“How are your fingers?” I ask Flex.
“Nimble as ever, or so the ladies tell me.” He smirks.
“And Maven, how are you feeling about the wall?”
“Boulder will go up first, and he’ll let down a line to help me climb,” she says.
“Good plan. Boulder?”
“Ready, boss.” He gives me a short nod.
I turn to Scriv, but he only says, “Let’s get this done. I hope the take is as good as you say.”
“It will be.”
Maven sets the Doras Álainn on the floor and says, “Annordun,” in a crisp, clear voice. She pricks her finger with a pin, then presses her fingertip to the translucent white stone. She wipes the pin with a cloth soaked in alcohol before handing it to me.
I prick my thumb and speak the fortress’s name aloud while marking my blood on the stone. Then I wipe the pin and hand it to the next Javelin.
Once all of us have wet the artifact with our blood, we wait.
I count twelve seconds before the black roots begin lifting and untwisting from the pale circle, which is simultaneously widening into a flat, white disc like a sheet of ice, big as a coach wheel. The translucent mushrooms lift from its surface, taking three-dimensional shape and forming a ring along the border of the circle, while the black roots rise high into the air and braid themselves into an archway tall and wide enough to accommodate someone bigger than Boulder.
Our portal into Faerie stands before us, visible and tangible—a wide ring of pale moonstone mushrooms circling a twisted black arch. I can’t see our destination through the entrance, but the air between the braided vines shimmers with a silvery mist.
Flex whoops in triumph, and Maven’s eyes are starry with delight. A sick thrill passes through my stomach, because this mad idea of mine has suddenly become all too real. Maybe Scriv was right. Maybe I’m not as ready for the danger as I thought.
But it’s too late now. I can’t back down. If I tried to withdraw from this foray into Faerie, the others would just go without me, and I’d be signing my own resignation from the crew.
I’m conscious of Scriv’s eyes on me, even now. Watching. Calculating.
I force my mouth to shape what I hope is a confident, excited smile. “Now we go through?” I ask Maven.
“Yes. I’ll go last, and then the Doras Álainn should close down automatically since all the blood contributors have passed through. I’ll keep it in my pack for the return trip. When we’reready to head back, we just do this again, except with the Hearth as the destination.”
“And the Doras Álainn knows what the Hearth is?” Scriv asks, his eyes narrowed.
“It’s a magical device,” Maven says. “It connects with whoever touches it, so it knows where they want to go.”
“So it reads our minds. Isn’t that kind of creepy?” asks Flex.
“No creepier than you are on a daily basis,” she retorts. “Who’s going first?”
They all look at me. I figured I’d be the first to enter Faerie, but that doesn’t make it any easier to approach the portal.
As I stand before the arch, it strikes me that the Javelins could let me walk through, then deactivate the portal from their side. They could be rid of me that easily.
Of course they wouldn’t do it, since they want Drosselmeyer’s treasure. But mentally I make a note that when we return, I will not be the last to walk through. I refuse to be abandoned in Faerie.
Lack of trust is something thieves and brigands have to live with, even among their friends. Skull always said, “You don’t have to trust your crew completely, but you have to know that they’ll follow the thieves’ code.”
In Belgate, under the purview of the Consortium, the thieves’ code is simple. Everyone does their part. Everyone gets an equal share. No double-crossing your crew. If someone gets left behind, make a reasonable effort to help them—but if saving them puts the rest of the crew in jeopardy, cut your losses and run with the loot.
I would never leave any of my people behind. I only wish I could be sure they felt the same about me.
“Devilry, you should go now,” urges Maven. “I don’t know how long this thing will stay active. We don’t want to risk itrunning out of the energy that enables it to function, whatever that is.”
“Right.” Taking a deep breath, I step onto the pale, glossy disc and proceed through the arch.
