There’s defiance in Scriv’s eyes, shame in Boulder’s.
“You made it,” says Maven with faint relief. “I thought you were done for.”
“We knew this was going to be risky,” I reply, inspecting the damage to my boots, which is thankfully minimal. “Big risk, big reward.”
“Unless we die,” comments Scriv. “Then we get nothing.”
“We’re not dead yet.” I force cheer and hopefulness into my tone. “Come on. We’ve got a Midwinter’s Eve miracle waiting for us.”
The inner keep of Annordun is a narrow rectangle constructed of gray stone. Sheer walls soar upward, studded with an assortment of eyes that all close occasionally, making it look far less magical if no less intimidating. It’s almost comical how quickly I got used to the eyes, how easily I can ignore them now that I know they can’t actually harm us. When they’re all closed at once, I nearly forget they exist. It’s a little startling every time they appear again, but I’m not scared of them anymore.
The fortress doesn’t exactly have a roof so much as a collection of small towers with sharp hexagonal peaks, dotted with windows that I can already tell are too small for a person to fit through. The towers appear to be mostly ornamental. I’ve never seen architecture quite like it—it’s almost as if the creators were trying to mimic human castles or cathedrals without having any intimate knowledge or understanding of either type of building.
At the north end, I spot one huge watchtower looming over it all—the circle that was marked near the top of the sketch.
The front of the keep faces south, near as I can tell from the position of the moon, which has reappeared between the clouds. Faerie and the mortal realm are, as Maven once put it, two sides of the same coin. I think she got the phrase from one of her books. We share the same heavenly bodies, and time passes at the same rate in both realms.
In the expanse of the southward wall stands a single large door, the only entrance Maven was able to find in her research. Above the door is a narrow lancet window.
Together, we walk all the way around the keep, and I determine that it is three stories high, not counting the smaller towers, which look merely decorative, or the largest one, whichappears to be a few stories taller. There is a single wide window on the east side of the keep, on the second floor, and a matching one on the west side. Both are shielded by panes of ruby glass, and both look big enough to admit a person, so they could be our backup routes if we can’t get through the front door.
“The keep is smaller than I thought it would be,” comments Maven as we return to the front of the building.
“Still large enough that it will take hours to search,” replies Scriv. “We should get inside and get started.”
“I’ll do the lock.” I remove my goggles and slide my tiny lockpick kit out of my back pocket.
My crew follows me to the broad doorstep, where I sink to one knee and lay my kit open on the smooth stone. Scriv and Maven both set down their packs with sighs of relief.
“Get out a crystal stick, Boulder,” says Maven. “Maybe two. The moon is weak, and she’ll need extra light, since she hasn’t done this in a while.”
I grit my teeth to hold back a caustic retort. I want to believe that Maven means well, that she’s trying to help, rather than undermining me. Still, her lack of confidence in my skills is irritating.
The other Javelins crowd onto the doorstep with me, and Flex leans over as I select my tools. “I’d use your thinnest stem with a substantial hook.”
“Not the half-diamond?” asks Scriv.
“I prefer the lightning-bolt one,” puts in Boulder.
“You just like the way it looks,” Flex mutters. “That’s why you’re no good at locks.”
“You can borrow my jiggler set if you want, Devilry,” Maven suggests. “Yours look a bit short for a lock this size.”
Ignoring them, I select my favorite hook and pick, then lean close to the door, my pulse tripping rapidly. Lockpicking was never my greatest talent, and it’s been a while since I’ve done abig, old-fashioned lock like this. Like the other lock we encountered, it has an aggressively human design and looks as if it’s crafted from solid iron, designed to resist magical interference and stump Faeries who don’t have the key. I should be able to handle it just fine, if I could listen to the inner workings of the lock, if I could hear myselfthink, but my team is still talking.
“The keyway looks really deep,” Maven comments. “How many pins do you think it has?”
“No idea, but Devilry, don’t use too much force or you’ll bind the pins too hard and it will be tough to lift the stacks,” says Flex.
“I wonder if there’s a bathroom in the keep,” mutters Boulder.
Scriv sighs. “Devilry, why don’t you let Flex do it? It would be faster.”
“Fine, I’ll do it.” Flex moves forward.
“Oh my fucking god,” I exclaim, lowering the tools. “I’m perfectly capable! I just need some peace and quiet. I wish you would all go away and let me do this by myself!”
Something buzzes in my pocket, and there’s a whispering rush through the air around me, like a chill flowing outward.
