Ceridwen bites her lips together and screams into them, pointing at the stones, then at me, then at the wine cask. “What—was—that?”
“I . . .”Snow above, how am I going to explain this?I fish the key out of my pocket and let it sway before me on the chain.“I found what I needed. If that helps.”
Ceridwen shakes her head and presses her fists to her temples.“Which is?”
“A key,” I say, and she makes aNo, really? grunt of obviousness. “A key to something . . . terrible. And old. And—” I stop, my fingers still clasped around the chain.
Hope sucks my breath away, a whirlwind that spirals through my lungs. I did it. I found the key—I found the clue the Order left for us.
I actually did it.
And this is proof, even more than the door, that the Order exists.
But . . .
Uncertainty gnaws at me, my ever-present worry growing in a new direction, and I look at the magically covered pit again. No heat anymore, like it never existed. Only the lever in the wine cask sits as a hint of the pit’s existence.
Why was any of this in Summer at all? That still doesn’t make sense, why the Order even put one of the keys in this kingdom. Why not Autumn or Winter or Spring? Why in Summer, in Juli, in the palace’s wine cellar?
I look at the shelves again. The age of this area, the dust on the bottles, the reverence Summerians—well, other than Ceridwen—apparently show to this wine, means it would have endured time. This has been one of the symbols of Summer for centuries—wine.
The Order put this key in a place significant to Summerso it would be guaranteed to survive over the course of history. That at least explains part of the reason—why the cellar, not whySummer.
Will the other keys be in similar places?
“Meira,” Ceridwen barks, and I jerk to her. Her shock is gone, covered by the same look she gave me when I made it snow moments ago. Logging my weaknesses for future use, analyzing me and trying to figure out a way to make this beneficial to Summer. It should feel like Noam’s treatment of me, but she sighs, rubs her eyes, and shakes her head.
“You’re involved with something dangerous, aren’t you?” she asks.
I start to respond, but through the weighty silence of the cellar, a scream shoots out, frantic and horrified.
My head snaps toward it.
I know that voice.
“Theron.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Mather
“RELAX YOUR WRISTand exhale as you release.” Mather positioned Hollis’s arm, aligning the knife in his hand with the target at the back of the room. “Even though your hand does the throwing, your whole body should feel it. Your shoulders, your waist, your legs. Follow it through.”
On an exhale Hollis let the blade fly, spinning end over end through the air, until it struck the wall with a tremblingthwack, five lines off from the center circle. Disappointment coated his features, but he didn’t say anything, just marched down the line to yank the knife out of the wall.
“He’s getting worse,” Kiefer offered from his perch atop the table. It sat now against the front door of the abandoned cottage, opening the whole back half of the room while also barring anyone from bursting in unannounced.
“If you think you can do better,” Mather said, and heldout a knife to him, hilt first.
But Kiefer just shook his head and settled deeper against the wall, his legs spread out across the dents and stains of the tabletop. “You lot don’t need my help getting yourselves killed. That Captain Brennan will find out about this, and I’m content to watch Once-King Mather discover what repercussions are forreal, nonroyal folk.”
Mather lowered the knife. “You’re an ass, Kiefer.”
“All my life,” he responded, but even as he kept his eyes shut, Mather could see the twinge around the boy’s lips. Flinches like that, knowing Kiefer was nothing but words and attitude, were all that kept Mather from repeating their earlier fight in the training barn.
