‘You’re absolutely right. The water supply passes through that forest of theirs, does it not?’
Bisma didn’t hear what else they said, but it presumably involved speaking ill of the Unwanted Girls. It was just like the villagers to blame them for anything that went wrong in town.
She wondered if the villagers even knew that all her sisters were asleep, that she was the only Unwanted Girl left. She had hardly spent any time in the Enchanted Forest these past few days.
The problems with the water had nothing to do with her or her home; it was more likely Frederick’s fault, something to do with his expansion plans, but of course no one would ever blamehim.
Even though it irritated her, Bisma put the thought from her mind as she approached the Enchanted Forest to focus on a more pressing matter: The fog along the border was thin, practically gone. When hadthathappened?
And that was not the only cause for concern. Inside the Forest things felt … wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was a strange energy in the air.
Bisma put a hand to a tree, stroking the bark. The wind whistled weakly, almost forlorn. The Forest must have missed the girls just like she did. Bisma’s heart twinged. For the first time, Bisma considered that the Enchanted Forest needed the girls just as much as they needed it.
‘Hold on a little longer, Forrie,’ she said. ‘We’ll all be home soon. Promise.’
Whoever was poisoning Bisma’s sisters was not only attacking her family but her home. Everything that mattered to her, everything that was important. It was the perfect revenge.
Her thoughts strayed to Eleanora again—could she do such a thing to make Bisma suffer? To get her vengeance?
The answer was obvious: yes, she very well could. There was no one else Bisma could think of who could exact such a punishment against her.
But then the next question was:Wouldshe? Would Eleanora be this cruel? To use Bisma’s sisters as collateral damage, to hurt the Enchanted Forest.
She didn’t know Eleanora well enough to deduce that, but from the way Xander spoke of her, Bisma wasn’t sure. But Bisma clearly couldn’t think logically when it came to Xander …
Maybe going to the festival dance was a bad idea. She should be working on the cure.
But she did want to go. She couldn’t bring herself to cancel on Xander. There was a time when being cruel to him came easily, but now? She was afraid the opposite was true.
Bisma returned to the treehouse, which was quiet and empty. There was a darkness cast over it, whereas usually it glowed warm and golden. A cold wind blew, and a chill ran down her spine.
Shivering, Bisma went up to her room. There was a letter waiting for her. She realized she hadn’t replied to the last one—she hadn’t been writing as often with everything going on, and felt badly for it.
The letter was short.
I hope you will save me a dance.
Yours
Her heart started beating fast. Practically everyone went to the dance, so it wasn’t crazy for him to assume she would be there. They would finally meet in person—the prospect unnerved her. She wondered who her strange friend would be.
Bisma got ready, missing her sisters even more. Mei was not here to do her hair, nor Azalea to critique her dressing. Nori would have wanted to twirl with her, Deeba cooing as she watched, and surely Luna would have been reciting love poetry dramatically in the background, giving Bisma inane tips.
Even if Bisma was not going to the dance, they would have been excited. The Unwanted Girls usually did not go, but the next day, when the leftover food was left out for people to take and most of the town was asleep, recovering, the Unwanted Girls would go to town and eat caramel apples and dance to imaginary music under the hanging lights, treating it like their own private party.
She would only go to the dance for an hour or two, Bisma resolved. That was enough time to refresh her mind. Then she would get back to work. She missed her sisters desperately, eachand every one of them, and that ache stayed with her as she walked back to town.
Some of the pain was soothed by the general splendor of the party. The entire town square had been cleared for it and decorated with crisscrossed strings of hanging lights.
Children carved pumpkins, while teenagers played games, a band playing lively music in the background for the adults to dance to. The evening was cool, but the square so packed that the air was warm. Everyone was enjoying themselves, having a merry time.
Her correspondent would be here, among the crowd. She wondered if he would approach her and when, but the thought left her mind as she spotted Xander.
He saw her a moment before she saw him and strode toward her.
‘Well met, Bis,’ he said with a smile, handing her a bouquet of red roses so dark they looked maroon.
‘Xander,’ she said, pressing the flowers to her nose to hide her smile. She adored them, but it would be tedious to carry them around, so she quickly made gajre out of them, wearing them as bracelets.
