To Bear an Iron Key (11 page)

“Yes?”

“Thanks for being here.” And then he kissed her cheek.

She would have responded—even with her words stuck in her throat, she certainly would have replied—but then the line of stars blazed. Bromwyn sensed, more than saw, Rusty flinch and look away. She, herself, kept her gaze fixed on the Door, grinning hugely, and all she could think for that one moment was:
He kissed me he kissed me he kissed me!

There was only that thought, and the sound of leaves rustling in the trees around them, and the stars dancing on the stones. And for that one shining moment, Bromwyn Elmindrea Lucinda Moon, called Darkeyes, was the happiest girl in the world.

And then the World Door opened.

The thunderous
BOOM
whipped Bromwyn’s hair and dress, echoing through her body until her teeth shook and her skull thrummed, but she was a witch upon the brink of her test, so she stood tall and didn’t look away as the power that defined all the realms of all the worlds roared around her. The line of white light was now a wide gap, like a tear—and the white wasn’t truly white, but rather all of the colors of the world and some from beyond the world, shimmering and sparkling like captured magic. It was beautiful and wild and altogether fascinating. The Door beckoned, and part of Bromwyn longed to answer.

If it tugged at
her
, what was it doing to Rusty?

She darted a glance at him. Rusty was on one knee, his hands clamped on his ears, his teeth clenched as if to keep from screaming. What she heard as a
BOOM
must have been deafening to him—the sound of reality forming was a thing that made even gods uncomfortable, so it was said, and here was Rusty, a sixteen-year-old human boy, standing in the path of the force that shaped the universe. Bromwyn dearly hoped it wouldn’t drive him mad.

I will keep you safe,
she promised him, trying to push the thought into his head, as if she were able to walk the fabled Way of the Mind. If he heard her, she could not tell.
The sound passes,
she tried to think at him.

She was correct: Already the earth-shaking crash was abating, replaced with the sound of raucous laughter. It was loud and infectious, and as the mirth washed over her, Bromwyn had to fight to keep a smile from tugging the corners of her mouth. Peripherally, she saw Rusty lift his head up and lower his hands from his ears, a tentative grin on his face. She nodded, once, to herself; for the moment, her friend was all right. The day Rusty ignored laughter was the day he was doomed.

A swarm of bees surged through the painfully bright light of the stars on the stones. Rusty yelped and ducked his head, but Bromwyn kept her chin high and her gaze focused on the open Door. Buzzing with laughter, the bees spun drunkenly around her before moving past. Those that halted in front of her shimmered and sparkled—and grew. No longer insect-sized, Bromwyn saw that they were human-shaped, with gossamer wings fluttering wildly. Some remained tiny, barely the size of her small finger. Others swelled to adult-human size. Still others grew even larger. All were enticingly beautiful, almost too lovely to look upon. All had a mop of blond hair and piercingly blue eyes, and all were adorned with flowers. They danced in the air, laughing, pointing at her and Rusty, inviting them to come play.

She wondered if one of them was Nala from so long ago.

Bromwyn gritted her teeth and dug her heels into the ground. Tonight she was the Wise One of Loren, and she would not be tempted, not by pixies or any other fey creature.

As if a signal had been given, the fey sighed as one, and the sound was like the wind rustling through the trees. Then they parted, leaving a clear path from Bromwyn and Rusty to the Door.

Next to her, Rusty scrambled to his feet. She felt, more than saw, as he threw a glance at her, so she turned her head slightly, just enough to see him looking right at her, his mouth fixed in a huge grin. He winked at her, and then he looked straight at the Door.

Fire and Air, the boy could be so infuriating!

No time to think on that, though, for two figures were soaring through the Door. These two had no wings, yet they stepped on the air itself, and Bromwyn felt an old pang of jealousy surge through her. As it was when she had been eleven, so these two were now dressed: The woman was clothed in flowers and silk, and her long green hair shone with diamonds; holding her hand, the blond man wore blue silks and a cape of flowers, with a crown of silver glinting on his brow.

The Queen and King of the fey hovered before Bromwyn, amused smiles on their faces and something close to hunger in their eyes.

I am the granddaughter of Niove Whitehair,
Bromwyn reminded herself.
I am Bromwyn, called Darkeyes, and tonight I am the Wise One of Loren.

I am unafraid.

With that thought, she stood a little taller and she smiled, even though she wanted to run away as fast as she could.

THE LORD GUARDIAN

“My lord husband,” said the Queen, her sapphire eyes sparkling wickedly as she stared at Bromwyn, “it was my understanding that there would be a Guardian at the Door.”

“Mine as well, my lady wife,” said the King, whose own gaze was more like the icy skies of winter. “But instead of the ancient Whitehair, I see two children.”

“A boy child,” the Queen purred, “who sweats from nerves and grins so deliciously.”

“And young Darkeyes,” the King said. “What an unexpected surprise. Still a child, but on the cusp of adulthood.”

“For her kind,” said the Queen, with a sly look at her husband.

“Both of them, almost of age,” he replied, his smile pulling into something frightening.

Even though Bromwyn’s stomach rolled and her heart felt squeezed tight and her throat wanted to close up, she curtsied deeply and announced in a clear voice: “My lady and lord of the fey, welcome to the Allenswood.”

“She speaks,” said the Queen, bemused. “Perhaps she does other tricks as well. Perhaps she will come when called, or roll over for a good word.”

“Or beg.” The King grinned at Bromwyn, and what she saw in that grin and in his wintery blue eyes made her feel slightly sick. Or maybe that was because they were comparing her to a dog.

Keeping her smile locked on her face, Bromwyn said, “It is my pleasure to present to you the Key Bearer and Guardian of the Allenswood World Door, he who is also your host. Majesties, here before you is Derek Jonasson.”

And she thought,
By Nature’s grace, please do not mess this up.
Whether that thought was to herself or to Rusty, she could not have said.

Rusty stepped forward, removing his hat with one practiced gesture and bowing smoothly. “At your service,” he said to his belly.

The glade quieted, from the wind in the leaves to the fey horde in attendance, as the King and Queen considered Rusty. The two rulers didn’t move, save for the expressions on their faces. The Queen’s mouth slid from a surprised
O
to a delighted smile, and she actually clapped her hands together like a child receiving a wonderful gift. The King’s face seemed to move in reverse—his grin tightened, then slipped away altogether, and his eyes narrowed as he looked first at Rusty, then at Bromwyn. Those eyes seemed to frost with ice, leeching out the blue and leaving a scum of dirty white.

“You mean to say that the Whitehair is not coming at all?” The King’s voice dripped with scorn. “And in her stead, she sends us this whelp and this unworldly slip of a girl?”

Though she sensed the King’s building anger—he must have been insulted by Niove’s absence—it paled before Bromwyn’s own budding rage. Unworldly, indeed!

“My grandmother selected the new Guardian with great care,” she said politely, keeping her smile in place. “And she sends her regards.”

He snorted his derision. “I am less than impressed.”

Fury burned through Bromwyn, but she kept her face calm even as white-hot heat scalded her from within.
Keep your temper,
she told herself.
Whatever else you do, keep your temper.

The Queen was moving now, gliding in the air to hover around Rusty, circling him as if he were a horse to be bought. Rusty held his bow, but Bromwyn saw the slight tremble along his arms.

“The boy is a fine one,” the Queen murmured. “He will look delightful in my Court.”

“The boy is too thin,” commented the King. “He will break in less than a fortnight.”

The Queen arched a brow at him. “Is that a wager?”

“Perhaps. What will you offer?”

“Majesties,” Bromwyn said tightly, “I understand your surprise. But it seems to this unworldly girl that your surprise now borders on rudeness. There is a decorum to be followed, should you wish to remain on our land for this Midsummer Festival.”

The sudden hush through the clearing was thick and suffocating, and if Bromwyn hadn’t been so furious from the King’s scorn and the Queen’s bemusement, she would have been terrified. Angering the fey was far from smart. But she couldn’t just stand there and let them insult her and Rusty. If she didn’t show them her spine now, they would walk all over her—and that would be only the beginning. Bromwyn didn’t want to think about what they would do after that. She held her chin high and waited for their response.

After what felt like a million years, the King said, “You are correct, witchling.” His voice boomed through the glade like summer thunder rumbling in the mountains. “My lady wife and I have overstepped, and for that we offer our apologies.”

Next to Rusty, the Queen said nothing, but she bowed her head ever so slightly.

Bromwyn opened her mouth, but it was Rusty who spoke first.

“Your apologies are most graciously acknowledged,” he said, standing tall once again. “But majesties, they are unnecessary. Of course your graces were surprised by our presence here. You are used to the dread power of our Wise One, Niove Whitehair. And I am but a young man, and the Lady Witch is not her grandmother. For causing such surprise, I most humbly offer our own apologies, which I sincerely hope you will accept in the manner in which they are offered: freely, with no ill intention.”

Bromwyn blinked at him, her mouth hanging open wide enough to swallow some of the tinier fey creatures buzzing near her. By Nature’s grace, what in all the realms was possessing her friend? He spoke the perfect words, far smoother than her own meager attempt at diplomacy. He …

… was quoting from one of the books they had studied earlier that day.

Bromwyn’s mouth snapped shut as she remembered the chapter from the massive tome on court etiquette that they had reviewed. Come to think of it, Rusty had taken longer with that book than he had with the others. And now Bromwyn knew why: He had been memorizing key phrases.

Well, assuming they both survived this encounter with the fey, perhaps she could convince him to pursue acting instead of thievery.

“Well spoken, young master,” the Queen said with a full-lipped smile. “How could we do other than as you request? My lord husband and I graciously accept your thoughtful apology, for you and the witch girl both.”

Bromwyn’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t care for how the Queen was smiling at Rusty. No, not at all.

“You are most kind, lady Queen,” said Rusty. “May I present to you my proof of office?” He pulled out the Key from his pocket and displayed it on his palm as if it were the greatest of treasures.

“It seems you are indeed the Key Bearer,” the King said flatly.

“My lord Guardian,” said the Queen, her voice breathy, and she even curtsied before Rusty. “For a young man to carry such a burden, there must be far more to you than meets the eye.” She looked up from her curtsey and smiled once again, her lips shining wetly in the starlight of the World Door. “I look forward to discovering your hidden talents, my lord Guardian.”

Bromwyn’s fists shook. The Queen was … flirting! With Rusty! Who was grinning like a fool! And blushing!

If his wife’s mannerisms bothered him at all, the King did not show it. “The Key to the World Door is many things,” said the King, “and one of them is iron. And so we must ask, Key Bearer, that you replace the Key in your pocket and keep it there until the time should come for it to be used.”

“Speaking of such a time,” said Bromwyn, glaring at Rusty, “we must state the rules of your visit this fine evening.”

“
We
must do no such thing, witchling,” the King said jovially. His eyes now sparkled as brightly as his lady wife’s; the anger that had danced there was gone. “Only the Key Bearer may act as the Guardian of your land. You are merely an amusement, nothing more.”

The words slapped Bromwyn. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, she gritted her teeth and said nothing as she silently raged.

“Thank you, my lord King, for reminding me of my responsibilities,” Rusty said smoothly. “Your lady Queen was so charming that I nearly forgot myself.”

“My lord Guardian is quite the flatterer,” the Queen said, lips curled in a smile that hinted at many things.

Bromwyn wanted to rip that smile off of the Queen’s face.
Stop looking at him that way!