The Doorway and the Deep

by K. E. Ormsbee

  “Rebel Gem!” he cried. “Ey, ey! Over here, if you please!”

  “Excuse me,” said Rebel Gem.

  Lottie wondered if she’d only imagined the bite in Rebel Gem’s voice. She watched the swish of her green cloak as she joined a group of murmuring sprites. Lottie headed for Fife’s room, trying to sort out all the fiery emotions boiling inside her.

  She was angry with Rebel Gem, but grateful to her, too. She was nervous and excited and scared—all by what Rebel Gem had told her about the full scope of her keen. She was overwhelmed with happiness about the news of Keats, but now more impatient than ever to see her friends again. Muddled as her mind was, though, there was one clear thought that rose above the rest: she’d used her keen. She’d done it a third time. Soon, she would be able to use it on Eliot and dispel that horrible cough once and for all.

  Her heart thumped in time with every step she took toward Fife’s doorway, her tongue straining to let loose the exciting news. But as she stepped inside, every word she’d meant to speak fell back into her throat.

  “Aha!” said Fife. “We were about to form another search party.”

  Adelaide laughed, actually laughed, and Oliver’s eyes turned golden at the sight of Lottie.

  For there Adelaide and Oliver were, sitting on Fife’s bed as though it were the most natural thing in all of Albion Isle.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Unexpected Visitors

  ALL WAS LAUGHTER and whoops and the creak of Fife’s bed as the five of them sat piled atop the covers. Adelaide had thrown herself on Lottie first thing, squeezing her into so tight a hug that Lottie squeaked, sure her bones would snap.

  “Titania’s sake,” Adelaide said. “Oh, Titania’s sake, Lottie, we thought you were dead! Or else you’d all been captured by Northerlies and put in shackles and sent into the quarry mines. We worried for you every minute, didn’t we, Oliver?”

  Oliver’s eyes dimmed to gray. “Slow, slow as the winter snow, the tears have drifted to mine eyes.”

  Lottie didn’t have to ask how they’d arrived in Fife’s bedroom. Adelaide launched into the story with vigor, barely stopping for breath in the pauses between.

  The night of the ice crawler attack, Adelaide and Oliver had jumped from the boat and been dragged under by the current, just as Lottie had.

  “I thought I was going to drown,” said Adelaide. “Can you imagine a more unrefined way to go?”

  “I can,” began Fife, but Adelaide continued talking over him.

  “There I was, thinking those might be the last moments of my life, when someone grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out of the water. It was a Northerly. He and his wife lived in a cottage nearby and had heard our shouts. They fetched Oliver out of the water, too, and then they helped out Dorian, who’d caught hold of a tree root farther down the river. When Fife came back looking for us, I tried to call him over, but then—”

  “The ice crawler,” said Lottie.

  Adelaide nodded. “The Northerlies were afraid, so they dragged us away from the riverbank and to their cottage, where we dried and warmed up. We returned to the bank later that night. We tried calling for you, but there was no reply. We looked everywhere, up and down the bank. Oliver and I were so afraid.”

  “And we were just as worried about you,” said Eliot.

  A blush rose in Adelaide’s cheeks, but she continued her story. “Oliver and I tried sending our gengas out, but they kept circling back to us. They didn’t have any idea where we were, and they were too scared to leave our sides after the attack. And Dorian lost his genga.”

  “You mean, it flew away?” Lottie asked, thinking of Trouble’s penchant for disappearing.

  Adelaide’s face darkened. “No. I mean he lost his.”

  Lottie blanched. “That’s awful.”

  “Yes,” said Adelaide. “Anyway, Dorian told us the best thing to do was head to the Northerly Court with the hope that you all had made it there safely. But first, he said, we should go to Gray Gully, which wasn’t too far off our path, and where we could find supplies and transportation.

  “And guess who we met there? Mr. Ingle! He owns a little house in the town center. If you can even call it a town center. It was so primitive. They didn’t even have a florist there. I checked. But dear Mr. Ingle is just as kind as he ever was, and I think he’s much better off in a house than that frightful inn of his, even if it is a house in Northerly territory. He didn’t seem to understand just how uncivil a town Gray Gully is, though I tried to explain.”

  “What!” gasped Fife. “How dare he not care about incivility!”

  Adelaide gave Fife a dirty look that made Lottie want to weep from happiness. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed Adelaide until now—even the most irritating things about her.

  “As I was saying,” Adelaide went on, “Mr. Ingle was very kind and hospitable, but Oliver and I were still worried silly about the rest of you. We stayed two days longer than either of us wanted, but Dorian insisted it was worth it because of the type of transportation he was waiting on. And you’ll never guess what it was: a cart drawn by horses.”

  “You’re lying,” said Fife. “Impossible.”

  “You can see them for yourself!” Adelaide said, ablaze with excitement. “They’re tied up just outside the caverns. A gray one and a white one, and they’re just as regal as I thought they would be. It seemed cruel to make them pull our weight.”

  “She’s lying,” Fife said to Oliver. “Isn’t she?”

  “It’s true,” said Oliver. “There are dozens of them in Gray Gully.”

  “What’s the big deal?” said Eliot. “They’re just horses.”

  “Are horses common in the human world?” asked Adelaide, astonished.

  “Common enough,” he said. “Though, come to think of it, I guess there aren’t many on Kemble Isle.”

  “Then you’ve seen them before?” Adelaide looked impressed.

  “Of course,” said Eliot. Then, to Lottie, “They’re talking about them like they’re unicorns.”

  “Maybe that’s what they’re like to sprites,” Lottie said, equally amused.

  “Anyhow,” said Adelaide, “on our way here, Rebel Gem’s genga found us and carried the news ahead. We weren’t far behind. And when we reached court, Dorian insisted we wait around for Rebel Gem to show up because she was liable to have questions for us, but then Oliver said Dorian would have to tie him up in a hundred knots if he intended to make us sit around rather than find our friends. So Dorian finally let us go, and we found Fife and Eliot, and now you, Lottie. And everyone’s well, and we’re all together, and surely things can’t possibly be as bad as they’ve been these past few days.”

  “Fife told us about how you saved his life,” Oliver said, turning dark green eyes to Lottie.

  “It was Trouble who saved us, really,” said Lottie.

  “Lila’s been in such a tizzy.” Adelaide nodded to the violet finch roosting in the crook of her crossed ankles. “Her heart was beating so fast on our journey here, I thought she might burst from fear.”

  “I sent Keats down to Wisp Territory,” said Oliver. “He reported back a few hours ago.”

  “And?”

  “Lyre has ordered the entire Guard to fall back to the glass pergola in an attempt to keep the ‘most important’ wisps safe, should Iolanthe and her soldiers attack again. Father is well. He’s still tending to the sick and working on his cure.”

  “Did you tell him our news?” asked Lottie. “About the ice crawler and the assassin?”

  Oliver grimaced. “I wasn’t sure I should worry him just yet. I’m sure you know how frustrating correspondence like that can be, even when it’s good news. This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, I send them back again and straight grow sad.”

  “That’s very martyr-like of you, Ollie,” said Fife. “True to form.”

  There was a loud cough at the doorway. It was the white-haired boy.

  “’Scuse me,” he said
. “Rebel Gem has requested an audience with the Heir of Fiske.”

  All eyes turned to Lottie. “Um,” she said. “Just me?”

  “Yes,” said the boy, staring at his feet.

  “And an audience with her most illustrious royal guest, Fife Dulcet,” said Fife. “I think you forgot that part of the message.”

  “I—I didn’t forget anything,” said the white-haired boy, looking nervous.

  “He’s just joking,” Eliot said kindly.

  “You know what this means, Lottie,” said Fife. “You’re growing up, turning into an important public figure.”

  He dabbed at a fake tear, and Lottie rolled her eyes, though she was grateful for the joke. It gave her something else to focus on besides the nervous feeling in her stomach. What did Rebel Gem want with just her? They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

  “Rebel Gem said to come immediately,” said the white-haired boy.

  “All right, all right,” said Lottie, getting down from the bed. She cast one look at the others. Eliot was giving her a thumbs-up. Oliver’s eyes were a reassuring green. Fife and Adelaide were already arguing again.

  “You’d think she could wait a little longer,” Lottie told the boy as they walked the passageway. It wasn’t that Lottie particularly wanted to talk to the white-haired boy, but she was desperate for something to stave off the jitters. “I only just got to see my friends. And half the time, I’ve been worried they’d drowned.”

  The white-haired boy glared ahead. “Some of ’em did,” he said. “Or do you even care what happened to the others?”

  Lottie slowed her pace. In all the excitement, she’d been forgetting something: Reeve. Nash. She hadn’t asked what had happened to them. Now she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “Guess those other Northerlies aren’t worth your concern, Heir of Fiske.”

  Lottie flinched at the words. She hurried to fall back in step with the boy. He turned his face away from her, but it was too late. She’d seen. He was crying. She stopped walking altogether. He did, too, and scrubbed his face.

  “You knew one of them, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” he said after a long pause. “Nash was my brother.”

  Lottie felt faint. She didn’t know what to say. All this while, she’d never once stopped to consider the white-haired boy’s story. He had waited on her for days and nights, and Lottie hadn’t even tried to learn his name. Nash was his brother. Nash, who had tried to murder her. Did the boy know that? If he didn’t, Lottie couldn’t possibly tell him now.

  “He was very brave,” she said at last. “A hero, really. He fought the ice crawler, trying to save the rest of us. He mentioned you, too. You could tell by the way he talked that he loved his brother very much and would do anything for him.”

  It wasn’t the full truth, but Lottie didn’t think the truth was what the white-haired boy needed right now.

  “Really?” he whispered.

  “Really.”

  The white-haired boy nodded limply.

  “By the way,” said Lottie, “I’m afraid I never learned your name. It’s—?”

  The boy’s eyes darkened. “Thwaite,” he said crisply.

  Then he resumed his walking. Lottie followed in guilt-ridden silence until she noticed Thwaite leading her up a steep, narrow passageway she didn’t recognize.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Thwaite didn’t give an answer, and Lottie didn’t press for one. Thwaite shouldn’t have been on duty at a time like this, she thought. He needed rest and to be around friends who loved him. Did he have friends like that?

  The new passageway turned into a steep stairway, which they climbed all the way to an opening to the outside world. They passed two guards on their way out and then emerged at the crest of a hill. From this height, Lottie could see an orange sun kissing the horizon, its rays spread out over the swaying heads of pines and oaks. It was a beautiful sight, but Lottie felt uneasy.

  “Where’s Rebel Gem?” she asked, turning to Thwaite.

  “Just a little farther this way.”

  They descended the hill and entered a thick wood. Lottie followed Thwaite’s path through the trees until they reached the mouth of another cave. Lottie recognized the enchanted torch burning at the entrance, lighting the inscription inside: MOST REVERED HOUSE OF FISKE.

  “She wants to meet me here?” Lottie asked. She was trying to right her disoriented sense of place.

  “Yes,” said Thwaite. He was shivering. “She’s just inside.”

  Lottie peered into the shadows. She felt movement at her side, then heard the flap of wings. Trouble had emerged from her pocket and, without so much as a tweet, he soared out of sight.

  “Trouble!” Lottie cried. “Trouble, come back here!”

  It was no use. He had disappeared into the wood.

  Lottie felt in her other pocket, for her mother’s ring. It was just a dark hallway. She’d been down it before. Why was she suddenly so afraid? She closed her fingers around the silk-covered ring and took a steady breath. She stepped inside. She hurried down the passageway, toward the enchanted torchlight at its end. She stepped into the room of statues and glass cases. She didn’t realize that Thwaite hadn’t followed her inside. She didn’t see the two red-cloaked guards close in behind her. Not at first. She was too distracted by another sight.

  A woman stood before her, dressed in a cloak. But it wasn’t Rebel Gem.

  She was tall. Her hair was as light as Rebel Gem’s was dark. Her shoulders were broad and her eyes over-wide, and she shared Lottie’s open stare. She stood behind one of the glass cases, its door ajar. It was the case that had contained the lapis lazuli ring.

  “Hello, Lottie,” she said.

  Lottie knew that voice. She’d heard it in the dark woods of Wisp Territory.

  When Lottie turned to run, she saw the two Southerly guards blocking her path. They stared ahead, impassive, heavy maces in hand.

  Think, Lottie told herself. Think.

  Slowly, she turned back around.

  “Hello, Iolanthe,” she said, trying her best to sound unafraid.

  “Then you know who I am?” Iolanthe arched a brow.

  “You’re the king’s new right-hand sprite,” Lottie said. “You invaded Wisp Territory, and you cut down their apple tree. You sent out assassins to kill me.”

  Iolanthe’s face was solemn. It looked like a face that had never, ever laughed.

  “Do you know why I’m here now?” she asked.

  Lottie swallowed hard. “Because you want to kill me.”

  “You’ve caused the Southerly King an inordinate amount of trouble, Lottie Fiske. We’re going to put an end to that today.”

  Iolanthe stepped out from behind the glass case, and Lottie saw the thin sword in her hand, its blade drawn to a sharp point.

  Do something! her mind shouted. Remember what Rebel Gem told you: you could use your touch to hurt her. This is a last resort. It’s your life on the line. So do something, before she turns you into a pincushion!

  But Lottie just took a step back. The guards reacted. One jabbed the end of his mace into her back. Lottie cried out from the pain.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Please, don’t.”

  Iolanthe stepped closer, examining Lottie as though she were nothing more than a turkey in need of carving.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “It will be over soon.”

  Lottie shut her eyes.

  She waited for the pain.

  For a moment, the room was utterly silent. Then came the clatter of metal.

  Lottie’s eyes fluttered back open.

  Iolanthe was reeling.

  “I can’t see,” she said. Then, in a shout, “I can’t see! Get her.”

  But the guards weren’t in a better position. They were feeling around blindly in the air, as though the room had been cast in darkness. One grazed Lottie’s shoulder, but she shook free and ran. She ran as fast as her feet could take her dow
n the passageway, only to stumble straight into Thwaite. Lottie yelped and hurtled away from him, but Thwaite ran after her into the wood.

  “Wait!” he called, hard on her heels. “Not that way!”

  He grabbed her arm, and Lottie tried to break free but instead fell to her knees.

  “Don’t touch me!” she yelled, still struggling. “You let Iolanthe into the court. You were going to let her kill me!”

  Lottie understood it all now. Thwaite had known what his brother planned to do on that boat. He’d known, and now he was trying to finish the job.

  But Thwaite was shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Nash told me—”

  There were shouts from the cave. Running footsteps. Whatever had blackened the vision of Iolanthe and her soldiers was now apparently gone. Whatever it had been . . .

  “You,” she said, staring at Thwaite. “Was that you? Your keen?”

  “I changed my mind. I’m sorry. Now c’mon. We’ve got to run. This way.”

  He helped Lottie up, and together they ran deeper into the wood, where night was fast choking away the remaining sunlight. Already, it was colder out, and Lottie’s face stung from the whipping wind. She saw lights glowing ahead, at the peak of the hill they were climbing. Lottie hurried her steps toward them. She emerged from the grip of the wood and ran still higher up the bank of the hill, toward the looming boulders that bordered the supping lawn.

  She could hear shouts up ahead.

  They’ve begun the supper festivities early tonight, she thought.

  “We have to find Rebel Gem and warn her,” said Lottie. “Do you know how many—”

  But Thwaite was no longer by her side. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “Thwaite?” Lottie whispered.

  There was a whistling sound in the dark. Lottie’s head was knocked sideways with sudden pain. She touched her ear. Something wet was trickling from its ridge: blood. She looked around, frantic. Then she spotted it, glinting in the moonlight, lodged in the muddy hillside. It was a silver arrow.

  Lottie heard it again—that strange whistling sound, only this time fainter and farther off. Another arrow sailed through the air. Then another. She sank to a crouch and, keeping her eyes upward, scrambled up the hill, toward the shelter of one of the boulders.