Summerkin Read Free

Burr—both of them short and thin as saplings, with reddish hair. Fer waved at them, and they waved back, then pointed at the tree’s wide trunk. She looked over at the ladder and saw a dark form coming up, the top of a black-haired head. The form became a person, who swung off the ladder and onto the branch above hers.
    â€œRook!” Fer hadn’t seen him since she’d become the Lady back in the early spring.
    He crouched and glared down at Fer. “Stupid wolves,” he growled.
    Rook wore ragged shorts and nothing else; his hair was tangled, and his bare legs were muddy and scratched, as if he’d been running through a bramble patch. He had scars on his arms and shoulder from the wolf bites he’d gotten while serving the Mór. They looked like jagged white slashes against his tan skin.
    Without saying hello, Rook lay down on the branch. He glanced at her, and she grinned at him.
    â€œDon’t be looking at me like that,” he said.
    â€œLike what?” she asked, still smiling.
    â€œI don’t know. As if you’re glad to see me.”
    â€œI am glad to see you,” Fer said. “You’re my best friend.”
    He stared at her. “No, I’m not. I’m a puck.”
    Before, when she had first met him, Rook had been oath-bound to the Mór, the false Lady who had ruled this place after she killed Fer’s mother—and that meant he’d been like the Mór’s slave and had to obey her every order. Rook had sworn those oaths to save his puck-brother Phouka’s life. Even so, he had found a way to help Fer defeat the Mór, though he had almost died doing it. With the Mór defeated and gone from the Summerlands, Rook had been freed from his oaths—he was a puck unbound. Grand-Jane had warned Fer that this Rook would be a different creature entirely from the Rook Fer had known before. Don’t trust him , Grand-Jane had said with a dire frown. He is a puck, and that means it is his nature to be false, a liar and a trickster. He is not your friend .
    â€œI missed you,” Fer found herself saying. “What have you been up to?”
    Rook shrugged.
    She shrugged back at him, crossed her eyes, and grinned.
    He turned his face away, but she caught a glimpse of a smile.
    Fer had heard Grand-Jane’s warnings, but she couldn’t help the happiness that bubbled up inside her. He could be surly and rude, but that was what made him Rook, and the Rook she knew was a true friend. “Well,” she went on. “Why have you come back?”
    He looked as if he was weighing a decision. Then he dug in the pocket of his ragged shorts and pulled out a packet of paper. “I met a messenger,” he said, “and I offered him a ride in my horse form.”
    As a puck, Rook had a shifter-tooth that turned him into a black dog when he put it under his tongue, and he had a bit of shifter-bone that turned him into a horse.
    â€œSo where is this messenger now?” Fer asked.
    â€œHe accepted the ride,” Rook said, shooting her an evil grin.
    Uh-oh. “What did you do with him, Rook?” she asked sternly.
    Rook shrugged. “He’s all right. If he can swim. He was bringing you this.” He tossed the packet of paper toward her.
    Fer reached out to catch it and felt herself slipping. She grabbed the packet out of the air and with her other hand clung to the branch; her head spun, and her stomach lurched, and below her she saw a whirl of branches and leaves and empty space. It was a long way to the ground. When she righted herself, she found Rook was watching her, a gleam of mischief in his flame-bright eyes.
    He’d done that on purpose, thrown the paper so she’d reach for it and almost fall. Grand-Jane’s warning echoed in her head: He is not your friend .
    â€œSee?” Rook said. “Puck.”
    â€œPuck or not,” Fer grumbled to herself, “you’re still my friend.” With