He was quiet for a moment. “How well would this Anushka’s spell work if Cécile’s girl-children were half troll?”

He’d landed on a notion I hadn’t even considered. “Not well at all.”

“Then it would appear that no matter what you two decide to do, the witch’s days are numbered. Can’t say I entirely understand where your aunt gets her prophesies, but it would appear she was right.” Climbing to his feet, he knocked the embers out of his pipe. “I’ve a few last chores to finish up. Why don’t you head in and get washed up for dinner.”

Instead of going inside directly, I sat for a minute longer, taking in all that was around me. The glow of the sun fading behind the mountain peaks. The cold wind smelling of pine. The sounds of the animals in the barn. One of the dogs came up and sat beside me, brown eyes bright as she surveyed her domain. It was more than just a different life – it seemed like an entirely different world, and I allowed myself a moment to imagine what it would have been like to grow up here. To have a father like Louie. To have siblings who weren’t trying to kill me. To spend my days growing crops and raising animals rather than at politics and plotting. It seemed a very grand life, a perfect life, and it made me realize what Cécile was risking to help me.

Inside, I was greeted by the smell of wood smoke, cooking food, and Cécile’s little sister stirring a pot on the stove. “Put you to work, did he?”

“We had a great deal to discuss.” I tried scraping the mud off my boots, but it seemed like a lost cause, so I pulled them off and left them at the door.

She snorted and set the spoon aside. “You don’t say. Thirsty?”

“A bit.”

Josette went to a small cask sitting in the corner and returned with a mug of dark ale. “It’s this or water.”

“This is fine, thank you.” I expected her to go back to stirring, but she stood her ground, unabashedly looking at me from head to toe. Josette was quite a bit taller than Cécile, and blonde, but otherwise there was no mistaking that they were sisters.

“She’s upstairs with Gran, if you were wondering,” she said. “They sent me to finish dinner so they could talk.”

“How is she?”

“Upset. Scared.” Josette looked at our feet, then back up at me. “She cried for a long time.”

“She had reason to,” I said. “We lost a close friend today. And another is in grave danger.”

“She told us that.” Josette lifted her chin, and there was no missing the judgment in her eyes. “Cécile’s a crybaby. Always has been. Weeps when she’s happy, sad, mad. Last time I saw her cry like this was when Fleur got stung by a bee and bucked her off. But she got back on. My sister always gets back on.”

It was a challenge if I’d ever heard one, and I sensed that if I said a thing against Cécile that Josette would spit in my face and stick a knife between my ribs.

“If crying made me half as brave as your sister, I’d fill my pockets with handkerchiefs,” I told her. “That she wears her heart on her sleeve is one of the things I love about her most.”

She eyed me suspiciously, then nodded. “All right. You can sit if you want. They won’t take kindly to interruptions, so it’s best you wait for them to come down.”

I pulled out one of the chairs surrounding the scarred kitchen table and sat.

“You don’t look much like I thought you would,” she said, going back to the stove. “Trolls are supposed to be big and ugly and stupid.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Cécile wouldn’t talk about you much, but she did say you were the handsomest boy she’d ever met. Of course I couldn’t really trust in that, because there isn’t much accounting for her taste.” Her blue eyes gleamed with amusement. “She kisses the pigs because she thinks they’re cute.”

“There is something endearing about the baby ones,” I said, thinking about the small pink creatures I’d seen in the barn.

Josette laughed wickedly. “I’m not talking about the piglets.”

She could be making up stories, but I sensed every word of it was true. “The good thing about setting your expectations low is that you will not often be disappointed.”

“Who said I’m not disappointed?” She tasted whatever was in the pot, frowned, then added a pinch of what looked like salt. “She also said you were magic, but the only magic I’ve seen you do is convince Papa to let you do my chores instead of me.”

“She was telling the truth,” I said, struggling to keep the smile off my face.

“Prove it.”

Laughter burst from my chest. “Are you quite serious?”

“If you hadn’t noticed–” She paused to taste her sauce. “I’m always serious.”

I extinguished all the light. Lamps, fireplace, stove, all smothered so that we sat in darkness.

“Well, that’s clever,” she said. “Make it so that I can’t see a thing so I won’t know if you’re doing the magic or not.” Her words were light, but I hadn’t missed the gasp of surprise.

I obliged her with several dozen little orbs of light that I set to drifting around the kitchen. Her eyes leapt from light to light, reminding me of the first time I’d lit the glass gardens for Cécile.

She reached out a hand to touch one of the orbs, then hesitated. “May I?”