The sun hung low in the sky as they journeyed to Westmine City. Sweat trickled down the sides of Tyra’s face, and her legs began to wobble, but she forced herself to keep pace. They had two hours left before nightfall. She was grateful that their return from the dismal peak passed by faster than their journey to it, but they still had a long way to go.

They had two hours left before dusk.

We have to make it. I won’t let him die!

Tyra hadn’t said much since they’d left Fargut inside the cave. Neither had Nels. She couldn’t blame him. Parts of him were fading in and out of existence before her eyes. She was worried. At their current rate of travel, they would reach the castle in another two days. Any hope of making it in time relied on Brooklet; it was a lot to ask of her, but they had to try.

Tyra snagged her toe on a protruding pine root. The Needle flew from her hands and rang against the pine’s trunk as she fell to the ground. She sat up before Nels could react. But every muscle in her body complained when she even thought about standing.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Nels said, “but you don’t look so good.”

He retrieved the Needle and walked back to where she sat. She looked at him, not sure what to think. She wanted him to live. She wanted to embrace him, and be with him, even if the truth about Nels — and the child she’d seen — was impossible to forget. “Never mind me,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

Nels looked at his limbs. “For a second, I thought I’d lost my leg.”

“Then we can’t rest,” she said. “Help me up.”

“In a moment,” Nels said. “We can spare a moment.”

“No, we can’t!” she cried. “Carry me again!”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s the only way to mend you in time!”

A smile surfaced on his face. “You never give up, do you?” Nels reached down and picked her up in his arms. Like before, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Hold tight,” he said.

She did, as tight as she could, before he sprinted north. The rush made Tyra feel like a seedling caught on a breeze. It took all her will to stay awake, her thoughts drifting to the day when she first saw Nels at the Cobblestown festival, and the way she felt when their eyes locked. Those fantasies ended when her body tumbled to the ground and a surprised shriek escaped her mouth.

Nels turned back, his torso reappearing. “I’m not very stable anymore.”

“We have to keep going,” Tyra insisted. “It doesn’t matter if I fall.”

Hesitantly, Nels hoisted her onto his back and took off.

Tyra passed through Nels’s body a couple of times more, but he was able to shorten their return to the Vagas’ camp considerably. The sun touched the edge of the horizon when they arrived. Nels set Tyra on her feet. Something was wrong here: There was no evening fire and the forest around the camp was unusually quiet. Tyra seemed well enough to walk, but she looked as concerned about the empty camp as Nels felt. They entered the vacant clearing where they had shared their dance.

“Where is everyone?” Tyra asked.

Nels had no idea. The place was deserted, half of the tents undone or lying in loose and tangled heaps. Not even the dogs ran about. The Vagas were simply gone — except for a horse’s neigh that blared down the thoroughfare. Tyra limped toward it, breaking into a slow run. Someone had tied Brooklet to a felled tree, next to a few other steeds. “There you are,” Tyra said as she stroked the mare’s neck. “Let’s untie you.” She pried at the strap, but the knot was too secure for her weak, shaky fingers. She set the Needle at her feet and reached for her dagger. She was about to cut the line when the unsheathing of swords sounded behind them.

“Drop your weapon, thief!”

Tyra let her dagger slip to the ground as she and Nels turned. Three young men had closed in on them, their swords held high and ready — squires from Avërand! Nels recognized Davin, and he paused at one of the others, completely surprised to see his old friend dressed as a squire.

“Wallin?”

Aside from the hostility on his face, Nels was happy to see his sparring companion.

“Turn around,” ordered the squire Nels didn’t know. He had dark, matted hair and cool teal eyes. “You’re not stealing the Princess’s horse.”

Tyra remained facing them. “How can I steal what is mine?”

“Hold off,” Wallin said, lowering his weapon. “She does look like the princess.”

“I am the princess, and I doubt my father would like to hear of this!” Tyra was growing impatient.

The squires exchanged quick glances and, in unison, knelt. “Forgive us, Your Highness!” Davin said. “We thought you were one of them, dressed like them and all.”

“That’s better,” Tyra said. “What are your names?”

The unknown squire looked at the others before speaking for them all. “Um … this runt is Davin, Wallin’s the tall one, and I’m Taner.”

Tyra leaned toward Nels and whispered out the side of her mouth, “Can we trust them?”

He glanced at her ring. “They’re telling the truth.”

“Very well,” she said. “What are you doing in this camp?”

“Guarding it,” Taner said. “The others went after the Vagas.”

“That’s right,” Davin said. “Your father sent us here.”

“He sent most of the knights,” Wallin added, “after they found Alvil dead.”

Nels clenched his fists.

Retrieving her dagger from the ground, Tyra moved to pick up the Needle. “If it had not been for the Vagas, Rasmus would have killed me.”

“What?” Wallin said. “The Vagas saved you?”

“You don’t have to kneel anymore. Stand up.”

The squires obeyed and sheathed their swords as they stood. Davin looked unsure. “That’s not what Sir Arek said. He said the Vagas kidnapped you.”

“And Rasmus is working with them,” Taner added.

Tyra’s eyes glistened. “When did he tell you that?”

“Last night,” Wallin said. “On the Westerly Pass.”

Nels knew what Tyra was thinking long before she looked over at him. These three had been misled. “Did he have a wound in his shoulder,” Tyra asked, “from an arrow?”

Wallin opened his mouth. “Did you see him get attacked?”

“Rasmus was attacked. The Arek you saw was an imposter. Rasmus killed Arek before last night.”

Davin pointed at Tyra. “How do we know she’s really the princess?”

Nels could not blame them for questioning Tyra. They knew that Rasmus could be anyone. In unison, they removed their swords again and advanced toward Tyra, more cautious than before.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Be still!”

“Look at what she’s holding,” Davin said. “A giant needle?”

“Yeah,” Taner agreed. “Only a fabricator would carry something like that.”

“That sinks it, then,” Wallin said. “Put down your … your … thing, sorcerer!”

Tyra insisted that she was not Rasmus, but they would not listen. Each of them raised an arm to restrain her, but Nels leaped forward and took down both Davin and Taner together. They slid backward as Nels tripped and pinned Wallin. He gave his old friend no room to wriggle free.

“This hold!” Wallin’s eyes looked around frantically. “Nels?”

The other two squires jumped back to their feet and charged for Tyra. She raised the Needle and the squires stopped, frozen in place. She paused for a breath. “They believe me to be Rasmus?”

“They will now,” Nels said. “How did you do that?”

Tyra pointed the Needle at Wallin. “You know this one?”

Nels nodded adamantly. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“Who — who are you talking to?” Wallin cried.

“Listen,” Tyra ordered. “We haven’t much time. Lend me your sheath.”

Without a word, Wallin tapped the ground, signaling his defeat. Nels climbed off. Wallin sat up and stared at Tyra as he removed his sheath and handed it to her. She buckled it around her waist and placed the Needle inside. Wallin glanced at his immobile companions. “What did you do to them?”

“Ride for the knights. Have them return to the castle immediately. I will ride ahead.” Tyra severed Brooklet’s tether and mounted her saddle. Everything was still there, including her quiver and bow. “I will explain everything at the castle — you must convince them to follow!”

“Nels is a ghost,” Wallin said suddenly. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Impressed by his friend, Nels jabbed him hard in the shoulder.

“Yeow!” Wallin jumped to the side, rubbing his arm.

Tyra shook her head, smiling at Nels.

“Jilia wasn’t lying!” Wallin said. “You told his mother —”

“Go!” Tyra put Brooklet into a gallop, leaving them behind.

The other squires stirred from their paralysis, thoroughly upset. “Where’d she go?” Taner asked, searching wildly. “There goes our chance. How could we let that sorcerer get away?”

“She’s not Rasmus,” Wallin said. “Let’s get going.”

“Wh-where are we going?” Davin stammered.

“We have to find Sir Canis and go back!”

“Why?” Taner asked. “What for?”

Wallin mounted a horse. “Rasmus is at the castle!”

The other two climbed onto their horses, and all three rode off to the north. Nels couldn’t help but feel pride in his friend. Rarely had Wallin acted so responsibly; it was as if he truly understood what was at stake. Nels’s body faded in and out, but his smile remained strong as he thrust into the air to catch up with Brooklet.

Darkness crept across the sky as they neared the top of Westerly Pass.

It was steep, so Tyra dismounted and climbed, careful of the ledges as she guided Brooklet. The mare shook, on the brink of exhaustion — like Arek’s horse before it had surrendered its life. She hated to inflict suffering like that on her mount, but they had so much ground to cover and so little time.

Nels trailed behind, fading and reappearing often.

“Just a little more,” Tyra urged them both. “Gleesel will help us.”

If Nels said anything in reply, she did not hear him. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could not stop thinking about the three squires and their story. If her father had sent most of the knights after the Vagas, then the castle was vulnerable. Rasmus could easily pose as someone else, slip inside, and — with fewer eyes watching — spring at the chance to slaughter her parents.

Tyra almost cheered when they reached level ground and started toward Gleesel’s mansion. They had to find a way back to the castle without killing Brooklet. No one was going to die. They reached the path that led through the small meadow, and Tyra leaped from her horse. She sprinted for the stairs and knocked on the door.

“Gleesel?” No one answered. She knocked again. “Please open! It’s Tyra!” She heard nothing, except for the sound of Brooklet breathing too hard behind her.

“Where is she?” Nels asked. “I thought she couldn’t leave the house.”

“As a human,” Tyra reminded him. “Do you see a goat anywhere?”

Nels shook his head. “Maybe she hid from the knights?”

“Wait … Something here might know where she is.”

Nels raised an eyebrow. “Something?”

Tyra shoved at the mansion door and it creaked open. It was dark and dusty, just like their first arrival here, but Tyra did not let that stop her from running to the stony posts at the bottom of the stairs. “Is Gleesel here?” she asked the gargoyles. Neither statue moved. “Do you know where she is?” Still nothing. There was no magic in them. Her plan unsuccessful, Tyra returned to the porch, where she sat on the top step and held her head in her hands. They had traveled so far and worked so hard, but it wasn’t enough. They would never reach home before the moon appeared.

Tyra had to face the truth. She had failed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nels said. “We did our best. It’s not your fault.”

She looked up at him. Sadness, longing, and pain cut through her. With so many emotions swirling inside her chest, she was beginning to feel mad. Mad … Tyra sat up. The thought made her pause. It gave her an idea. She had no rational way of getting home in time, but she could try something mad. She had nothing to lose.

Tyra unsheathed the Needle and jumped onto Brooklet.

Nels’s furrowed his brow. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I don’t know what you’re thinking …”

“Climb up here,” she said. “Hurry!”

“Brooklet will die if you ride her any farther.”

“You will die if we argue!” Tyra reached out her hand. “Trust me.” With a skeptical look on his face, Nels took her hand, floated up, and sat behind her. “A little farther, girl,” Tyra cooed to the mare. “I will take care of the rest.”

“Just how are you planning to do that?” Nels asked.

Without facing him, she raised the Needle.

“How did you learn to use that thing, anyway?”

“I’m not sure how to explain it — and we have to hurry now, anyway,” Tyra said. They trotted down the path until they reached the view of her kingdom. She could see lights from a few villages, and then the castle beyond. Remembering what Threadbare had told her, she secured her bow over her shoulder and closed her eyes as she raised the Needle high. “Hold me,” she commanded.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She nodded slightly and opened her eyes. “So do I.”

With Nels’s arms wrapped around her waist, she held the Needle’s eye up to her own, looked through the translucent gem, and spotted her castle. She hoped it wasn’t farther than she could handle, otherwise this would kill her, but to save Nels, Tyra had to test the strength of her thread. She had no choice. She was ready. Tyra concentrated, looked at the castle through the Needle’s eye, and imagined all of them — Nels, Brooklet, and her — standing before the castle gates.

A sharp rush penetrated Tyra, the same feeling that seized her when she’d crossed the fiery river. The sensation was more intense this time — agonizing, as if something pulled every muscle in her body to the point of tearing. Her stomach burned with the pain that had originated in her heart, and just when she was about to be sick, she felt herself slip off her saddle.

She crashed at the feet of a startled castle guard.

“What the —” the guard cried. Another ran to join him. “Where did you come from?”

Tyra raised her head, the Needle still in her hand. “We did it!” Excited, she looked behind her. “We did it, Nels —” He wasn’t there. He wasn’t sitting on Brooklet’s saddle, either.

A pair of sharp spears pointed at her. “Who are you?” one of the guards asked. Tyra stared into their surprised faces as they stepped back. “Princess?!”

Brooklet released a weak moan and hung her head low.

Tyra sprinted for the gate. “Take care of her!” she yelled back.

She was within the castle walls before the startled guards could question her. Faint light filled the main hall, and a few candles blew out as she opened the door. She paused at the threshold, breathing hard as she ignored the servants’ excited yells about her return. She made her way to the stairs that led to Bosh’s chamber and descended; she had to find the tailor. There was no one else she could trust, no one else that could help her weave Nels back to life. She hoped it was Bosh who had moved Nels’s body. And she hoped his ghost was okay … wherever he was.

She could hardly believe what she’d done. Her thread was stronger than she’d thought.

Thank you, Threadbare. You knew I could do this.

The bottom of the stairs came faster than she remembered, but Bosh’s open door caused her to pause. It was dark inside. Tyra used the Needle to cast a light into the chamber. The place was a mess.

“Hello?” she called, and stepped inside. “Are you here, Ickabosh?”

No one answered. It didn’t take her long to realize that something was wrong. Overturned furniture and other materials were scattered throughout the room. Even the squirrel cage was damaged on the floor, the critter no longer inside. Tyra hoped she wasn’t too late.

Sheathing the Needle, she turned and ran back up the stairs.

Where could he be?

She searched the castle high and low, through kitchens and halls, bedchambers and libraries, but there was no sign of either Bosh or Nels. She paused for breath in the dining hall and thought of one other place she had yet to look — the courtyard. Tyra ran down a hall filled with suited armor and barged onto the polished granite landing. As she started down the stairs to the grand terrace, someone was ascending the lower staircase from the courtyard. He was holding a large crochet hook.

“Ickabosh!”

The man stopped when he reached the terrace. “Who is that?”

“It’s me, Tyra!” she cried, running down the stairs.

A glint of surprise flashed in his eyes. “Stop!” He raised his arm and brandished his hook. His old face looked terribly grim. “How do I know you are the real princess?”

She came to a stop a few feet away from him. “You know Rasmus is here?”

“Answer me first: What did I have you search for on the Westerly Pass?”

The man was testing her — a good idea. “A shadowed book.”

Bosh lowered his arms and smiled wide. “Welcome home, Princess.”

“Not so fast!” She pulled out her dagger. “How do I know you’re not Rasmus?”

“Is that a conjurer’s ring?” he asked, pointing to her hand. “My name is Ickabosh.”

Tyra looked at the stone. Green — he was telling the truth. Tyra wrapped her arms around the old man. “I’m so glad to see you!” Then she turned serious. “Where is Nels’s body? Did you move him?”

“Yes.” The tailor pointed at the sheath around her waist. “Is that a sword?”

“Not at all,” Tyra smiled. She proudly pulled out the Needle. “See?”

He looked it over carefully. “Incredible,” he murmured. “I imagined it smaller …”

“I think we all did!” Just then, a brisk wind picked up and the stars overhead became shadowed by a thick thundercloud. Tyra couldn’t believe it; the last thing they needed was a summer storm. “I used it to come back from the Westerly Mountains,” she continued, “but Nels is still —”

“That can wait,” Bosh said. “Until then, let me get acquainted with the Needle.”

Bosh held out his hands, and Tyra carefully placed the Needle in them. The tailor examined the legendary object, turning it over in his hands.

“Oh. Rasmus has disguised himself as Sir Arek,” Tyra warned. “He murdered Arek, too.”

“Moth holes!” Bosh glanced at her with an alarmed expression. “Sir Arek arrived here last night!”

“Then we have to find him,” Tyra said. “I will inform the guard!”

She was about to step forward when something stopped her from leaving, locking her limbs in place. A dull throb spread through her body. Tyra panicked as she glanced down, away from Bosh’s smiling face — which had begun to unravel like a spool of fleshy thread.

The Needle had pierced her chest.