THE GRAY MAN TOWERED above everyone else, a sculpture come alive. His body resembled an ancient gravestone, its details smoothed by rain and obscured with moss. Evie couldn’t take her eyes from his face. His edges were all eroded, leaving him with rounded, ill-defined features—a bump of a nose, two smooth hollows for eyes. But someone, it seemed, had found him rather recently and decided to use him as raw material for a new sculpture. Half of his head, from his right eye to his chin, had been carved into the face of a woman. The cheek, the lips, the jaw . . . all were sharper and more human than the rest of his face. The grooves of those recent chisel marks were still evident as the firelight danced across his face.

“Hello, sir. My name’s Basil. Uh, Cadet Basil. That’s Evie and that’s Forbes. I believe you know Rumpelstoatsnout?”

“Aye, the Gray Man knows me quite well, don’t you?” The troll stepped past the tall stone man and began to make himself at home. “Come in, you fools! Tea’s on offer!”

They exchanged a look. Basil stepped forward first. Evie nodded for Forbes to follow, and he did the same to her. Finally, he scowled at her and walked after Basil. They each shrank away from the Gray Man as they entered his cottage. Rumpelstoatsnout was already at the small cooking fire with a kettle of water.

“This old heap of rock always has the best tea, and he won’t tell me where he gets it,” said the troll with a chuckle. The Gray Man, meanwhile, turned away from the door and took two slow strides into the room. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, and he slowly lowered himself. He sat with his spine as straight as a spruce.

“What’s the matter with his face?”

“Forbes!” shouted Evie. “You did that with the boatman as well.”

Forbes shrugged. “They have interesting faces.”

“After the battle with the witches, back when the Gray Man was only a statue and before anyone knew of the Water of Life, some king found him. He only saw a mound of stone to be carved, and he had a daughter who needed carving. But before he could even finish his precious daughter’s face, a sorcerer stole the statue for his own. He was testing the Water of Life against witches’ curses. My friend here was the result. When he could walk and think on his own, he stole some of the Water of Life and escaped the sorcerer, then came straight back here to his men. Been working on the cure ever since.”

The Gray Man didn’t move.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Forbes. “I need some air.” He walked past the man with the stone skin and out into the day-night.

“I won’t waste your time, sir,” said Basil. “I’m only hoping—begging, actually—that you might spare a bit of this Water of Life for my sister.”

The Gray Man slowly turned his head to face Basil. In the soft orange light of the fire, the bit of the king’s daughter’s mouth that had been carved into the stone looked almost sympathetic.

“He wants you to hear his story,” said Rumpelstoatsnout. “I’ll tell you. I was there when it happened.” He carefully poured steaming water into three mugs, then shook in some dried leaves. “It was many, many years back, when the Wood of the Night was more heavily trafficked than it is now. There were enchanted treasures all over these woods in those days. Most have been found, dug up and hauled away by plunderers and bandits, but there were always more to find. More to sell.” The troll hobbled to a small wooden table covered in big black blotches of rot. He set the mugs down, then collapsed into a chair. “This one here”—he tipped his head toward the Gray Man—“came round with his army. That’s them outside. When they reached this valley, they happened upon a threesome of witches who were none too pleased to see them. This is their cottage we’re sitting in now. My brother and I, we were still on good terms back then, and we watched the battle that followed. The witches made short work of the soldiers, as you can imagine. Turned him to stone right beneath a heavy branch. That’s why he’s all eaten away like that, rain forever dripping down over the top of him. Well, once the witches finished this lot off, that’s when me and my brother fell out. We waited until the hags had gone, then we went down to look for whatever treasures might be left. Quite a lot of it had been turned to stone in the battle, but there were a few things here and there that attracted our attention. And it was I who found the ultimate prize.

“An enchanted sack had fallen from this one’s pocket in the scrum. Being something of an expert on enchanted items, I recognized it straightaway, and the sight of it made my mouth water. That sack turned fingers into gold.” He waggled his bloated digits. “Drop one in, coins come out. You can see where that’s quite the valuable item.” Evie glanced at the Gray Man, who hadn’t moved throughout Rumpelstoatsnout’s story. “Well, as soon as I bent down to pick it up, my brother smashed me over the head with a log. Left me for dead in a puddle while he made off with the sack. Even took one of my fingers to test his new trophy.” He held up his other hand, which was missing the little finger. “That was when our rivalry began. But even though my brother turned against me, I did gain a fine new neighbor in this one here. He’s even shown me the castle where the Water of Life flows from an enchanted fountain. I never dared venture inside, but I’ve seen him do it. And each time he goes in, he comes back just a little bit more himself. Water of Life alone won’t finish the job, though. Gray Man’s tried all different combinations on his men out there to turn ’em back to human. From herbs and tonics to blood and tears. Some call him a witch for all the experimenting he does. One day, though . . . one day he’ll strike the right mix and all that stone will be flesh again.”

“Where is this castle?” said Basil to the Gray Man. “I don’t even need to take any of your supply. Just tell me where it is, and I can go get some for myself.”

“Basil,” said Evie. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t time for that. And it isn’t even a cure, anyway, it’s only—”

“Hope,” he said. “It’s hope. The last thing my sister saw was the face of the witch who turned her to stone. Same as him.” He pointed at the Gray Man, who sat as still as a statue, his huge granite hands resting heavily on his knees. “Only difference is, he’s found a way to see more.”

Evie was at a loss. Maggie. Remington. Marline. Demetra. And now Basil. She looked away from him, her emotions threatening to explode out of her like a volcano. “Fine,” she spat. “Go ahead and go.”

“Evie—”

“Take him,” she said to the Gray Man. The statue rose from his chair and clomped to the door, then lumbered outside.

“Well,” said Rumpelstoatsnout in a soft voice. “I suppose you’ll be needing someone to carry that chair—”

“Take me to your brother. Now.” Her eyes were red. All she wanted was to hurt Basil.

“Evie, I’m sorry.”

She grabbed the chair and roughly pulled the straps off his shoulders. He let her take it. She threw it onto her own back and stomped out the door after the Gray Man. Finally, Basil came out, his head hung low, with Rumpelstoatsnout behind him. He closed the door and inhaled deeply. As he let it out, he raked his fingers across his bulging belly.

“Right. You’re already carrying my neckband for me; you might as well carry my chair, too.”

“Evie,” said Basil. His eyes were pinched, his mouth in a frown. He looked so sad and helpless that she wanted to simultaneously hug him and kick him. “I’m sorry. I’ll come find you as soon as I can, all right?”

“He’s leaving now, too?” said Forbes. “This is quite the team you’ve assembled.”

“He’s all yours,” said Evie to the Gray Man. Then she turned to Forbes and Rumpelstoatsnout. “Let’s go.”

“Evie . . . I’m sorry.”

She didn’t even look at him. She walked back through the moving sculptures of knights, tears streaming from her eyes. But she never turned back to let him see.

•   •   •

The rain was falling again. It soaked the forest in sheets. The good news was that the weather had suppressed the more bewitched elements of the forest. Evie and Forbes had been following Rumpelstoatsnout along a thin mountain trail for a long while and had yet to encounter a goblin, or anything more harmful than a deer for that matter. The most perplexing element of the Wood of the Night was that it always looked like dusk. Since they’d entered it, the sky had been threatening to go dark, yet it never really had.

She looked at Forbes, soaked to the bone. Of everyone I’ve lost, why must I be left with him? As she had the thought, another one entered her mind. An odd thought, and one she never would have predicted: I’m glad to be with him. Evie had a strange, complicated relationship with Forbes. They were two wolves drinking from the same puddle. Despite his claim that family was nothing more than a meaningless relic of the past, she could see his cold, cruel father inside him. But she could also see something more admirable. He was strong, even in the face of dreadful circumstances. He’d never spoken of his mother, but perhaps that came from her.

“Nearly there,” croaked Rumpelstoatsnout. He paused beneath a pine tree. The earth plunged away next to it, down into the fog hanging in the valley below. “I suppose I ought to prepare you for my brother. I told you how he got the drop on me with that log? Well, he has quite a talent for that, just sort of turning up out of nowhere. Even if it looks like he’s away, we’ll need to be careful. He’s very manipulative, so if he does appear, trust me to handle him.” Neither Evie nor Forbes spoke. “One last thing, and you’ve got to believe me when I tell you this.” A smile crept across his face. “My brother would rather destroy the harp than let our brother get hold of it. Rumpledshirtsleeves is something of a black sheep in our family, and no one likes him less than Rumpelstiltskin. The quicker we can get out the better.” He glanced up the hill ahead. “Right. On we go.”

They followed the troll up the trail to where it crested, then down the other side into a basin of marshland. The trees were sparse here, and the sky was a dull, gray mass of clouds. Sharp stone cliffs sprouted up on the far side of the clearing. Beneath them, seated atop a raised mound of mossy earth, was Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. Twin towers as round as tree trunks bordered the entrance. A small keep stood behind them. The stone was covered in splotches of black mold where it had killed away the moss. There was no gate in the gatehouse. In all, it looked like nature had won this particular battle against humanity.

“After that unpleasant business with the princess guessing his name—you know, the incident for which my brother is most famous?—well, after that he came to the Glade to escape mankind, which he felt had cheated him. He found this abandoned castle and claimed it as his own. He used to have me round quite often before we fell out. If it’s still done up the way it always was, the whole castle will be empty except for the throne room. That’s where he keeps all his . . . winnings.”

“Lovely,” said Forbes. “To the throne room.”

“What do we do if he’s in?” said Evie.

“I’ve no idea,” said Rumpelstoatsnout with a sneer. “Let’s hope he’s not.” He walked out into the mossy marsh, following a natural path toward the castle. Forbes and Evie followed, both with their hands on their swords. The clouds above the castle were a furious black swirl. The wind whistled through the cracks in the distant mountains, blasting southward across the bog. As they drew nearer, the castle loomed above them, more imposing than it had been from afar. Though neglect and weather had taken their toll, the walls stood tall and strong.

Forbes began to slow, letting Rumpelstoatsnout move ahead a bit. He signaled for Evie to slow as well. “It’s time we took control,” he whispered above the wind. He reached for the Bandit’s Chair, unstrapping it from Evie’s back and hoisting it onto his own. “If you see the harp, grab it and let them sort out the chair. No negotiations. Not with Rumpelstiltskin or his brother. Be ready to run.” Evie nodded. Her muscles felt twitchy and her heart was racing.

Rumpelstoatsnout crossed a short wooden drawbridge over an ashy moat and walked inside. He lurched across the open-air courtyard to the far wall, where he huddled against the stone. Evie and Forbes hurried over to join him. His smile had gone. His eyes darted about as rainwater plopped all around. Then he turned and edged toward the passageway that led to the throne room. Forbes looked back at Evie. She gave him a nod. Her heart was threatening to leap out of her chest. Rumpelstoatsnout leaned forward and peered into the throne room. After several moments, he stepped out into the open.

“He’s gone.”

Evie and Forbes took tentative steps to join him. As her fingers shook atop the pommel of her sword, she looked into Rumpelstiltskin’s throne room. There were holes cracked through the stone ceiling, with vines sprawling down into the castle. A small straw pallet sat in the darkness on the right side of the vast room. There were piles of spun gold everywhere, along with countless other treasures: statues made of bronze, balls of pure emerald, stacks of gold coins.

“There it is!” said Evie, pointing across the room to the golden harp. It was small, meant to be played on a child’s lap, and it shimmered like the sun.

Forbes staggered into the room in awe. He slowed near the dais where thrones had once stood, looking in wonder at the pillowy piles of spun gold. “He’s got enough riches and land to be a king. King of a place with no natural enemies.”

“Forbes,” snapped Evie. “In and out, remember?”

He continued to study Rumpelstiltskin’s plunder, only reluctantly hearing Evie’s words. “Yes, yes. Of course.” He walked through the spun gold and stolen gems until he reached what they’d come for. Then he unstrapped the Bandit’s Chair, set it down with a thunk, and picked up the golden harp.

“And what’ve you got there, chap?” came a voice like the growl of a wolf.

The harp clattered to the ground as Forbes’s sword jumped free. He scanned the darkness for the one who’d spoken.

“Why, that appears to be my property,” said the voice, as sharp as a rusted blade. “By what right do you propose to steal my harp?”

“Were you its rightful owner, I might give you an answer,” said Forbes. “But as it currently stands, this harp appears to be more mine than yours.”

“You may not realize it yet, my friend, but you have only two choices.” A figure began to move in the darkness. “One is to die. Would you like to hear the other?”

“Oh, go on.”

Evie watched, her muscles clenched as tightly as a hangman’s noose. Forbes’s terrified eyes flicked back to Rumpelstoatsnout.

“Your other choice is to leave here with the harp securely in your possession.” Rumpelstiltskin lumbered out of the shadows. One of his legs had been fashioned from a rotten piece of wood, which made his limp even more pronounced than either of his brothers’. He was short and wide, with bulging purple cheeks and needlelike whiskers sprouting from beneath his chin. His mouth was in a scowl, revealing teeth that had been sharpened down to points. “But first you’ll have to give me something better.”

“Th-the chair,” said Forbes, unable to disguise his fear. “That’s the Bandit’s Chair. It’s yours.”

“That’s my bloody chair!” roared Rumpelstoatsnout, charging into the room.

“You!” growled Rumpelstiltskin. “I might’ve known you’d be behind this, you moldy cur.”

“Give me that chair,” said Rumpelstoatsnout. He suddenly seemed much less doddering than he had up to this point. He held out his bulging hand. “It’s mine.”

Forbes’s eyes shot from one troll to the other. He was frozen between them.

“Give me the chair and the harp is yours,” said Rumpelstiltskin, eyeing his brother with malice.

“It isn’t his to give!” shouted Rumpelstoatsnout. “The chair is mine!”

“To sweeten the pot, I’ll give you a bolt of this spun gold as well,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “I saw you admiring it. Take two if you’d like.”

Suddenly, Rumpelstoatsnout lunged across the throne room. Forbes grabbed the harp, as did Rumpelstiltskin, who also took hold of the chair. The three of them grappled for the magical items. As the troll brothers tried to pry each other’s hands from the harp and the chair, they rolled right on top of Forbes. Even as he was crushed beneath them, he kept his grip on the harp.

“Let go of my chair!”

“It’s in my castle! It’s my chair!”

Evie sheathed her sword and raced into the fight. Rumpelstoatsnout punched his brother, who kicked him in the shins. They lurched forward and back, upending all manner of priceless antiquities. Evie lunged toward the pile and managed to find Forbes’s legs sticking out from beneath the trolls. She grabbed hold of his boots and pulled with everything she had.

Rumpelstiltskin, however, was not about to let go of the harp. He flashed his sharp teeth at Evie, then began savagely trying to jerk the harp out of Forbes’s grip. She gave one mighty heave on his legs, and he slipped free from the troll pile. He still had the harp in his hands.

“Give me that!” shouted Rumpelstoatsnout. He grabbed the harp and jerked it away, sending Forbes and Evie tumbling across the floor.

“He’s got it!” shouted Forbes. Evie scrambled to her feet as Rumpelstoatsnout used the harp to bash his brother over the head.

“He’s going to break it!” shouted Evie.

“Get off me!” shouted Rumpelstiltskin.

“You get off me!” bellowed Rumpelstoatsnout. He raised the harp and smashed his brother in the nose. The Bandit’s Chair went spinning across the room, coming to rest just in front of the empty dais.

Rumpelstiltskin roared. He leapt at his brother, tackling him onto his back. The decrepit old trolls fought with the ferocity of all tragic brothers. Now both of them were pushing and pulling on the harp, each trying to free it from the other.

“If it breaks, it’s worthless to us,” said Forbes. “We’ve got to get it away!”

Rumpelstoatsnout started to kick his brother in the rotten wooden leg. “Rumpledshirtsleeves sent them to me! The chair—is—mine!”

“RUMPLEDSHIRTSLEEVES?” The mention of his younger brother’s name sent Rumpelstiltskin into a frenzy. He used the harp to knock his brother off his feet. “He sent you? You dare to partner with the treasonous viper who revealed my name to that princess?”

Evie inched forward. The brothers were so focused on each other that she thought she might be able to make a grab for the harp.

“I have no partners,” said Rumpelstoatsnout. “If our brother chooses to send me a bewitched chair, then who am I to refuse?”

“If the chair comes from that old rat, then I’ll burn it and use this harp for kindling!” He tried to wrench the harp out of his brother’s hands with such force that Evie thought it would snap in two.

“Now! Grab it!” shouted Forbes.

Evie lunged for the harp, but Rumpelstoatsnout came crashing down on top of her. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Even when he’d scrambled off and started punching at his brother, she could barely inhale. Forbes lifted her from the floor and pulled her back from the fight.

“Are you all right?”

She couldn’t speak, so she nodded. As the air started to flow, she rubbed her throat and remembered the neckband. Her eyes went wide. She unclasped it.

“Whoever brings me the harp gets this as well!” she shouted, her voice emanating from her hand.

“Treachery!” bellowed Rumpelstoatsnout. “It isn’t yours to give!”

The brothers raged across the floor in a violent dance, each trying to wrest the harp free from the other’s grip.

“It’s mine!” shrieked Rumpelstoatsnout, shoving against Rumpelstiltskin.

Locked in combat, the two of them fell as one. The momentum of the battle carried them across the room.

“You can tell our brother what I did with his—”

The words echoed faintly in the sudden silence of the throne room. The brothers were gone. So, too, was the harp. The empty Bandit’s Chair tottered onto its back, clanking hollowly on the stone floor.

Evie and Forbes looked at each other in confusion. Rain hissed against the castle’s stone walls.

“What happened?” said Forbes. All the air had been sucked from the room.

“The chair! They sat in the chair!” Evie ran to the Bandit’s Chair and set it upright. But wherever the trolls had gone when they stood back up, it was far, far away.

Forbes walked over to join her. They both stared in disbelief. “It isn’t even a nice chair.” He picked it up with one hand, underscoring how light and dead the wood was. “And this bloody thing has just destroyed the world. I don’t suppose you’ve any idea where it’s sent them?”

“None,” said Evie. “Sit in one place, rise in another. They could be on the moon for all I know. And wherever they are, the harp is with them.”

Forbes looked around the silent throne room with annoyance. “So that’s it? After the giants and the witches and the goblins and the trolls and the bloody Gray Man? After losing more than half our team along the way? Our one chance at saving the realm, and we come this bloody close, only to lose it because of a chair?”

“What do we do now?”

“Put your voice back on.”

Evie fastened the neckband. “What do we do now? We failed our mission.”

They stood there, astonished and gutted. Slowly, Forbes began to laugh. His voice echoed off the stone castle walls. It was a dark, rueful laugh. “They sat in the bloody chair! Of all the idiotic ways to fail the mission! We carried this thing all the way here from the Academy, through all those trials and tribulations, and the troll brothers sat on it!” He grabbed the chair. “You cost us the mission!” He slammed it on the floor. “You cost us the mission!”

“Forbes, stop!”

He bashed it down again and again. Within seconds, gray splinters began to fly. He was left with two broken stumps in his hands and an array of broken wood at his feet. He looked over at Evie, his breath coming hard.

“That was a priceless artifact!” she said.

“So what?” He tossed the stumps aside with a clatter. Then he stormed out of the throne room, leaving Evie surrounded by spun gold that suddenly didn’t seem to have any luster left at all.

She stared at the broken remains of the Bandit’s Chair and let the meaning of it all wash over her. Everything Forbes had said was right. They’d come so far through difficult circumstances, only to have it end in the most ridiculous of ways. Finally, with feet as heavy as granite, she trudged out of the castle.

Forbes was sitting on the drawbridge, throwing pebbles into the murky gray water. She joined him, a wintry wind howling steadily down from the mountain pass on the far side of the castle. Numb, she stared across the marsh, back toward where they’d entered. The mounds of peat and earth and moss looked like great, green beasts asleep beneath the clouds. The urgency, the tension they’d felt ever since the witches had first attacked, had suddenly vanished, leaving them adrift like ships in dead winds. They had lost.

“Brothers,” he said, winging a stone into the moat. “It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? The fate of the world upended because of a petty family squabble. Why can’t people understand that family isn’t there to help you? They exist to give you one gift—life—and then you’ve got to move on the first chance you get. Birds leave nests, fish leave eggs, and we should be smart enough to do the same.”

“You can’t possibly blame this on family.”

“Why not? As soon as they were able, those stupid trolls should have shaken hands, turned their backs to each other, and started walking. The world would be a whole lot better off if they hadn’t clung to the idea of family.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“He just said he’d rather destroy the harp than give it to his brother. We could have calmly negotiated with him if his family hadn’t been involved.” He fired another stone into the water. “Family’s the anchor that drowns us all unless we shed it and learn to swim.”

“You sound like your father.”

He gave her a sardonic look. “Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious. If you think family is some sort of anchor that you’ve shed, you’re wrong. He’s inside you now, speaking for you, controlling you. You haven’t shed him at all.” He threw another stone but didn’t say a word. She turned to face him, softening her tone. “Family isn’t something we use until we don’t need it anymore. It’s inside us forever, whether we like it or not. It’s up to us to see the good and the bad in them, and then to find it in ourselves. Family isn’t an anchor. It’s a current that can help to carry you along, or something you can spend your life fighting against only to end up in the same spot.”

He sighed and tossed another stone, though this time he didn’t throw it nearly as hard. “And how does any of that help us? Even if what you’re saying is true, and I’m not agreeing that it is, we’re still sitting here harpless and hopeless.”

Another wind blew across their backs and howled south over the marsh. Evie’s muscles felt quivery, as though she’d just climbed a mountain. But for all that climbing, her view was still the bottom of a marsh. She had been resilient from the very first moment of the mission, adapting to unexpected circumstances every step of the way. Yet she couldn’t figure a way forward now. And she was exhausted.

They sat with their feet dangling off the bridge for quite a long time, neither of them speaking. “Should we just stay here?” he said at last. “Save us from having to watch the witches celebrate.”

Evie pulled her nearly empty knapsack onto her lap and took out the feather she’d stolen from Cumberland Hall. “If you’d like to stay, I completely understand. I won’t hold it against you. But I’ve got to go back.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“An enchanted feather. Supposedly it will lead us where we need to go.”

“Why not,” he said as he stood up. “What better way to end a ludicrous mission than by following a magic feather?”

Evie twirled the feather between her finger and thumb, watching the wind flutter through its downy barbs. She stared at it and was struck with profound sadness. The depth of their failure was only now starting to sink in. After all the perseverance it had taken to get to Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, when she’d finally seen the harp sitting there, she really had believed they’d accomplished the mission. And then, with one foul breath from the Fates, it was over.

She held the feather up into the wind and let it go . . .

It flew straight back, directly into the howling wind. Somehow, instead of catching the gusts and carrying south across the marsh, the feather flew north.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” said Forbes. “Let’s end the mission with a faulty magic feather.” He walked down the bridge and turned onto the mossy path between marsh ponds toward the way they’d come.

Evie stood alone on the bridge. She watched the feather as it darted and swirled against the wind. It flew past the castle, headed for the gap between the harsh stone cliffs.

“North,” she said to herself. She took a step forward, watching the feather get smaller and smaller. “North.” Her mind wandered, sailing high above the countryside. Blood pulsed into her head as a realization struck her as solidly as a jousting lance. “Forbes!” she shouted. “Forbes!”

He turned back in annoyance. “What?”

“Everything I’ve just said to you, I should have been saying to myself!” Suddenly, her body felt like it was full of electricity. She couldn’t stand still, couldn’t control the words pouring out of her. “I’ve been so worried for so long . . . ever since I realized I was different, I’ve been waiting for them to reject me, so I rejected them first!”

“What are you on about?”

“But they’re my family! They’ll always be my family! Oh, I’ve been such a fool!”

“Yes, and you still are. What are you blathering on about?”

“We haven’t failed. Our mission wasn’t to find the harp. Our mission was to save the Academy.” She turned to face him, her eyes alive. Gooseflesh broke out all across her arms. Another icy wind blasted across the bridge and she began to smile. “Come on,” she said. “It’s time you met my family.”