QUEEN CLARION LED Myka to her sitting room. “I’ve asked Clara to come, too,” the queen explained. “I thought it might be helpful.”

The queen was being kind. But Myka knew what she really meant. The nursing talent would make sure she didn’t try to scout—maybe ever again.

Just at that moment, Clara flew in. Myka heard the sound of her wings.

“Now then.” Queen Clarion settled onto the couch. Myka and Clara sat on chairs across from her. “It seems to me that Myka should be off duty.”

“But—” Myka interrupted.

The queen held up a hand. “For now, just for now.” Her voice was calm and soothing. “This isn’t a punishment. No one doubts how much you want to help. But this is for your own good. You need time to heal.”

“That’s just what I told her!” Clara put in.

“I know you’re not happy about this,” the queen went on. “But you have to wear the mosscloth all day, every day.”

Clara scribbled on her clipboard.

“B-b-b-ut then I won’t be able to see at all!” Myka protested. “How can I do—”

“Exactly!” said the queen with a smile. “You can’t do anything—but rest.”

Clara wrapped the moss around Myka’s eyes. Everything went dark. This was so unfair! Doing this to a scouting talent!

Myka sniffed. Berry paint!

Bess must have come in. “Bess will take you to your room now,” Queen Clarion said. “I hope you feel better.”

Myka nodded, miserable. Her room! She’d be stuck there. Just like a bird with a broken wing, unable to leave her nest.

“You’ll see,” Bess said as she guided Myka through the halls. “You’ll be better in no time.”

She patted Myka on the shoulder. “We’re here. Will you be okay in your bedroom?” Bess asked.

There was no way Myka was going to stay inside. A prisoner!

“Sure,” said Myka. “Fly with you later.”

She waited for Bess to turn and go. Then, trailing behind, she followed Bess’s scent—all through the Home Tree and outside to her studio.

“Myka!” Bess spun toward her, surprised.

“See?” Myka grumbled. “I can still get around. I’m not totally useless.”

“No one said you were. But what about resting?” Bess asked.

“I can rest right here,” Myka said.

“I guess so. It would probably be lonely up there, anyway,” Bess agreed. “But you still need to keep that moss on!”

Myka smiled. At least she’d scored one small victory. “Need any scouting work done?”

Bess led her to a small walnut table. Myka began pulling mouse hairs from a pile. Using her sense of touch, she could find the very finest hairs. Bess would want those for her new paintbrush.

“Everything started when I landed in that field of strange flowers.” Myka shook her head in disgust.

“Strange? How?” Bess asked.

“Well, the flower petals came together in a ball shape. Then they opened up and puffed air.” Myka thought for a moment. “Those bursts of air were so sharp and strong. I can almost smell them now!”

Bess was quiet for a moment. “Hmm. I feel like I’ve seen those flowers somewhere.…They puffed air.…”

Suddenly, Bess jumped up. “Come with me!” She took Myka by the elbow and led her back to the Home Tree, through the hall, and to an out-of-theway branch. In the back, near the top, Myka guessed. She’d never even known there were rooms here.

Bess pushed open the chipped, heavy door. “Not many fairies know about this room,” she explained. “Really, only art talents.”

Myka stood at the door. Then she edged inside, feeling around. “Careful!” Bess warned.

Myka’s fingers told her that cracked and peeling paintings lined the walls. In one corner, she felt pictures stacked floor to ceiling. In another corner, dusty books filled a honeycomb bookcase.

“What is this place?”

“It’s not quite a storage room and not quite a museum,” Bess explained. “It’s a little of both. This is where we keep all the ancient paintings. Some are very powerful, like this painting of Havendish Stream on a foggy morning.”

Bess pulled Myka close to one painting. Myka felt mist swirling from the picture, settling around her.

Bess, meanwhile, was lifting paintings and searching in corners. “I seem to remember one picture in particular. It reminds me of that field.”

Carefully, Bess moved some paintings out of the way. “Here it is!”

Myka heard her grunt, then carry a painting closer. Oh, how she wished she could see! Myka touched the canvas. It felt flower-petal soft. Then she smelled it. Nothing.

She heard a low hiss. Then she smelled again. And there it was—that same tangy scent!

“That’s it, Bess,” Myka said. “Those are the flowers. I remember the smell!”

“Myka, I just remembered a story about the art talent who made this painting. It’s a pepper puff field. And while he was painting it, his eyesight started going. He could hardly see at all.”

Bess grabbed Myka’s hand. “Maybe that’s what’s happening!” she said. “You landed in the pepper puffs. And the spray from the flowers is hurting your eyesight!”

Myka took another sniff. The plants in the painting were the same plants she had seen in the field. She felt sure of it.

“Let’s tell Clara,” Bess said. “Now that we know what caused it—”

“She may know how to fix it!” Myka cut in. She let Bess lead her out of the room and straight to the infirmary.