Merron Pathfinder
PORTIA 
Meralyn disappeared to an adjoining room and returned a few minutes later with a bottle, two glasses, and a small leather-bound book. She pressed the book protectively against her chest until she had set down the bottle and the glasses and taken a seat. Then she brushed some crumbs off the tabletop, cautiously put down the book, and opened it to the first page.
“This is my great-grandfather’s journal.” She touched the dense handwriting with her fingertips, tracing each line, a bitter smile on her face. “Merron Pathfinder was his name. Although, the fairies had a different name for him.”
“Merron the Reckless,” said Gwil glumly.
“He was given that name after he took on the fairies—and then lost in spectacular fashion.” Meralyn uncorked the bottle, and the sweet scent of blackberry wine tickled Portia’s nose.
“What happened?” she asked. Next to her, Ben leaned forward to get a closer look at the book.
Meralyn raised just one shoulder. “Well, there are many stories, but they agree on one thing. Merron crossed the border between the worlds without permission.”
She poured wine into the two glasses and pushed one over to Gwil, who took a generous sip. “Since the first doors were created, the fairies have decided who should be allowed to pass through them,” he explained.
“Merron wasn’t happy with the fairies’ reign,” Meralyn said. “He wanted to decide for himself where he should travel, whom he should meet. He had a dream that all Salamandrau might one day be able to wander between the worlds, gathering knowledge from beyond our borders.”
“Of course the fairies didn’t care much for that dream,” Gwil said.
Meralyn nodded sadly. “So he decided to make his own key.”
“And did he manage it?” asked Ben.
“Yes, and he wrote the secret down in here.” Meralyn closed the book and handed it to Gwil. “It seems we are in luck. According to Merron, a key can only be crafted by the dwellers of two different worlds working together.”
Gwil let out a sad whimper. “Apologies,” he mumbled, and took another sip of wine.
Meralyn smiled, but her features now looked strangely hard, like marble. “If Titania knew of this book’s existence, she’d throw all of us into the deepest of the Fairy Hill’s dungeons.”
Should she really be asking Titania for help? Portia wondered. She wasn’t sure, but she ignored the doubts she felt stirring in her gut. “Is that why you don’t make keys anymore?” she asked.
Meralyn snorted. “If the fairies didn’t have such control over us Salamandrau folk, one of us would surely have made another key.” She sounded as if she would have liked to be that rebellious salamander herself. “But our hands are tied, in the truest sense of the word.”
“After Merron… after he…,” Gwil began, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.
“The fairies caught and punished him,” Meralyn said tersely. “And with him, all the Salamandrau.”
She loosened her wristband to reveal a tattoo like those Portia had seen on Gwil and Titania’s servant: a black ring around the wrist.
“This is the mark of our servitude,” she explained. “It means we have to serve and obey Titania, and we are not allowed to leave Bryngolau without her, or her permission.”
Portia frowned. “You really can’t leave?”
“No,” Meralyn said. “If we tried, the mark would stop us.”
Handcuffs, Portia thought, horrified. The tattoos are handcuffs.
“Which brings us to another problem.” Meralyn nodded toward Gwil.
Gwil placed a hand on his tattoo. “If I’m to take Ben to World’s End, then I’ll need a spell that stops the mark from working, temporarily at least.”
“I think Pricklethorn could cast a spell like that.” Meralyn turned to Ben and Portia. “He’s Titania’s Lord Chamberlain.”
“He could,” Gwil agreed. “But he won’t. Not without a good reason.”
“Or a good bribe.” Meralyn smiled again, then got up and opened the trunk next to the sofa. She carefully removed some layers of tissue paper before bringing out a bundle of cloth that she let unfurl in her hands into what looked like a woven starry sky. A sheet of dark blue silk ran down Meralyn’s arm, shimmering all over with tiny rhinestones—or were they diamonds? The sight of it left Portia breathless, and she wasn’t the only one.
“Pricklethorn has long coveted a garment to rival our queen’s attire. I’d say this would fit the bill.” Meralyn smiled mischievously, her eyes twinkling. “Provided that he helps us, of course.”
Later that evening, Portia lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The guest bedroom Meralyn had shown her to was near the sewing room. She could hear the muffled voices of the seamstresses, still at work. A glass filled with moon-moths stood by the door, glowing softly.
Portia was thinking over her conversation with the salamanders, turning her decision round and round in her head.
I’m making the right choice, she kept telling herself. But then why were there so many doubts gnawing at her?
Portia turned over. Ben’s bed was just a few inches away, but a silence as vast as an ocean had grown between them. He hadn’t said a word to her since the salamanders had bid them good night. Was it just because he was tired—or because he was upset that Portia was going to leave him on his own?
She wished she could explain, and tell Ben how guilty she felt. She didn’t want to put any more distance between herself and Rose, but at the same time she felt she was letting down Ben as well.
After a while, she just couldn’t take it anymore. “I wish we could do this together.”
Her voice was fading away into the darkened room when at last Ben quietly replied, “Me too.”
Portia sat up in her bed. “Then stay! Help me convince Titania!”
Ben lay still for a moment. “Are you a hundred percent sure that she’ll help us?” he asked.
She could have lied. Perhaps Ben would stay with her then, so she wouldn’t have to confront Titania by herself. But she didn’t have the heart. With a deep sigh, she lay down again. “No,” she admitted. “No, I’m not.”
The silence grew between them again. “If you get home before me, could you please tell my mum that I’m okay?” asked Ben.
The question felt like a little stab in the heart. “Of course,” she said. “And if you make it there first, will you do the same for me?”
“I will. I promise.”
Ben stared at the ceiling. Portia chewed her lip, filled with indecision. She wished she could tell him about her doubts—but if she did that, he might convince her to come along with him after all. And that would be a mistake. Or would it?
“Portia?” said Ben. “Be careful when it comes to Titania.”
“I will,” she said.
“I’m serious.” He rolled over to face her. “In stories, humans always end up losing when they make deals with fairies.”
“I’ll watch out,” she promised. “But you be careful too. Stay away from those creepy gray knights. Making yourself invisible should do the trick.”
Ben laughed softly. “Well, I’ve got some experience there. I’m mostly worried that we’ll have to walk for hours again tomorrow. I’m so sore. I’m aching in places I didn’t even know I had muscles.”
Portia couldn’t help but grin, despite everything. Ben smiled too. It suited him, Portia thought.
“You can do it,” she said, then turned to look up at the ceiling again. She could hear Ben arranging his pillow. She really liked him. He was cautious, but at the same time nothing seemed to really faze him. She was glad he was with her.
For now, at least.
Her smile faded. Sometimes Portia wished she could shut the mouth of her inner voice with a piece of tape.