"Why did you plant them?" This place is dangerous. I've never seen that kind of fairy flower. Mom told me if someone gets caught holding one, fairies can pull the person down into their world. I bet Dad's deal doesn't stop them from doing that. I study the plant to make sure I never touch one again.

  When he sees my fear, he pats my shoulder. "It's all right. The fairies help care for the garden. They need special plants to replenish their magic. In return, they make things grow faster and out of season. I let them take what they need before I pick anything. It's going so well that the fairies have even agreed to help our crops at home. Have you noticed how fast the northwest corner of the garden's growing?" He catches my stare. "Don't worry. The fairies are only enchanting the section we give to Waltin."

  Dad lets fairies fly over our fields? Who is this man? It makes me think about the scribe competition. If my dad can go off the path, I can too.

  He shows me what flowers to pick. The calendula is an orange-looking daisy. While the black-eyed Susans are yellow daisies with a tall black cone in the center of the petals. I cut them carefully. Dad pulls three strapped baskets from a hollowed-out tree. One of them is a woven basket Mom made for harvesting food. Would leftover magic get into our food? I don't want to think about that.

  "Will any of these plants help with a fire ant sting?" I ask.

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  "Sure, oil from the leaves of a tea tree works for things like that." He points at a nearby tree. "Why?"

  "It would be good to know if one of us ever needed it." It wasn't a lie, exactly. I don't think I could flat-out lie to him.

  "We don't use stuff like that. It's not natural. My family will not use fairy plant magic."

  "But—" I want to say it is natural, but he cuts me off.

  "Is that understood?"

  I nod, even though it makes no sense. While he teaches Ansel how to fill the cobal leaves with sap, I grab a few leaves off a tea tree and stuff the stinky things under my belt. If Dad can sell this stuff, I can use it in emergencies. He has become unrecognizable; it's a shift that could change everything.

  Dad wrinkles his nose. "Magic smells terrible. It will addict you, then turn on you if you let it." By the time we've filled the baskets, horns sound across the valley. The women have finished planting the rice.

  We walk to the bottom of the hill together. A new emptiness joins my hollow belly. Dad isn't who I thought he was. If I became a scribe, he might stop trying to be part of the revolution. If he stopped, he could never be sent to prison like Crombie.

  "You two head back to the house. Go the long way in case any women are still planting. We don't want to curse anyone's crops. Give me your baskets." Dad hooks the two long baskets together, puts them on his back, then straps the shorter one to his front.

  "Where are you going?" Ansel asks.

  "I'm meeting my buyer. If I get caught, I want to be alone." He walks down a dusty trail, leaving us behind.