Alice found a nice patch of grass and sat down in it, spreading her skirts about her. She leaned back on both hands, legs crossed at the ankles, the stem of an unfinished daisy sticking out of her mouth.

“Go on, then,” she said, squinting up at Oliver in the rainlight. He was a pretty kind of person, she supposed, but she thought he’d look much prettier if he traded in his personality for something better.

Oliver ran a hand through his silver hair, and a few strands fell across his eyes, contrasting sharply against the brown of his skin. His hair was definitely the color of silver herring, and Alice wondered for a moment if he’d ever eaten fish as a child. She stifled a shudder.

He leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed against his chest. He leveled her with a glare. She glared back.

“This is going to be much more complicated than I thought,” he muttered.

“Oh?” She chewed on her daisy stem.

“How can you be so unaffected by persuasion?”

Alice shrugged. “How can you be such an awful person?”

“I’m not an awful person.” He frowned.

“You still think I’m the ugliest girl in Ferenwood, don’t you?”

He considered her. Hesitated.

“You should know,” Alice said to him, “that I won’t help you worth a twig unless you are always honest with me.” She reached into her pocket for a tulip and offered it to him. He cringed, shook his head and looked away.

“I don’t know how you eat that stuff,” she heard him say.

Alice made a face and shoved the whole tulip in her mouth at once.

“So?” she said, still chewing. “You think I’m hideous.”

Oliver looked her over. Shook his head.

Alice froze.

“No?” She’d practically whispered the word, heart thumping hard. She hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped he’d changed his mind. She didn’t want to be ugly. She so very desperately didn’t want to be ugly. “You don’t think I’m hideous?” she asked him.

Oliver shrugged. “I think you look like nothing.”

“Oh.”

Alice ducked her head. His words stung, neat little slaps for each syllable against her face.

Nothing was so much worse than ugly.

Alice’s cheeks had bloomed, reds and pinks warming her face. Oliver noticed.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I was just being honest, just like you told me to—”

“Good.” She spoke too loudly, blinking fast. She did not want his sympathy. She looked him right in the eye then, all red cheeks and racing heart, and told herself it did not matter what Oliver Newbanks thought of her, even though somehow it did. “So be honest about what you want,” she said to him. “Why are you here?”

Oliver sighed. Looked into his hands and then up at her. Then back into his hands, and then finally, firmly, back at her. “I know what you can do.”

A half-chewed petal fell out of her open mouth. “I’m sure I’m not sure I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not the only one who knows truths, Alice.”

“What?” Her eyes went wide. “Is that how you know?” she whispered. “Can you . . . read minds?”

“No.” Oliver laughed. “I have the talent of persuasion. With the added benefit of knowing one thing about each person I meet.”

“Oh?”

He nodded.

“And what’s that?” Alice asked.

“Their most private secret of all.”

If she hadn’t been sitting down, Alice would’ve needed to then.

It made perfect sense. His heart and bones—the beauty she’d heard before. She understood then, right then, that it was because he’d been collecting the secret songs and whispers of every soul he’d met. For thirteen years.

It was incredible.

“So,” he said, more at ease now. “I’ve been honest with you. In exchange, I’ll need your help.”

“Sit down,” she told him. And pointed to a place beside her.

He obliged.

“How long have you known?” she asked.

“Known what?”

“About my . . . you know . . .” Alice made a gesture that meant exactly nothing.

Oliver seemed to understand anyway. “Since the day I met you,” he said.

“And why now? Why tell me this now?”

“Because.” He sighed. “It’s been an entire year since my Surrender, and I haven’t been able to complete my task. It’s been nearly impossible.”

“But using me—that would be cheating, wouldn’t it?”

“No one would have to know.”

“They would if I told them,” she pointed out.

“You’re not going to tell them.”

Alice stood up at once. “Oliver Newbanks,” she said, astounded. “I’ve only told three lies in my entire life and I certainly will not tell a fourth one for you. And if you think you can bully me into using magic I don’t even believe in, you’ve left your head and your horse behind.”

“Well no one’s asked you to do any magic, have they?” he said, scrambling to his feet as well.

Alice glared.

Oliver shrugged. “In any case, I think you would change your mind about helping me if you heard what I had to say.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would,” he said. “Because I can offer you something in return for your cooperation.”