The Doorway and the Deep by K.E. Ormsbee Page B

day’s sleep.”
    â€œNo, my dear,” said Mr. Wilfer, “Dorian is right. You must set out as soon as you can.”
    â€œWhat about Lottie and Eliot?” asked Oliver, anxiously yellow-eyed.
    â€œThey will find safety in the Northerly Court,” said Dorian, “and access to our own silver-boughed tree, if that’s what they desire.”
    Adelaide, now aware this was an argument she wouldn’t win, gave a moan of exasperation. She sat on the ground, legs crossed in a surprisingly unrefined way, and though Lottie thought Adelaide looked a little ridiculous, she felt a lot like doing the very same thing.
    â€œThat settles it,” said Silvia. “Off you go, to the North.”

    It was dawn by the time they set out. Wisp Territory had never been very bright, even in the daylight, so dense were the branches and leaves overhead. But now that the yews had lost their needlelike leaves, Lottie’s face was kissed with far more sunlight than she’d seen in a long month. She was tired, and her legs were already weary from walking through the plagued part of the wood, past sickly wisps and putrid stenches and cries for help that tore at her heart. She was tired, but she gained strength from thelight. She had almost forgotten what it was like to rise with the sun.
    Lottie and the others had been allowed to return to the Clearing and pack their belongings, all under the watchful eyes of Cynbel and three of his guards. These guards, along with Silvia, Lyre, and Mr. Wilfer, now followed them to the edge of Wisp Territory and the start of Wandlebury Wood proper. Lottie had traveled through the wood once before, but that had been far off the main path in an attempt to avoid the Barghest and the Southerly Guard.
    â€œWe’ll travel by foot for a day’s time,” said Dorian. “Then we’ll take the River Lissome north. Provided we aren’t tracked and provided the weather holds up, it won’t be too daunting a journey.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Fife. “Ada will make it plenty daunting.”
    Adelaide didn’t hear Fife; she was too busy crying in her father’s arms. Oliver, too, stood by Mr. Wilfer, his eyes dull gray. Lottie turned away, leaving the Wilfers to their private goodbyes. She checked the contents of her satchel: a flashlight from home, clothes, a bag of sweet-so-sours, and, of course, her favorite green scarf. She couldn’t shake the suspicion that she was forgetting something important. In a sudden panic, she checked her pocket. Her fingers grazed feathers. Trouble gave a sleepy chirp and turned over, out of reach.
    No. She wasn’t leaving anything important behind.
    Except, of course, the silver-boughed tree.
    Eliot hadn’t cried or raised his voice or even mentioned the fact that his trip home had been brutally canceled by a group of ax-wielding Southerlies. Still, Lottie felt the loss deeply, and she knew Eliot did, too. Mr. Walsch would have no way of knowing where they were and why they hadn’t arrived for Thanksgiving supper. Lottie had searched on hand and knee for her copper box in the ruins of the apple tree, but it, too, was gone. Maybe Iolanthe and her guards had taken it, thinking it was important. Maybe they’d thrown it into the wood and trampled it underfoot. Whatever the case, their remaining connection to Mr. Walsch was gone, and Lottie only knew that the sooner they got to the Northerly Court, the better.
    â€œReady?” she asked Eliot.
    Eliot was checking the inside pocket of his jacket. There was a thick stack of papers threatening to burst the seams of the pocket’s lining—all letters from Mr. Walsch that Eliot had received during his time in Limn. He patted the letters once, then closed and buttoned his jacket.
    â€œReady,” he said.
    Adelaide slipped out of her father’s arms, looking miserable. “I still don’t see why
we
have to