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times than not, but there are times they’re going to insist on their own way.”
    Lottie tried to remind herself of this on a daily basis, especially when Trouble did something like steal a tube of Eliot’s paint to squirt on someone’s head. But as much as Lottie told herself this behavior was normal, that she was learning, that Trouble would sometimes insist on his own way—she couldn’t help but notice that no one
else
seemed to be dealing with this sort of genga-related difficulty.
    â€œYes,” Lottie finally replied. “I’ve learned lots of things. I just haven’t had a genga since I was born, like the rest of you.”
    Adelaide shrugged. “Well, come on, then. It’s past sunset, and I want to see Fife’s face when he realizes he’s been believing a bunch of piskie tales.”

    When the girls emerged from their yew, the first thing Lottie noticed was that all the branches were completely bare. The ground was a blanket of pale gold needles and cream grass, bathed in sunset light. Adelaide inhaled deeply.
    â€œDo you smell it?” she said. “Heavenly.”
    It did smell heavenly—a perfect mixture of aging bark and sun-crisped leaves.
    The boys were already out. Fife and Oliver sat atop the Clearing’s dining table, talking. A lantern sat between them, throwing shadows on their faces.
    Eliot was sitting in a thick pile of yew needles, grabbing handfuls, then opening his fingers to sift them out again. When he caught sight of Lottie, he gave a whoop.
    â€œHappy Autumntide!” he called. “Whatever that means.”
    â€œSo!” said Adelaide, poking Fife’s shoulder. “No reports of a gruesome death by whitecap, are there?”
    Fife made an ugly face. There were blue circles beneath his eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.
    â€œI hear they’re serving spiced cider at the pergola,” said Oliver. “Anyone interested?”
    Eliot jumped to his feet. “Cider. Yes.”
    It was decided. They set out for the glass pergola, Oliver leading the way with lantern light. Unfortunately, this new excursion did not stop Fife and Adelaide’s bickering.
    â€œI slept exceptionally well last night,” Adelaide said. “I didn’t keep myself up fretting about an imaginary monster.”
    â€œNeither did I,” said Fife.
    â€œYou’re just not willing to admit you were wrong.”
    â€œGood thing
you
never have that problem,” Fife growled.
    Oliver tried to distract them by loudly reciting a poem entitled “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
    Eliot and Lottie shared a look. Eliot was straining his mouth very hard in an attempt to not look too amused by the fighting.
    â€œThank you,” he said, “for not contradicting every other word I say. Seems exhausting.”
    â€œVery,” Lottie agreed. “I wonder why they haven’t just agreed to never talk again.”
    â€œ
What?
What fun would that be? Look at the two of them. You can see how much they’re enjoying it.”
    Fife and Adelaide
did
seem very bright-faced about the whole thing.
    They rounded a thick stretch of yew trees and arrived in the clearing of the glass pergola. A great table stretched in front of the pergola steps. It was surrounded by members of the Wisp Guard and of the nobility, all mingling and murmuring amongst one another. None of the plagued population of wisps were allowed anywhere between here and the Clearing. These were all the remaining healthy members of the wisp race—those privileged or important enough to have afforded an inoculation from the Southerly Court, back when the Southerly Court had still traded with the wisps.
    Some wore silver circlets, others bronze, others glass, according to ranks that Lottie still didn’t quite understand. Lottie was used to seeing these wisps clothed in pale robes, sashed with ivy. But today, the noble wisps were not