She gives me a wry look.
“Why would he do that?”
“Your father thought it was clever and funny,” Mother answers. “He thought he could make a pet out of it.”
Galinor opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t start.”
“Anwen!” Mother gasps when I snap at Galinor, probably thinking of his crown.
“Where is this gremlin?” I ask. “And why haven’t you killed it yet?”
Mother looks taken aback, and then she flushes and looks away. “You don’t think we’ve tried? Nothing can kill the little beast. In the end, your father gave him to a gimly just to be free of it before it could cause any more damage.”
She might as well have said the thing had been adopted by unicorns. Irving would have liked that better, anyway.
I rub my temples. “Where can we find this gimly?”
Mother narrows her eyes. “There is nothing you can do—not unless you can find another stone.”
I shake my head, knowing after speaking with Brug that it would be impossible.
“Please, Lady Galia, where can I find the gimly?” Galinor asks.
She purses her lips as she looks up at Galinor. She seems unsure. “You can’t help.”
“Let me try,” Galinor presses.
Her eyes flicker from Galinor to me, and then her shoulders sag. “He lives over the ridge, in a cottage by a lake. But he can’t help us.”
So close.
“We can still try.” Galinor turns to me. “Shall we go hunt a gremlin?”
Relief washes over me. He’s not going to leave. He’s going to help me.
“Just let me change.”
Mother, of course, argues, but in the end, Galinor convinces her to let me come. She’s helpless against his smile, and I almost feel bad for taking advantage of it. Almost.
Frost covers the ground,and the morning air is cold. The sun just crests the horizon when we reach the gimly’s cottage.
Mother might be wrong. This doesn’t look like a magical being’s home. Two cows graze in a fenced pastureby the pond, chickens peck the ground, and wash has been hung out to dry. The linens should have been taken in the night before because now they are stiff with frost.
Galinor knocks on the door, and we wait. At first, there is no response, but just as Galinor lifts his hand to knock again, the door flies open.
Though they are magical beings, gimlies look like humans for the most part. But I’ve never met one, so I hadn’t realized exactlyhowhuman they look. My jaw slackens as I stare at the man in front of me.
He narrows his eyes and then looks at the sun—as if he’s pointing out it’s too early for visitors. He then takes a puff of his pipe and says, “Hello, Anwen. I see you found your way back to Primewood.”
“Farmer Ergmin?” I say, shocked to see the old man who gave me the ride to Estlebrook in his wagon.
“What do I owe the pleasure?” From his tone, I can tell it’s not a pleasure at all. And though he looks mildly curious, he doesn’t seem terribly surprised to see me.
Getting right to the point, Galinor says, “We understand you are harboring a gremlin.”
Ergmin squints in the bright sunlight, which has now risen to just the right height to blind a person. “A gremlin, eh?”
“My mother said Father gave you one many years ago,” I prod.
