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slaughtered more than a hundred men before our wizards managed to petrify the first of the trees. As the battle shifted in our favor, the dryads changed tactics, toppling their trees onto the attackers. They say the last dryad gathered up the seeds of her companions and disappeared. One day, when their new trees mature, they’ll return to seek vengeance against us.”
    Talia shrugged. “Let me know when they’re all grown up, and I’ll deal with them too.”
    Charlotte’s eyes were round with fear, her focus jumping constantly from one point to the next. She reminded Talia of a frightened animal.
    “She’s been dragged from Fairytown, maimed, and tied up in a fairy graveyard,” Snow said. “I think it’s safe to say she’s not working with Roudette.”
    Talia turned away in disgust. Charlotte was a cruel, selfish fool who had latched onto anyone she believed could bring her power. Her stepmother, her sister Stacia, the Duchess in Fairytown. If Roudette had asked, Charlotte almost certainly would have helped her of her own free will.
    “How could Roudette make it back so quickly?” Talia asked. She toyed with the idea that Roudette had hired a partner. Roudette could have sent someone else to dispatch Lang and Rumpelstilzchen. But the Lady of the Red Hood worked alone, and the butchery had been too quick, too thorough.
    “Magic.” Snow guessed. “It helps to explain why nobody’s ever managed to capture her.”
    Talia hopped from the table. “Get your things ready. I think I’m going to pack a few more knives.”
     
    When Snow was a child, she used to stay up half the night, reading by light that she captured from the moon and stored in smooth stones from the river. These days her body demanded more rest. She had managed a quick nap before dinner, but it wasn’t enough. Within an hour of leaving the palace, she found herself nodding off, jerking awake when her body tilted too far in the saddle.
    The tiny snores coming from her belt pouch only made her grumpier. In order to stay inconspicuous, Ambassador Trittibar had shrunk down to his natural size, no larger than a rag doll. Most of the time, the fairy ambassador used magic to make himself appear more or less human, presumably so nobody would step on him by mistake. Not to mention what could have happened to the poor fairy when Prince Jakob was teething.
    The fog had begun to roll in from the east. Taking the coastal highway meant Snow could see the Arantine Ocean through gaps in the woods to her left. It was a nice change from her previous view of the trees and the backside of Talia’s horse.
    Talia glanced over her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
    Snow covered a yawn. Before she could speak, Talia pulled her horse to a halt, blocking the road.
    “You’re falling asleep in the saddle,” Talia said.
    “I just need to stretch.” She climbed down from the horse and tossed back the hood of her riding cloak, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. She dug through her saddlebag until she found a small parcel of willow bark. Normally she would have brewed a tea with the bark, but in a pinch, it could be used raw. She popped a strip into her mouth and grimaced at the bitter taste.
    “You’re eating trees!”
    “Only the bark,” Snow said. “To keep my back from tightening up. We don’t all have fairy magic coursing through our bodies to keep us graceful and limber, you know.”
    “Your back,” Talia repeated. “Right.” Concern made her words unusually awkward. “You’ve used a lot of magic this week. Preparing the storeroom for Rumpelstilzchen, breaking the spells on the children, then tracking Charlotte and Roudette. Are you sure you’re ready for this? Your injury—”
    “Is fine. Tymalous said so himself.” Snow threw the rest of the bark back into the saddlebag and yanked it shut. In truth, her head had been throbbing for most of the day. “If the king’s healer says my skull is healed, who are you to argue?”
    “I’m the