“Vacation?” Oliver said too loudly. “Perhaps a bit of travel—”

“Oliver, please,” said Alice. “You mustn’t hide things from me anymore. I can handle the truth, whatever it is.” She stared at him. “Really, I can.”

“Honestly, Alice.” He sighed. “Your father’s motives, I don’t truly know. I have only my assumptions.”

“And they are?”

Oliver shrugged. “Visitors only ever travel to Furthermore when they want something they can’t otherwise procure. It’s a land that deals in the dangerous and the unlawful; if what you want exists nowhere else, it’s likely to exist here. But getting here is incredibly complicated. It’s a perilous journey, and the stakes are too high for nonessential wants and needs. No,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “People only ever come to Furthermore when they are in desperate need of something important. Something worth all the risks.” He looked up, locked eyes with Alice. “So, you tell me,” he said. “Is there something your father wants more than anything else in the world?”

Alice hesitated, thinking carefully before answering. “I don’t think so,” she finally said. “I confess I wouldn’t really know.”

Oliver shook his head again. “It’s inconceivable that he’d come here for no reason. Think, Alice. You’re overlooking something wildly obvious.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” said Oliver. “You’re underestimating how much your father loves you.”

“What?” Alice’s heart was kicking around in her chest. “You think Father came here for me?”

“What I think,” said Oliver, “is that what your father wants, more than anything else in the world, is for you to be happy.”

Alice blinked, her eyes stinging with emotion, and looked away.

“And what does your father think will make you happy?” Oliver asked. “What is the secret desire of your heart?”

Oliver knew.

Of course he knew.

He’d known the secret desire of her heart since the first time he met her; this was a part of his talent. And Alice’s deepest secret was more than just the truth of her real ability; it was also her deepest wish. Her forever fantasy.

“Color,” she said, her voice catching. “I want color.”

“And don’t you think,” Oliver said quietly, “that your father, knowing your pain, would come here for you? In search of a solution? Furthermore uses magic in ways Ferenwood never has; it’s a place of endless experimentation and infinite possibility. It makes sense that he would search here, especially if he’s been here before.”

Alice’s heart was thrown into chaos.

She could hardly speak and, even if she could, she didn’t know what to say. To think that Father had put himself in such danger—that he’d risked so much—for her? It was impossible to describe her heart’s simultaneous pain and joy; so she was silently grateful she didn’t have to. Because just as she parted her lips to respond, Oliver did her a great kindness and changed the subject.

“So anyway,” he said, staring off into the distance. “I do hope we’ll still be able to find him.”

“What do you mean?” Alice said sharply, the gentle moment forgotten. “Why wouldn’t we be able to find Father?”

Oliver clapped a hand behind his head and looked off into the distance. “It took me sixty-eight villages just to unearth the basic facts of your father’s imprisonment. And when I failed to reach him, I thought we needed to start over in the same pattern—only I figured we’d need to do it better this time. It’d taken so much work just to be able to get a glimpse of where your father had gone that I was too afraid to do anything differently; I didn’t want to lose track of him. But ever since we left Tim, we’ve been taking paths I’ve never traveled, and I don’t know what that means for us.”

“Well, I don’t want to lose Father,” Alice said nervously. “Maybe we should go back to the original plan, Oliver, I think that might be—”

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not. We will find your father, yes, but we will fix you first.” He looked at where her right arm used to be. “This is an emergency,” he said softly. “It’s not a waste of time. In cases of physical wound or peril, Furthermore has been known to overlook the expense; your father won’t suffer for our delay. I can promise you that.”

“You’re sure?” said Alice anxiously. “Because I’ve already got one arm, and I’m sure I don’t need two. I’d really rather find Father.”

“Alice,” Oliver said with a laugh, “you are so very, very strange.” He was staring at her, a gentle smile strung from ear to ear, and it was then that Alice realized how different he’d become in this short time. Alice couldn’t explain why, exactly, but she knew now that things had changed between them. Oliver had become her friend in an absolute, uncomplicated way. She was done fighting him, and he was done lying to her.

Their friendship had changed seasons.

And now, after all they’d fought through, she couldn’t imagine returning to Ferenwood life without him. She couldn’t think of sleeping with the pigs and fighting with Mother and sharing a room with her tiny brothers and finding ways to pass the time on her own. How could she forget the excitement of an adventure with Oliver? What would her life be like when they finally returned home?

Strange, she hadn’t thought of it until just then.

It scared her a little.

“A new adventure awaits!” Oliver cried, charging forward.

“I’m very glad you’re excited”—Alice laughed as she ran to catch up to him—“but we still haven’t a single idea how to get to a painter to fix my arm. What do we do now?”