The next morning dawned different. Lyria didn’t know why. She couldn’t explain it. But something had changed, had shifted imperceptibly. When she had been returned to her room the day before, she had wanted to collapse on her bed in tears of anger, frustration, and fear.
Instead, as she had gently lowered herself to avoid further hurting her leg, she had found a lump under her pillow. And when she pulled it back, she found a small package, something wrapped gently in delicate layers of paper and tied up with a pretty green string.
She unwrapped it carefully as if she was afraid of it attacking her. Inside, she found a wrapped pastry. As she moved to fold the papers back around the pastry, unsure what to do with it, she saw a hand drawn, crude looking map. Not of the castle, not of the so
