Summerkin by Sarah Prineas

and when I can get away again. They’ve got guards watching us.”
    â€œWatching you and your friend Gwynnefar, you mean,” Rip put in.
    â€œNo,” Rook shot back. He didn’t want to think about Fer, because this was a betrayal of trust he was plotting, right enough. “They’re watching me, I meant.”
    Rip and Asher exchanged a glance at that. Asher drew back from the lantern light, and a shadow fell across his face. “At any rate, Rook, you’re guarded,” he went on. “When did that ever stop a puck?”
    Rook forced a grin onto his face. “Not this time.”
    â€œGood,” Asher said, and stood. “Stealing the Summerlands crown will be a wonderful trick, maybe the best puck-trick that ever was.”
    Rook nodded. It was a good trick. But . . . “Ash, there’s one thing.”
    Asher raised his eyebrows, waiting.
    â€œFer—Lady Gwynnefar, I mean. To get me into the nathe she took responsibility for me.”
    â€œAh!” Asher grinned. “Very clever of you, Pup. A perfect plan. That means she’ll pay for any trouble you cause.”
    That’s what it meant. But if it was such a perfectly pucklike plan, why did it make him feel sick and empty inside?
    â€œThis Gwynnefar Lady used her binding magic to steal Phouka from us,” Asher reminded him. “It’s just what she deserves.” He gave Rook a keen look. “Am I right, Pup?”
    He knew that Asher was wrong. Fer hadn’t bound anybody, and he didn’t think she’d worked some kind of magic on Phouka. But he couldn’t argue with his brothers, not now. Rook gave Asher a wooden nod. “You’re right, yes.”
    Picking up the lantern, Tatter stood too, and so did Rip. They’d head through the Way now, back to the cave in the Foglands where they’d been hiding out with the rest of the pucks. A long way to come.
    Rook got to his feet. “Once I’ve stolen the crown, I can bring it to you, if you like,” he offered. That way he wouldn’t have to see Fer’s face when the puck-plot was discovered.
    â€œBetter not,” Tatter answered.
    Beside him, Asher shook his head. “The cave’s not safe anymore. The Lord of the Foglands has taken notice of us. We’ll have to move on soon.”
    Rook nodded. The pucks never got to settle anywhere for long. “So you’ll come here again.”
    â€œThat we will.” Asher pulled out the bit of horn that he used to turn himself into a tall black goat with curling horns. Then he leaned closer to Rook to whisper in his ear. “Remember what you are, dear Pup. And remember what the High Ones and their Lords and Ladies are and what they do to the likes of us. She is one of them.” Then he popped the shifter-horn into his mouth. Tatter and Rip shifted into dogs, and the three of them set off, racing over the glinting grass to the lake, where they could go through the Way.
    Rook checked the sky. Off in the east it was stained with gray. Sunrise would come soon, which meant it was time to get back to the nathe.
    Before starting up the vine-wall, he hesitated, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. Was he really going to do this? Betray Fer and let her take the blame for this puck-trouble?
    He shook his head. The pucks were his brothers. They were his home . He had to stay true to them.
    He climbed back up the vine-wall, and, as before, he stopped at the top to sniff the air and listen. All was dark and silent, but he had the prickly feeling of being watched. He waited for another moment, about to start down the other side, when he felt something thunk into the wall beside him, leaving behind a streak of pain on his leg.
    An arrow!
    Grasping the vines, he scrambled down the wall. As soon as he hit the ground, he started running. Lights flared on the path ahead, and he heard shouts. Abruptly he veered into the forest, dodging trees, pushing through