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Thorn rubbed her face. Her eyes were swollen and itchy. She hated the feeling. She wished she would never feel anything again. How was she supposed to go on for the rest of her life, with this ache always in her chest and tears always rightthere, ready to fall?

She even wished, for a dark, stabbing moment, that the Fetterwitch’s curse still lived inside her. That pain had made her stronger.

All this pain did was make her doubt and worry.

“I was never brave, like Brier,” Thorn continued, watching her sleeping sister. Brier could sleep throughanything. “People would see her and walk right past me.”

“There are many kinds of courage,” said Quicksilver. “There’s the kind like Brier’s, which is loud and bright and obvious. There’s the kind like Ari’s, which is steady and patient, and a little bit snobby.”

Now Ari flicked Quicksilver’s shoulder. “When we get home, I’m going to tell Sly Boots what a fart you were.”

Gingerly grooming his feathers in Thorn’s lap, Mazby let out a tiny chirping laugh. “Ha! Fart.”

“Mazby,”Thorn said.

“What? It’s a funny word!”

Quicksilver grinned. “And there’s the kind of courage that you have, Thorn of the Vale. The courage of being kind. The courage of loving others, even those who have wronged you. The courage to see past what a person has done and offer them your hand anyway, and your heart.”

Quicksilver touched her cheek. “The courage to journey to a strange land and ask for help, even when you’re frightened and overwhelmed and you’d rather stay home in your own cozy house.”

“The courage to tell a queen she must die to save her country,” Ari added. “The courage to help her do it.”

“The courage to keep trying, even when you find out the witches you thought would help you are useless and magicless,” said Quicksilver, her eyes sparkling.

Ari sniffed. “Speak for yourself. I’m far from useless.”

“We did fight off those guards pretty nicely.”

“We have often proved ourselves excellent at fighting off guards.”

Mazby puffed up his chest. “I’malsoexcellent at fighting off guards.”

Ari bowed his head. “That you are, my little friend.”

Thorn’s eyes, of course, ofcourse, spilled over with fresh tears as she listened to them speak.

“The courage to cry,” Brier murmured groggily. “That’s a big one. I’ve never been very good at it.”

“It’s so easy for you to love, Thorn,” Quicksilver said thoughtfully. She wiped a tear from Thorn’s cheek. “When I was your age, it was very hard for me to love. I fought it whenever I could. I feared it. To be so unafraid of love, to live so openly and gently... what a marvelous thing.”

Thorn looked between Quicksilver and Ari, her mouth trembling. “Do you really mean all that?”

“They’d better,” Mazby grumbled, fluffing up his feathers.

“I do,” Quicksilver said.

“And so do I,” added Ari.

Brier sat up and hooked her arm through Thorn’s. “And so do I.”

Then the gray throne room doors opened, and Thorn’s heart skipped and stumbled.

For there was Zaf, whole and shining, her long white hair falling down her back in glossy waves, her cheeks full and her eyes bright blue. Her breathing was strong and her gown was a soft petal purple.

Zaf rushed over to Thorn, grabbed Thorn’s hands, and pulled her up into a hug. With a squawk, Mazby fluttered clumsily into Brier’s waiting hands.

“They’re ready for us,” Zaf said breathlessly. “But I wanted to hug you first. Oh, Thorn, I wanted to tell you...” Zaf glanced around at everyone, flushing a little. “Well. They’re ready for us. We should go.”