The Doorway and the Deep by K.E. Ormsbee

run, but she didn’t dare breathe loudly, let alone speak.
    Then Iolanthe moved, sweeping back a long cape and removing something hidden beneath—a jar of some sort.
    â€œIs the silver secure, Julian?” she asked.
    â€œIt is, your reverence.”
    â€œThen keep close, both of you.”
    Iolanthe dug a hand into the jar, and Lottie realized what it was just as Iolanthe threw the powder into the air. She was using Royal Piskie Dust.
    â€œThe Southerly Palace!” Iolanthe shouted, each consonant sharp-edged.
    The dust swirled around the three silhouettes in a lazy circle. Then the silhouettes were no more; they’d vanished into the darkness. All that remained was the light powderfall of remaining Piskie Dust.
    There was a
crack
of a match strike and the sudden appearance of light as Fife relit his lantern.
    â€œCome on,” he said, rising up and floating toward the path at an alarming speed.
    No one asked questions. They ran after Fife. Lottie knew what he feared, for she feared it, too. But it couldn’t be. That couldn’t possibly have happened.
    They ran hard down the path, following the white dirt offshoot that led to the red apple tree. One of the Wisp Guard was always posted in this clearing, but there was no guard tonight. Lottie had known there wouldn’t be. That guard had been the fourth silhouette.
    â€œSweet Oberon,” whispered Fife.
    At his feet, cast in ghostly lantern light, were the splintered remains of the silver-boughed tree.

CHAPTER SIX
Northward

    THEY RAN for the glass pergola, even though Lottie knew running did no real good. The wisp guard Iolanthe had sent would no doubt reach the Royal Bower before them and tell the Seamstress and Tailor the terrible news.
    Oliver headed in the opposite direction, toward Mr. Wilfer’s cottage.
    â€œAdelaide,” he said, breathless. “I have to tell Father, and we’ve got to get Adelaide.”
    Lottie, Fife, and Eliot kept heading toward the distant, bluish light of the Great Lantern. Once they’d reached the pergola’s entrance, they ran down the long hall toward the Royal Bower, Eliot slipping every so often on the cold glass floor and Lottie righting him each time. They foundthe doors to the bower flung open. The place was abustle with movement and shouts, and so many wisps were floating in so many directions, Lottie ducked a few times out of instinct. Silvia and Lyre were floating low at the willow tree’s base. Standing opposite them were both Dorian Ingle and a sweaty, bug-eyed wisp who was talking frantically and, every so often, hiccuping between syllables.
    â€œ. . . hewn down the silver-boughed tree,” he was saying. “Came from nowhere. Used dust, I think. Took my sword. Cut me off. Didn’t have the chance to fight. Couldn’t raise the alarm. I didn’t think they’d
cut it down
.”
    The words slapped Lottie hard, like a physical blow. She was forced to acknowledge what she’d been trying so hard not to: the silver-boughed tree had been hacked to pieces and was now an unusable heap of bark and fallen red apples. Eliot could no longer reach Mr. Walsch. Eliot and Lottie couldn’t go home. Not that way.
    â€œChildren!”
    Silvia had finally noticed them. She waved for the jabbering wisp to be quiet.
    â€œWe saw some of what happened,” said Fife, panting. “Or, well,
heard
it, more like. What I’d like to know is who in Puck’s name is this Iolanthe?”
    Dorian’s easy countenance was gone. He was scowling up at the willow tree as he said, “She’s Starkling’s new right-hand sprite.”
    â€œWhat was she doing here?” Lottie asked. “She’s not allowed in Wisp Territory, is she? And it’s not like you and the Southerlies are at war.”
    â€œWe are now,” the Tailor said darkly.
    Silvia burst into an ear-piercing laugh. “Really, Lyre! We don’t have enough