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Thora leaned back in her chair with a dismissive sound. “We know that. You don’t think we tried to trick him into telling us, when he first came here? They guard their names closely.”

Aud said nothing, merely kept her eyes on me.

“Let me think on it,” I said. “Do nothing for now. Please.”

“Don’t think too long,” Thora said, her face dark. “We heard the bells again last night. They’ve never sounded so regularly before. They will take another child, and soon.”

26th November—late

I don’t know what to make of this development, which has unnerved me more than any changeling or faerie beast ever could. Perhaps putting my thoughts to pen and paper will help.

After my conversation with Aud and Thora, I went back to the cottage. Wendell had still not returned, and after about an hour, I decided to search for him. We nearly ran into each other on the path leading up the mountain; he came strolling out of the twilight with his hands buried in his pockets and his gaze downcast, frowning and lost in thought. Crystals of snow nestled in his golden hair, which was very distracting. I am used to ignoring his good looks, but that hair of his is a difficult matter. I’ve observed that most people are taken in by his smile or his eyes, but for me, it’s that damned hair—one can’t help imagining what it feels like, is the problem.

He lifted his eyes when he heard my footfall, and his face lit. “There you are, Em! Slinking about in the half-light, how very like you.”

I didn’t bother asking where he’d been. If he wanted to be secretive, let him. Shoving aside my relief at his return, which filled me with an unaccountable feeling of lightness, I said, “I need your help.”

“Of course you do. Can we get out of this bloody cold, at least? You won’t believe it, but I have a hankering for one of Ulfar’s mutton chops—”

I grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the cottage. He seemed a little taken aback, but let himself be dragged, his graceful fingers closing around mine.

“I need his name,” I said as soon as we were indoors. “The changeling’s true name. How do I make him tell me what it is?”

He gave me a puzzled look. “If you haven’t figured that out by now, I doubt you ever will.”

I threw up my hands. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t know how. That’s why I said that if you haven’t figured it out by now, I—”

“Oh, God.” I threw myself into one of the chairs. “You couldn’t be any less helpful if you tried. I think you are trying.”

“Not especially.” He sat opposite me. “Why does it matter what the creature’s name is?”

I told him what I’d told Aud and Thora. He groaned.

“So now we have to rescue the entire village, do we?” He folded his hands and scowled. “Thank you, but I’ve had my fill of philanthropy.”

“It isn’t philanthropy. We still know nothing about this changeling—where it comes from, why it’s here. It’s a gaping hole in our research. If we can fill it—”

He waved his hand. “We’ve made enough discoveries already to impress the entirety of academia. ‘Further research needed, blah blah blah,’ we will write in our conclusion.”

“This isn’t just about the paper! It’s about my book, Wendell. Our knowledge of changelings is inchoate—not just those of Ljosland. There is more to be learned here, and I cannot leave without turning over every stone.”

He made no response to that, only gave a tremendous sigh and put his head in his hand.

“In the stories, Folk are tricked into revealing their names,” I said. “The one of Linden Fell, for instance—his wife pretended to give birth and then brought him a lamb wrapped in swaddling clothes to look like a child, all so that he would write his name on the baptismal certificate.”

Wendell laughed. “I’d sooner freeze to death than write my true name in ink, even if my wife hurled a dozen brats at me. These things are not as easy as they are in stories.”

I got up and paced. “We could threaten him.”

“Threats must be buttressed with deeds. I’m not interested in tormenting children, no matter how much their parents deserve it.”

He frowned at me as he said it, which I ignored, as I was not about to be lectured by Bambleby on matters of morality. I felt little regret over my initial interrogation of the changeling, given the anguish he had inflicted upon his foster parents.

I stopped at the table, playing absently with one of the parcels Aud had delivered. “These are for you, by the way.”

He only sighed again. “I told you, I can’t accept their gratitude.”