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Jack doesn’t bother to look apologetic. His eyes are bright hazel beneath his tousle of maroon hair. “It’s all so fascinating. The world you come from is archaic.”

“Look, you can’t touch things that don’t belong to you,” I snap. “Where’s Wrenley? She’s supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”

He tilts his head in that owlish way. Does he ever blink? “She said, and I quote”—he clears his throat, then affects a high-pitched rasp, which even I have to admit is a spot-on Wrenley impression—“if I have to remain in your presence for another moment, I will throw myself off this island and be glad for the silence all the way down.”

“You’re getting under her skin, huh?”

He gives a lopsided grin. “What a delicious place to be.”

I can’t help but stare at him for a moment. The bloodred hair, the deep eyes, the casual tone of voice. You’d think waking up to find you’re the last of your people would cause a great deal of sadness. Yet, there’s an ever-present smile on his face. Maybe he’s in denial or shock.

“Look, perhaps you can help me.” I glance back toward the cave. “I have something important I need to do, but it’s vital to find the right location. I can’t imagine anywhere better than Airaleth.”

Jack crawls over to me, wings fluttering behind him in that broken way they do. “Oh?”

I open my satchel and carefully, ever so carefully, pull out the bundle of cloth. Within it, I reveal four roses. One with sapphire petals, another a pink blush, the third turquoise, and the fourth a burning orange.

“These roses connect the realms below with magic,” I whisper. “They connect the princes with their magic. I need to plant them somewhere safe.” My hands shake, the contents more precious than any jewels. When I rescued the roses from Castletree, I promised I would take care of them. I’m terrified to let them out of my care because what if I choose wrong? What if I plant them in a place where the world can harm them?

I don’t know if planting the roses will restore their powers. But I can’t sit still anymore. Not while I’m here, in the land where magic was born.

“I see.” Jack stands. He’s lanky and incredibly tall, so tall he hunches over me, forming a C shape with his body. “Well, this is very special indeed.” His long fingers stretch out, lightly grazing one of the orange petals.

“Ah, stop that!” Farron calls, emerging from the cave. He gives a shudder.

Jack laughs, earning a scowl from the Autumn Prince.

Farron turns to me and touches my shoulder. “You’re ready to do this, Rosie?”

I nod. “I just need to find the right spot.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Jack says. He looks directly up, eyes watering from the sunlight. “Something so precious can only be planted one place.”

“Where,” I breathe, but it’s not a question. Because I knew this in my heart.

The roses have to go home.

Jack smiles, beautiful and bright. “The Gardens of Ithilias, of course.”

Farron, Jack, and I travel for hours. We don’t tell the others where we’re going. They’ll be wrapped up with the forge until far into the night anyway.

We cross isle after isle: suspended gardens with upside-down trees, ponds that float above the ground with water so clear, I can count the fish within. There are some islands so small, I have to catch my balance—and my breath, when I dare look down. There’s nothing below us but clouds and more isles. I miss the Vale, I think somberly.

The isles get quieter the higher we go. Buildings become sparse until there are no signs of settlement. Eventually, the lizards and bugs disappear, and then the plants. Most of the isles are now more chunks of rock, patterns on the ground the only signs they once belonged to the fae.

And the isles get farther apart. My briar bridges are far less sturdy than when Wrenley’s with me and we’re able to weave our magic together, but I manage. Thankfully, Jack is surefooted as a cat, and though Farron’s face pales over some of my narrower bridges, he doesn’t complain once.

With so much time, I thought it might be an opportunity to get to know Jack. Like what was he doing in that grove of dead trees? Who clipped his wings, and why? But there’s a ferocity to his stare that quiets me. He’s focused, lost in his own thoughts.

So I stay silent. Every so often, Farron catches my gaze and gives me one of his little half smiles. It helps more than I can ever let him know.

When my muscles are aching and my magic is weary in my bones, we reach a tiny isle, no more than a patch of grass and pale rock. But it’s different from the others. Stones float above it, hundreds of them, levitating upward like they’ve got their own gravity. There are pebbles and boulders and everything in between, floating into the sky.

I take a moment to catch my breath. Scanning the horizon, something catches my eye straight out from this isle. A larger one, made of silver stone. I spot the faint shape of what might be trees or spires or statues woven with ivy.

I lick my lips. Inhale. Then look to Jack. “That’s it, isn’t it? Over there. That’s the Gardens of Ithilias.”

Jack stares at me before his expression splits into a grin, and a deranged cackle escapes him. “Oh, lovey!”