Moonkind (Winterling) by Sarah Prineas

one of the gnarled stairways leading from the nathe. She wished Phouka had come with her so she could ride quickly away; instead she started running across the wide lawn that lay before the nathe, and then through the forest to the outer wall. Beyond that was the Lake of All Ways.
    The sky overhead was gray and glassy, the same color as the Lake, which shimmered like a mirror in the silvery light. The air was cold and still. She paused to catch her breath and hunched into her patchwork jacket. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. Then she went on to the Lake, her feet crunching over the pebbles that lined the shore.
    All the Ways to all the lands opened here. It was nearly sunrise in her world, and the Way leading there would be open in a moment. Then she would be home.
    She crouched at the edge of the water. As a Lady, she had the power to open any Way from here. Even the Way that led back to the human world. She could be with her grandma in half an hour, the time it took to step through the Way and then run down the gravel roads to her house. It was easy to imagine what Grand-Jane would say if Fer told her what had happened. Fer could see her, tall, gray-haired, wearing a knitted cardigan and a stern look.
    You made a mistake, my girl, Grand-Jane would say. Now what are you going to do to fix it?
    Then her grandma would open her arms, and Fer would run to her for a hug and a cup of tea and a long talk about how she would set things right.
    No. She had to deal with this alone. A sob surged up in her chest, but she gulped it down.
    She reached out for the Way. The power tingled in her fingers, and she touched the surface of the water. The Way to her land opened.
    She stood and lifted her foot to step into it—and then she felt a rush of wind that shoved her backward. A figure robed in gray stepped out of the Lake. It grabbed her arm, and she was jerked from the Way. Her feet stumbled on the pebbly shore. She caught a glimpse of brilliant light quickly hidden; then several tall figures hooded in gray surrounded her.
    The Forsworn! One of them pinned her arms behind her. She kicked and struggled, but the hands holding her were like iron.
    “Let go!” she shouted.
    “You’ve left us no choice,” one of them hissed.
    “Help!” she got out, and then a cloth came down over her head—a bag. She felt the tingle of a Way opening—not the Way into her own land; somewhere else—and felt herself being dragged into it.
    No!
    She struggled harder, and wrenched an arm free. Her power to open Ways surged up in her hand and she felt the Way to the Summerlands start to open.
    “Put her out,” she heard a cold voice say.
    Fer felt a sharp pain in her head, and everything went dark.

Nine
    Rook’s heart hurt where the thread had broken. It felt like shards of glass were jabbing him in the chest. Twice before he’d snapped the thread that connected him to Fer, and it hadn’t been this bad. But breaking something for a third time—that made it matter. That made it something that could never be fixed.
    He took a deep, shaky breath. Then another.
    All right. The first thing he had to do was get out of the nathe without some stupid nathe-warden catching him and tossing him into an underground prison cell.
    And then . . .
    And then he’d figure out the next thing.
    He cast one more glance at the dead Birch-Lady. Then he looked again. Had she moved? He stepped closer, then crouched beside her. The only light came from the doorway. In the dimness, the Birch-Lady was a person-shaped bundle of sticks and dried leaves, all covered with the stinking muck of the rotten glamorie, her face so withered he could barely make out her eyes. But . . .
    Those eyes blinked and looked back at him.
    “You’re not dead,” he said aloud. He glanced at the doorway. But no, it was too late to go after Fer to tell her. Too late for anything with Fer.
    The Birch-Lady sighed and shifted with a rustling of twigs.
    He couldn’t abandon her; he