to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.

We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.

Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.

No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.

The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.