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Before I can react, he grabs my face, one hand locking on the top of my head, the other on my chin, and tilts my head back. And back farther.

And back farther.

“That is the Gardens of Ithilias.”

I blink up through the tunnel of levitating rocks. Right in the center, no bigger than a mote of dust in a sunbeam, is a tiny speck in the sky, suspended in nothing. All alone.

It may as well be a star.

Jack releases me, then falls to the ground, crossing his legs and cradling his head in his hands. “This is the closest I can take you. The rest of the way’s on you.”

I swallow hard. “Right.”

“Rosie…” Farron reaches for me, but I stagger toward the floating rocks before he can touch me.

“I have to do this,” I tell him. Tell myself.

I’m getting to the gardens. Or I’ll die trying.

27

Rosalina

My first briar stalk reaches about ten kilometers into the sky before it grows too thin and collapses to the ground. Next time, I get about double that, but it’s like scraping magic from the very marrow of my bones. That briar withers to dust.

I fling myself down onto the remains of my vines. “Argh!”

Jack’s still lying cross-legged, looking more like a sunbather than an ancient fae. “Trouble?”

I grab fistfuls of useless vines. “This is impossible! It’s too high!” I stare up through the tunnel of rock. “There must be another way.”

Farron hasn’t sat down once. He’s been pacing, mumbling to himself, and gazing off into the horizon. When he feels my eyes on him, he gives his head a shake. “It’s not you, Rosalina. Even Caspian at his strongest never crested a briar that tall. They’re not capable of withstanding such a distance.”

Jack has begun whistling. I empathize with Ezryn’s frustrations more than ever.

“Jack,” I snarl.

He looks at me, and my expression is enough to make the tune die on his lips. “Yes, lovey?”

“Fae of the Above have visited the Gardens before. How did they do it?”

Jack sits up. A somber smile drifts up his face, and his beautiful wings give a small flutter. “Why, we’d fly, of course.”

My eyes focus on the tiny speck in the distance. Fly. That’s how they all got around. My mother once flew this path.

And Sira, with her corrupted wings—what must it have been like to beg for help to get from isle to isle? To live in a world that trapped her?

I reach behind me as if I could caress an invisible extension of my body. I may not have wings like the fae, but I’ve given wings before.

“That’s it.” I turn from Jack to Farron and then back to Jack. “I’ll transform myself into a bird. I’ve transformed others! I’ll fly up⁠—”

“Too windy,” Jack says.

“What?”

He shrugs. “The winds are too strong up there. The only birds that live in the Gardens are the ones that Aurelia created while she was there. You’ll be pelted into the rocks before I can finish my song.” He begins whistling again.

“Rosalina, we don’t have to do this right now,” Farron says. “I have a hypothesis, but I should really test it⁠—”