At midnight the following evening, Esme and Lillian met up with Fern in the city’s central plaza. It curved all the way around a shining lake, in the middle of which rose a small isle, home to the Godstone Palace and its expansive grounds. By the light of her lantern, Fern led them over an arched bridge, through the palace’s manicured gardens, past the majestic Merle Fountain, all the way to the rambling parklands on the island’s eastern edge.
Thick copses studded the park, looming out of the night like prowling bands of thieves. ‘It’s in here,’ said Fern, stopping by the largest one.
‘In here?’ Esme said uncertainly, peering into the dark woods. There didn’t seem to be a way through. Climbing figs strangled the trunks of the ancient trees, while thorns and bracken greedily consumed what
