“Well, no.” She felt Brella and Vel looking at her. She cast her eyes down at her lap. “I was raised in the Royal City.”

“Yes, child, I do know that. But didn’t Purpose make you food like this?”

She laughed, rough and mirthless. “No, she didn’t.” A thought occurred to her, bright and bloody. “How do you know my mother’s name?”

Nana ran her tongue over her teeth. “Ah, now. Yes, by the way you greeted me I could tell she hadn’t told you.”

“Told me what?” She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. The few bites of food already in her stomach danced along her ribs. “How do you know her? Was she here?”

“She’s been here, yes.” Nana gestured to the door, the walls, the threadbare rug twined with glowing threads. “But the rest is not for me to tell.”

Acid burned Scratch’s throat. Purpose had never told her daughter about the life she had led before the Royal City. She had said nothing about the Tangled Lakes or why she had left. Nothing about the journey. Nothing about Scratch’s father. Nothing about who she had been back then. Scratch was used to being left in the dark, but this, that her mother had stepped across this magical threshold and decided to withhold the wonder, stung like fresh betrayal.

“Of course.” She ran her hands over her hair, her scalp buzzing. “Of course she’s been here.”

There was a hand on her arm. “Scratch?”

She blinked. Brella stared at her, the gold tint in her eyes bright against the warm brown.

A spike of anger slammed through her temples. “Did you know about this?”

Brella recoiled. “Of course not. Why would I know?”

“I . . . you . . .” The anger seeped away, just as quickly as it came. Maybe if she had learned to expect more from Purpose, she’d have huffed off. Cried into a pillow. But she had learned to hope for nothing. She couldn’t even be surprised. “You wouldn’t. Of course.”

Brella’s cheeks darkened. “Right.”

“Oh, I do love human dramatics!” Nana clapped her hands. “Now, should we go discuss our plans with your lovely little archer friend?”

Scratch followed morosely, her mind gluey and elsewhere. Purpose had been here with Nana. How? Why? The Shaes had some sort of magical woodland inheritance, but her mother? She was nothing but a Lakes fugitive, a nowhere person with no one to share her days. A harsh sentiment, but from Purpose’s own mouth: “Patience, girl. Do you know what I did for you? Do you know what I gave up to get us somewhere safe? Do you understand that I mean nothing? I have nobody?” Scratch had no idea what great, dangerous bogeyman they had run from, nor could she vouch for the relative safety of her own childhood. Her own bogeyman was her emaciated, wild-eyed mother.