As we start moving, the wind changes course and intensifies, as if it’s purposely trying to hinder us. Its power is like a physical body pressing against mine, pushing me backward. I shuffle along slowly, keeping one hand on the wall of the parapet, terrified that if I lose my footing for even a second, the wind will carry me right off the wall into midair and drop me into a net of red lightning or a pile of acidic snow.
If any of the Javelins believe we’re going to die up here, they have the grace to keep that fear to themselves. We struggle along, single file, foot by foot, until I look up, my eyes streamingfrom the icy wind, and I spot the thing I’ve been hoping for… sort of.
It is indeed a path arching through midair, from the outer wall to the inner one. But it’s not much broader than the width of my hips, and just about as thick. It’s the thinnest, most precarious-looking bridge I’ve ever seen. Made of stone, but so thin it looks like Boulder’s weight would snap it in half.
Of course I say none of this aloud, because it’s still our best chance at getting across the lightning-filled chasm. At least there are no eyes on it.
“Good news, it looks like it’s made of stone,” I yell over my shoulder. “So it’s sturdy, but dangerous. We’ll have to go one at a time. Stay low, or you’ll get blown right off.”
If I had a choice, I’d send someone else across first. But there’s not enough room to swap places safely on this walkway, and refusing to take the lead would make me look weak. That’s the last thing I want. Nor would I ever demand that my crew take risks I’m not willing to face myself.
As I crouch down and start across, my world narrows to my own body and the slim arch of stone. I can’t think about anyone or anything else. If I fall, that’s the end for me. Death is a mere instant away, and that knowledge sharpens my thoughts, heats my blood, and makes everything seem violently brighter.
4
I don’t know how long it takes me to cross the bridge. I don’t look up to see how far I have left to go; I just continue shuffling along on hands and knees, keeping my eyes focused on the next bit of stone.
Once I’m across, I pull myself onto the broad ledge beyond. This ledge goes nowhere—it’s basically a shelf on the fortress’s second layer of fortification, overlooking the chasm. The wall continues upward, but there’s a door at the end of the ledge, so I don’t think we’ll have to climb anymore. Eyes blink along the inner wall, too, but they’re fewer in number and they seem to stay closed for longer intervals.
As my body releases the tension of crossing the bridge, my muscles turn weak and watery. I sit down against an eyeless part of the wall, but I can’t really relax. I keep thinking that I might have to cross that wretched bridge again on the way back, unless we find another safe path out of Annordun. If the Doras Álainn could have transported us into the central keep of Annordun, it would have done so, which doesn’t bode well for us being able to portal directlyoutof the fortress once we have our loot. We’ll probably have to retrace our steps to the beach.
When Flex starts to cross the bridge, my stomach drops. It’s agony watching each of my team members navigate the strip of stone—though I find myself wondering if it would truly be a loss if Scriv fell.
I’m most worried about Boulder and Maven. They’re thicker-bodied, so it’s harder for them to keep their weight balanced on such a narrow surface. If Maven falls, the Doras Álainn goes with her, and we’ll be stuck in Faerie, unless Drosselmeyer’s hoard includes some other type of device for passing between worlds.
I want to close my eyes and blot everything out until everyone is safely across. But Skull used to say that a thief never shuts their eyes unless they’re safely in their own bed behind locked doors—and sometimes not even then. So I watch, eyes wide open, until the entire crew, including Maven, is on the ledge with me.
“Let’s hope that was the hardest part,” says Flex.
We all turn on him instantly, voicing groans of protest.
“Why the fuck would you say that?” exclaims Boulder. “You’re asking for a curse on this job.”
“Shit, sorry,” Flex mutters.
“As penance, you get to lead the way for a while,” I tell him. “There’s a door ahead that might require your particular skills.”
We move along the ledge to the door, which is locked with a very prosaic iron lock.
“Iron hurts the Fae,” Maven says. “And I’m guessing this is spelled to resist their magic, too.”
“It might be immune totheirmagic, but not mine.” Flex crouches with his ear close to the lock, listening as he plies his tools. He has to pause and blow on his hands to warm them a couple of times, but within a matter of minutes there’s a rewarding click, and he presses the handle down with a flourish, opening the door.
“Well done,” I tell him. “I’ll get the next one.”
The door takes us inside the wall. By the light of a couple Iridian crystal sticks, we descend flight after flight of narrow stairs, while the temperature grows progressively, frighteningly hotter. Finally we emerge through another door on the inner side of the second wall.
We’re nearly at ground level, and I can see the gray bulk and pointed towers of the central keep ahead. It, too, is studded with eyes that open and shut at coordinated intervals.
The keep stands on an island, encircled by a lawn of blue grass. Between us and it, there’s a moat of bright orange lava, giving off a violent heat that’s the startling opposite of the cold wind we experienced above.
A series of tiny stepping stones lead across the moat, spaced ridiculously far apart. Here and there, instead of a stepping stone, there’s a tall post with a chain, probably meant for swinging from one point to the next.
Maybe a tall, agile Faerie with immortal strength, small feet, and healing powers could make it across this obstacle course, but for us humans, it’s hopeless.
“No way across,” says Boulder heavily.
“Is that it?” asks Flex. “We go back?”
