Ceridwen’s group stashed their horses in an abandoned barn south of the city. Now there are five riderless mounts, providing transport for the Thaw and me, who partner up to take them because we don’t have our own. Mather eases up onto the saddle behind me and settles in, his arms loose around my waist. No one mentions how the former riders of these horses were left behind, bodies now at Angra’s disposal. But I see Ceridwen stare at the horses as we ride out, her eyes tear glazed in the shadows. As grim as a funeral procession, we head east, to the only Season that Angra hasn’t had a chance to infiltrate yet: Autumn. Angra was counting on us being in Juli. If he laid a trap for us there, did he know we’d try to go to Autumn too? I swallow the question. It doesn’t matter. I’ll do what needs to be done. I will find a way to get those keys without having to kill Theron. One afternoon later, the sun casts light over a long swath of something on the horizon—trees. And not Summer’s dead, spindly trees, but plump ones bursting with red and yellow leaves.
