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Jory had only voiced what I had always felt deep down. But I had never dared to say it aloud, not even to Rose. Not even in the whispered secrecy of our treehouse palace or under the cottage eaves at night. Had we been bound by magic from speaking or thinking of it?

That familiar veil of forgetfulness crept over my mind.

But here, in the Faerie air, the restraint felt thinner.

I struggled against its strictures, refusing to yield.

Was Rose truly my sister? Could any two girls be more unlike?

She, dark-haired, willowy, and graceful.

Me, with my wild white mane and hoydenish ways.

My fingers brushed the remaining petals in my pocket. Their familiar scent reminded me of home, and a pang of childhood longing struck me.

“It matters not,” I said quietly. “Whether by birth or otherwise, she is my mother, and Rose is my sister. That is all that matters. Now let us waste no more time, that I might find my sister and go home.”

Sir Oswain placed his fist over his heart. “I give my fealty to your rose crown. Both the red and the white. All that I can do to rescue your sister, I shall.”

I was touched by his loyalty enough to say, “Rose is not of fae blood, sir. I can promise you that. She has not the smallest particle of magic in her.”

“Now that we’ve established fealties and so forth,” said Jory. “Let’s be on our way. ”

“Which way is that?” said Jack, looking miserable as little red welts arose over his face and neck.

There were several directions we could take. Multiple pathways beckoned.

I turned to the stone faerie who had settled back into the landscape.

“I beg pardon for disturbing you a second time, sir,” I said. “But might I enquire of your great knowledge?”

I recalled all I knew of stone faeries: they were ancient creatures.

Their knowledge of history was extensive, for there was nowhere in Faerie where there were not rocks and stones in the ground or fashioned into walls, and so they heard all things that all peoples spoke through ageless times, and one stone or rock knew what their neighbouring stone or rock had heard.

The faerie was slow to answer. But it did lift its granite face to me, saying, “The Daughter of the Rose Crown may enquire of my knowledge.”

I thanked it by praising its wisdom elaborately, for faeries liked to be flattered.

The faerie was slow again to respond. But at last it replied to me—“Three questions shall I grant. The next three I hear.”

“Ask where the lady Rose is,” said Sir Oswain immediately.

“Ask where the dwarf lord’s stronghold is,” urged Jory.

“Ask how to make these bites stop hurting,” muttered Jack.

“Here are the answers to your three questions,” said the faerie.

I opened my mouth to protest, but it was too late.

“I know of no person by the name of the lady Rose,” it said .

“Her name is Rose!” I cried, remembering as soon as I spoke that one should not give a true name to the fae. “She was carried into Faerie only today!”

But the faerie continued in its slow, gravelly voice.

“The dwarf lord’s stronghold lies in the heart of the Black Rock. And the remedy for the bite of a birch sprite is the pulp of three leaves from the Singing Tree, gathered by the light of a falling star on the last stroke of midnight at midwinter.”

“What of the lady of the name of Rose?” I asked desperately.

“Is there a shortcut to the Black Rock?” pressed Jory.

But the faerie had answered its quota. It settled back into its former shape, its shimmer of magic fading until it looked no different from any ordinary stone. Only the faintest thrum of lingering magic marked it as anything other than rock.

“Remedy for sprite bites!” said Jory, cuffing his brother’s inflamed ear.

“Didn’t know it was listening to me,” Jack protested, ducking away.

“There is no use bickering,” I said, feeling just as cross as Jory over the misspent question. I had wanted to ask the stone faerie about the whereabouts of Beran, as well as Rose. “You all wasted the opportunity.” I gave Sir Oswain a reproachful look. He had the grace to look ashamed.

“My question wasn’t wasted,” argued Jory. “It was the only one with a clear answer. We must go to the Black Rock.”

“Then lead the way,” I said, gesturing to the tangled paths that disappeared into shadowy woods .

Sir Oswain stared at Jory. “How did you know to enquire about the dwarf lord’s stronghold?”

“Oh, I keep my ear to the ground,” said Jory, lowering his pack.

“What is to be found at this stronghold?” I asked, though I already guessed the answer: Jory was only interested in treasure.

“Good thing for all of you that some of us are well prepared,” said Jory. He opened his pack and produced a tinderbox, several wrapped parcels, and then a rough scroll of paper marked in brown ink.

“How did you come by that?” exclaimed Sir Oswain, snatching the parchment. “I guarded this with an oath on my life! No one but the king’s wiseman had a copy! It was entrusted to me!”

“What does it matter where I got it?” said Jory, trying to snatch it back.

“You stole this!” cried Sir Oswain. “Is this what you were skulking about the king’s treasury for? You heard of where the treasure was, and you heard of the map!”

“The important thing is that we have it,” said Jory. “If I hadn’t taken it, we’d be wandering blind. You, sire, left it behind. I call it providence that I borrowed it.”

“Cease your double talk,” said Sir Oswain. “Your tongue is as slippery as your fingers are light!”

“You should thank me,” said Jory. “I knew the treasure was at the dwarf lord’s lair, but not where that was, until now. Now, where are we on this map?”

He reached for the scroll, but Sir Oswain held it out of reach.

“Never mind where it came from,” I said impatiently. “What of Rose? ”

“We’ve no clue where to look for her,” said Jory. “Only a clue to the treasure. Let’s search on the way.”

That was not good enough for me. “Let me see,” I demanded, and took the map, studying it carefully. I had seen similar drawings in one of Mother’s old books.

“We are here,” I said, pointing to a point marked Teg’s Well . “We followed this stream. That tree there, Teg’s Tree , is guarded by sprites.”

Jack muttered that he was quite aware of that fact.

“There’s the Black Rock,” said Jory, stabbing a finger at the triangular symbol in the top corner. “North by northeast. That’s our direction.”

Sir Oswain frowned at the map’s depiction of ancient forests. “It is a long way. If that’s the Leaden Forest, we could spend months walking through it. And the border is only open a se’nnight.”

“A se’nnight in our world,” I corrected. “Time flows differently here.”

Jack looked uneasy. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” I said, “that we could be here for three years and return to find only three days have passed.”

“And likewise the reverse,” Sir Oswain added gravely.

Jory was already stuffing things back into his pack.

“If you want to spend months in a sunless forest, go ahead,” I said to him. “But I am going here.” I pointed to a place lower on the map.

“The South Queen’s Bower,” read Sir Oswain aloud.

“She may help me find Rose,” I said, though I could not be certain. But it was my only hope. If there was any chance that we stood under some protection of the queen who had gifted Mother our roses, I had to try for her help.

Sir Oswain looked doubtful. “It is impossible to enter a royal court without invitation,” he said. “Least of all a Faerie court. One may search for years and never find it unless it is opened to one.”

“I must try,” I said. “For Rose’s sake.”

Jory peered at the spot I had indicated. “It’s in the opposite direction of the treasure. Might be a fool’s errand. And I’ll not waste months wandering through a forest—I’ll take this shortcut across the marshes.” He jabbed a finger at the map.

“You may go north, Jory, son of Jago. I am going south,” I said.

Sir Oswain raised his hand to his heart again. “I shall go with you, Daughter of the Rose Crown.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jack looked between us all in dismay.

Jory snatched the map and rolled it tightly. “I cannot waste time on a hopeless search for a Faerie court no man has found.”

“But what about the lady Rose?” said Jack. “We can’t leave her.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” said Jory. “That’s all that can be done for now.

Will you not come?” he said, looking between myself and Sir Oswain.

I shook my head. Sir Oswain thumped his fist over his heart, asserting his loyalty to his lady.

“Then I wish you well,” said Jory, shouldering his pack.

“Come, Jack.” He took a few steps northward before glancing back, noting with surprise that Jack was not following.

“What?” he said. “Are you forsaking me?”

Poor Jack was a sight. His face was blotched with bites, and he looked wretched. “But the lady,” he said in an anguished voice. “We cannot leave her. She’s worth more than any treasure. ”

Sir Oswain nodded solemnly. “Young man, if we return home, you shall be honoured for such loyalty.”

“Unless the royal crown is recovered, sire,” said Jory, “you’ll have no power to bestow rewards.”

Sir Oswain considered this. “Find the crown, Jory, son of Jago, and you shall be rewarded with a full pardon as well as treasure. But I fear you will not prosper alone. Better to come with us, and seek counsel of the queen, if she will grant it.”

“I’ve no time for chasing wild geese,” said Jory, and turned away. “Not even royal ones. Fare thee well. I’m not afeared to go alone.”

Jack looked after him with a desolate expression.

“If you wish to follow him,” I said gently, “do so. I understand. He is your brother.”

But Jack shook his head.

“The lady,” he said, in a cracked, but determined voice. “We must find her. People are worth more than treasure. At least, some people are.”

Jory had almost disappeared under the trees. He paused once to glance back. But Jack didn’t see, for he was blinking back tears.

Jory shook his head, hitched up his pack, and strode away.