t be that bad. Besides, Gultin had just tried to kill her, so her empathy was somewhat limited where he was concerned.

“Gultin.” She ate his name, too, the little ball of light traveling down her throat. “And you?”

Brella flinched. “Nana—”

“She ate of my table, Umbrella.”

“Yes, but she doesn’t need you like—”

“She does.” Nana’s nostrils flared. “You all do. Or would you prefer to be discovered by one of the dozens of parties pursuing her?”