Free To Bear an Iron Key by Jackie Morse Kessler Page A

and there that Rusty, with her help, would be the perfect Guardian. And once Midsummer was done, and the fey were back in their land, and the World Door was once again closed and locked—and Bromwyn passed her test—they would have an entire year to convince Niove to take back the Key.
    She nodded to herself. Really, it was quite simple. All she had to do was teach Rusty everything she knew about the fair folk, in roughly eight hours.
    And no matter what, she would keep her temper.
    Really she would.

 
     
     
     

 
     
     

    MAKING READY
     
    When the sun was an hour’s drop away from nightfall, Bromwyn and Rusty met on the outskirts of Master Tiller’s spelt fields. Some farming tools lay forgotten on the ground—hoes and sickles and spades, probably dropped in people’s haste to get to the center of Loren to take part in the village’s Midsummer Festival. If Master Tiller was like most adults, tomorrow he would have strong words with his workers, assuming that he himself wouldn’t drink so much ale today that he slept clear through tomorrow evening. Midsummer brews tended to be potent, or so Bromwyn had always heard.
    The smell of wheat tickling her nostrils, she hefted her large pack and slung it over her shoulder. Then she grimaced. Fire and Air, the sack was heavy! And that was only with five books stuffed inside. Why did the truly important tomes have to be thick enough to crush bugs?
    Well, no matter, she told herself. Far more important than her sore back was the chance to review everything one final time before the World Door opened. Still, her back and shoulder ached miserably. She sighed, resigned. She had tried to spell the books to seemingly make them small enough to fit inside a closed fist, but her back had known the difference. No illusion would be strong enough to counter the weight of words. If only she were able to transport the books by using her magic …
    But no, only those of fey blood could fold the air itself and push an object from one place to another by magic alone. The thought made Bromwyn mope.
    Her voice curt, she asked Rusty, “You have the blanket?”
    “Yes.”
    “And the bread?”
    “Yes.”
    “And the cheese? And the berries? And the nuts? And the—”
    “ Yes,” Rusty said. “And everything you asked for, I’ve got. My mam even threw in some of those sticky buns you love so much.” He lowered his voice to mock-whisper: “I think she likes you!”
    More likely, Mistress Baker was terrified of her, based on how the woman paled whenever Bromwyn visited the bakery. Before Bromwyn had been apprenticed to her grandmother, Rusty’s mother used to give her a packet of sugar cookies for no reason other than to make her smile. “You have a lovely smile, you do,” she’d say, handing Bromwyn the treats. But once the cartomancer’s daughter had become Lady Witch, the sugar cookies disappeared, as if by magic.
    But Bromwyn didn’t want to think about how Mistress Baker feared her. “You did not get in trouble for stealing away during the Midsummer rush?”
    “Well, yes,” he admitted. “Da’s threatened to do me in with his rolling pin after the big cleanup tomorrow, but I’m more than half certain he isn’t serious. Mam, though—she cried. Said I’ve broken her heart.” He sighed sadly, and then he perked up. “But once I told her of the things I needed, she was happy to help.”
    Bromwyn frowned at him. “She did not ask any questions?”
    Rusty’s teeth gleamed as he grinned. “Of course she did. She’s a woman, isn’t she? Questions are as natural to a woman as curiosity is to a cat.”
    “Is that so?” she said dryly.
    “Indeed. And it’s not like I could say to her, ‘Mam, I have to impress a bunch of fairy lords and ladies, so can you please fill my basket with any leftovers from this afternoon’s trays.’ What with fairies not being real, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “So I did the only thing I could to get out of cleanup after the big