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With the winged cat acting as her scarf, Terlu followed Yarrow through the greenhouses.

He didn’t speak as he led. Just a gruff “Follow me” and then a few “hmms” and grunts as he paused to examine plants and flowers along the way.

He took a different route than she had before, choosing a left fork in the rose room instead of going straight, and Terlu craned her neck to see the new greenhouses.

There was one devoted to miniature trees. Beneath the branches, she glimpsed tiny woodland creatures living beneath them: three-inch-tall deer, tiny rabbits, minuscule chipmunks.

Another greenhouse was dedicated entirely to moss and filled with iridescent butterflies.

A third was full of vegetables: tomatoes that had been coaxed to grow like trees, cucumbers and squashes that were suspended from a latticework near the ceiling, beds of carrots and lettuces in neat rows.

It had the same kind of neatness and precision that she’d seen in Yarrow’s cottage, and she was certain he’d designed and planted everything in here.

She wanted to ask him about it, as well as the tiny woodland animals, but he was already in the next room.

He waited for her by a door to the outside.

It wasn’t the same door as the one closest to his cottage, of course, but it looked similar and also had a row of coat hooks beside it.

He handed her a red coat. He was wearing a beige one, and she couldn’t help noticing again how handsome he was, in an utterly-unaware-of-his-own-handsomeness way.

It wasn’t a classic nobleman kind of beauty, with everything as chiseled and combed and coiffed as a resplendent peacock; it was the kind of beauty of a perfectly symmetrical tree.

Terlu imagined telling him he was as handsome as a tree—a tree with golden bark, black-and-gold leaves, and emerald-green flowers?

—and decided she should never become a poet.

She accepted the coat, and Emeral flew from her shoulders as she pulled it on.

She was pleased that it fit her better than the other coat, and she wondered if he’d chosen it for her or if it was just chance.

It must be chance. Why would he spend any time thinking about her coat size?

Still, this wasn’t a coat that would ever fit over his broad shoulders.

She found herself studying his shoulders, blushed, and looked up toward Emeral instead.

Settling on one of the rafters, the winged cat began licking his hind leg.

“You’re staying here?” she asked the cat.

“He comes and goes as he pleases,” Yarrow said.

Of course he did—feathery wings or not, he was a cat—but she still wished he’d come with her. She let him be, though, and followed Yarrow.

Outside, the sun had crossed to touch the tips of the pine trees.

Her breath instantly fogged in front of her, and the snow crunched under her feet.

It smelled sweet, a mix of sea salt and pine, chilled.

Yarrow led her between two pine trees onto what could have been a road, if it weren’t buried in snow and completely impassable to anyone not on foot or sled or skis.

Wide and winding, it cut through the woods.

Their footprints were the first to break the smooth white.

“Mine is the last cottage to the east, but there are more along the road to the west, toward the dock.” He pointed as he spoke. “Choose whichever one you want, and it’s yours, but you’ll have to fix it up yourself. I can’t spare the time from the plants.”

“But—”

“You’re welcome to whatever supplies you need.”

She looked between the trees toward the first cottage.

From here she could see its roof had caved in.

“My sister Cerri can fix anything. Once, the sink pump in my family’s kitchen stopped working, and she took apart all the plumbing.

By the time she was done, we not only had a functional sink, but she’d built a shower, complete with a contraption that you’d fill with embers from the fire that warmed the water before you cleaned yourself.

Unfortunately I don’t have the same kind of skill. ”

He shrugged. “Then pick a cottage that already has working plumbing.”

She also didn’t know how to fix roofs, windows, or chimneys. “But I don’t—”

“Tools are in the shed behind my cottage. Return them when you’re done.”

Without waiting for her to reply, he tromped away through the snow, back toward the greenhouse. He kept leaving her speechless, and not in a good way. She ran through the conversation in her head, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing or just said too many things.

At least he didn’t tell me I had to leave right now. She could stay until she… Terlu didn’t know how to finish that thought. Until she was ready? Until she had a plan for her life? Until she’d outstayed her welcome? Instead of dwelling on it, she turned her attention to the practical.

Any cottage she wanted? Well, not the one with the caved-in roof. She could look for one that hadn’t yet collapsed. She envisioned herself huddling in a fallen-down hut with a hibernating bear, then told herself to try to think more positively. One of the cottages could be perfectly fine.

Hugging her coat around her, Terlu stomped through the snow along the road, toward the west. The sun filtered through the pine trees and spread over the snow, making it twinkle. Blue sky was overhead, so blue that it looked like a painting.

The next cottage had a bulbous roof that overhung wide windows. Everything was round from the door to the windows to the chimney, which made it resemble a toadstool, especially with the red paint and white trim. It looked charming, but more importantly, it looked structurally intact.

I could live here. Couldn’t I?

By myself?

Just me?

Terlu shuddered and then told herself firmly not to be ridiculous.

Lots of people lived on their own and were fine.

She waded through the snow to the front door.

Hoping it was unlocked, she squeezed the handle and pushed.

It swung open with a creak, and she poked her head inside—and the bright eyes of many, many formerly sleeping gryphons blinked at her.

Each was about the size of a large raccoon, with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a mountain lion.

From the state of the cottage and the pile of rodent bones scattered over the floor, it was clear that this flock was feral.

She wondered if they were related to the gryphon she’d seen in the cacti room.

One of the gryphons hissed.

Terlu shut the door and backed away, quickly.

Or not just me.

Next cottage then.

She hurried down the snowy road. The next cottage was tucked between two pine trees with branches that shielded the roof from much of the snow.

Between the clumps of snow, she could see pink coral tile peeking out.

Short and squat, this cottage had been painted in sunrise colors: yellows and pinks and roses.

The paint was chipped and peeling, but it still looked cheerful.

One window was broken in the front, but it looked otherwise intact.

All right, attempt number two. She opened the lemon-yellow door more slowly this time and peered inside.

No family of gryphons peered out, nor did she see any hibernating bears.

Terlu dared to venture in. Sunlight spilled through the windows so there were no dark corners, only layers of gray.

By one corner was a bed, collapsed in the center where the netting had worn away.

Another corner had a table that was coated in dust. She ran a sleeve over a corner to reveal painted flowers.

The chimney was full of debris, leaves and twigs.

It would have to be cleaned out before a fire could be attempted, and that was no small task. It looked very clogged.

She wondered if the kitchen sink pump still worked. Crossing to it, she tried it. It was stiff, but she managed to lift it up. No water came out, though.

The chimney she could fix, presumably—at least it was obvious how to fix it; just clean it out—but a water pump?

As she’d told Yarrow, she didn’t have her sister’s skill with plumbing.

Or anything, really, as her sister used to delight in pointing out.

Still… I wish Cerri were here now. She’d be able to fix up one of these cottages in an afternoon.

By day two, she’d have transformed it into a palace. Terlu, however, had no such skills.

She wished she’d written home when things had gotten difficult at the library.

But Terlu hadn’t wanted her family to guess she was miserable.

It wasn’t as if they could have done anything anyway, and all it would have done was make everyone feel bad—and she’d feel like even more of a failure.

Still… she wished she’d reached out. Things might have turned out differently if she had.

Terlu tried the next cottage, which looked like a cake with frills carved out of wood instead of icing, but all its windows were cracked or outright broken and snow was strewn across the floor.

As she trudged to the next cottage, she wondered who they’d all belonged to.

It was clear that each home had once been loved very much.

In the next one, Terlu found a child’s toys, a rocker carved like a bear and a doll that was missing an eye.

Another had a framed sketch of a couple, their arms around each another, both of them smiling at the artist.

Why had the owners left? Where were they now? And why had Yarrow stayed behind? There was a peaceful kind of sadness to the row of abandoned cottages, but no answers.