There’s no doubt which season awaits us next. The flames of the portal are bright orange and a strong, hot wind blows from the other side.

“Summer Court.” I inhale deeply. “It smells like . . . smoke.”

“The burning savannah.” Mack takes a step back from the portal, brow furrowed.

Just like me, mud splatters her clothes, leaves and twigs caught in her hair. Dark, oily specks of orc blood fleck her face—but I don’t dare tell her.

“Is that as bad as it sounds?”

“The weather is hot, windy, and dry, and fire sprites inhabit the grasses, which means wildfires are a constant.”

I frown. “Is there any nearby water?”

“There’s ponds but—they’re spread out. I don’t see how those could help us.” The hesitation in her voice is alarming.

“Does anything else live in the grassland?”

“Rabbits, maybe a few griffins from the nearby forests. They hunt the rabbits.”

Griffins. I remember the last griffin. How it helped me.

She wipes at her face, unknowingly smearing the orc blood. “What are you thinking?”

“Mack, I’m going to ask you to do something that seems, well, suicidal.” Voices ring behind us, along with the bellow of an orc. We need to hurry. “But I promise, I’ll explain it all later, okay?”

She nods.

“We’re going to make the griffins carry us over the fires.” Ignoring her alarmed scoff, I press on. “We need a rope and a dagger each. Once your griffin grabs you, tie the rope to its ankle. When we’re over the water, we cut the ropes. Got it?”

To her credit, she only gapes at me for a few seconds. “How do we make them drop us over the water?”

“Just . . . trust me.”

She nods, if a bit tensely, and we grab our supplies and leap into the Summer Court portal.

The burning savannah is an endless swath of knee-high grasses that stretch across the gently rolling landscape. Smoke engulfs much of the air, and flames move across the hills at will.

What I think at first are sparks are actually fire sprites dancing above the inferno.

Mack checks the map. “There’s a body of water near the portal.”

“Any landmarks you can give me?” I ask.

She squints. “Looks like . . . an island in the middle.”

She shows me the image. Once I’m sure I have it committed to memory, I nod to the long rope coiled in her hand.

“This better work,” she whispers, quickly tying it around her waist.

Once my own rope is cinched around my stomach, I put my hands to my mouth. Mack looks at me funny as I perform the rabbit call, a trick learned hunting in the woods by our house.

Almost immediately, two shadows sweep across the burning grassland toward us.

Mack’s eyes squeeze shut. “Titania save us.”

I clench my dagger between my teeth, grab hold of my rope, and try not to panic as the sound of their huge wings pummeling the air grows louder.

A shadow falls over us. Mack shrieks as the first griffin grabs her by the shoulders and jerks her into the air. A half second later, my griffin strikes. Its claws catch in my uniform as it drags me into the sky like I weigh nothing.

The feel of the ground hurtling away from me is terrifying. My stomach flip-flops all over the place.

The creature’s wings buffer the wind around my head, making it hard to hear Mack’s yells.

Quickly, I knot the end of my rope to the griffin’s leathery black ankle. Just in case the griffin isn’t open to my newly discovered powers of gab and would rather just eat me.

When the knot is cinched tight, my griffin turns its head down to look at me.

Good little griffin, I mentally coo, wondering if this is quite possibly the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

Mack’s griffin flies to my left. Her eyes are huge as she secures her rope in between bouts of screaming. Thank the Shimmer, her dagger is secured in her pocket.

I’ve barely begun sending the creatures images of the pond near the portal before they veer hard to the left. Mack squeals, legs kicking.

I just now recall how she might have once admitted to being afraid of heights. Oops.

Do not drop us, I mentally order, willing both creatures to hear me. Not yet.

Dagger still between my teeth, I grasp the rope holding me to my griffin. All my focus goes to sending the griffins the mental image of the pond. The ground below us grows smaller, blurrier. The dark smoke and bright red of the fires melding into the canvas of green.

“Summer!” Mack cries. “Look below!”

The pond shimmers beneath us. I give a triumphant yell.

I can’t believe this worked.

We cut our ropes at the same time. As soon as the knot falls away from my griffin’s leg, I mentally command, Drop us.

The pressure around my shoulders eases and then we’re falling. Warm water envelopes me. It’s only when I surface and see the griffins flying away in the distance that I convince myself we’re safe.

At least, for the next few minutes.

As we wade to the shore, Mack turns to look at me, her eyes full of questions.

My bestie is sharp. By now, she’s put together the snow leopard and the griffins. But she knows now isn’t the time for that discussion, so she lets it go.

“I think I might have peed a little,” she mumbles.

“Ditto.”

Soaked down to our boots, we slog our way to the final portal.

By my powers of deduction, I know the fourth portal leads to the Spring Court. But even if I didn’t know that already, the overpoweringly sweet floral scent that emanates from the portal would be a huge hint.

I press my ear close to the portal’s surface. The soft hum of bees comes through.

“Flowers and bees?” Mack says, wringing out her braid. “What do those two things have in common?”

“One can be poisonous and the other stings you, so maybe . . . they’re both deadly?”

“Deadly. Right.” She exhales, sending an errant strand of damp purple hair flying from her face. “The Spring Court wildlands are an overgrown stretch of nature that’s the most formidable and dangerous in the world. Their wasps are the size of birds, nearly every plant is poisonous and the ones that aren’t are carnivorous and will literally eat you, and the water is drugged with toxins from the surrounding trees.” She rolls her shoulders as she squares to face the portal. “Did I mention the Ash Viper lives here?”

“The snake whose bite turns people into statues?”

“The one and only.”

Oh, goodie. Hellebore better guard his junk next time I see him.

With that in mind, we both choose bee hats with netting that falls to our ankles. I make my second item a large fly swatter, and Mack conjures a jug of purified water.

As soon as we come out the other side of the portal, our suspicions are confirmed. A tropical world of dense trees, vines, and flowers the size of boulders awaits.

Hundreds of creatures fill the air. Multi-colored sprites. Bees the size of my hand. Hornets with wicked looking red stingers. Butterflies whose wings carry hallucinogenic toxins.

We down the jug of water and then break into a jog. The netting keeps out the smaller creatures like the butterflies, wasps, and bees, and I use my flyswatter on the sprites. Mack points out the plants to avoid, and more than once, we have to leave a path and find another.

But with the netting and my fly swatter, it’s actually not so bad. Two hours later, just as we’re nearing the portal, a ravine appears in our path.

Mack points out a rickety wooden bridge. Unfortunately a gate bars our entrance. A sprite that looks more flower than human flits from the top of the gate and points to a wooden box.

I bend down and cautiously open the container. Five vials glint beneath the sun.

Mack hisses through her teeth. “Poison.”

The sprite claps. “Very good,” she says in her tiny voice. “Your antidote waits on the other side.”

“It’s a test.” Mack perks up at that. “We have to match the correct poison with the correct antidote.”

Mack goes first. She places a drop of oleander on her tongue. The gate creaks open to let her through. I watch her rush across the bridge, and a moment later, she appears on the other side, giving a thumbs up.

My turn. I choose snowdrops. The poison tastes like pennies on my tongue as I sprint to the antidote, which unfortunately, is frog’s piss.

The portal that leads back to the Spring Court is only fifty yards or so ahead. We have no idea if we’re even close to first place . . . or last.

“Has anyone else passed through here yet?” I call to the sprite.

She shakes her tiny head, and Mack lets out a whoop. “I knew it!”

“One of us is about to win first place,” I breathe, in shock.

Mack’s face is a mask of determination as she turns to me. “Ready?”

I nod, a slow grin stretching my lips. “Let the best shadow win.”

We both sprint at the same time, leaping over thick vines that could kill us with one prick of their thorns. My netting flies off, followed by Mack’s a second later. Twenty feet to go. My heart slams into my breastbone. Sweat pours into my eyes. I swat away a shiny blue wasp as I hurdle the final obstacle, a fallen tree covered in moss and fire-red ants.

Ten feet. Five. I look behind me. Mack’s too far back.

I’m going to win.

Something dark flashes in the middle of the path between us. Still running, I glance down—

The snake on the ground in front of her is black as night. It’s coiled aggressively, its head lifted knee-high and fanned out in the shape of a hood. An orange teardrop marking rests on the backside of its skull.

Ash Viper.

A split second—that’s all it takes to decide whether to win or save my best friend’s life. Pivoting, I fling my weight on my back leg, reach for her, and do the only thing I can.

Tug her forward, over the viper and out of its lethal reach.

Her mouth falls open in shock, our eyes locking as her momentum and my strength pull her in front of me . . .