Iron Fey: The Iron King / Winter's Passage / The Iron Daughter / The Iron Queen / Summer's Crossing / The Iron Knight / Iron's Prophecy / The Lost Prince / The Iron Traitor

Pounding footsteps echoed in the hall, and faint shouts carried into the throne room. I wrenched my eyes from Rowan’s bloody form and ran to Ash, who was still staring at his brother in a horrified daze.

“Ash!” I grabbed his arm, snapping him out of his trance. “Someone’s coming!”

“Yes, run away with … your half-breed, Ash.” Rowan coughed, a line of blood trickling from his mouth. “Before Mab comes in … and sees that her last son is dead to her. I don’t think you can do anything more … to betray your court.”

The voices were getting louder. Ash shot Rowan one last guilty, agonized look, then grabbed my wrist and ran for the door.

I don’t remember how we made it out. Ash pulled me along like a madman, running through hallways I didn’t recognize. It was a miracle we didn’t run into anyone, as footsteps and sounds of pursuit echoed all around us. Maybe it wasn’t coincidence at all, as Ash seemed to know exactly where he was going. Twice, he yanked me into a corner and pressed his body up against mine, whispering at me to be silent and not move. I froze as a gang of redcaps skittered past, snarling and waving knives at one another, but they didn’t notice us. The second time, a pale woman in a bloody dress floated by, and my heart thudded so loudly I was sure she would hear, but she drifted past without seeing.

We fled down a cold, empty corridor with icicles growing from the ceiling like chandeliers, flickering with a soft blue light. Ash finally pulled me through a door with the silhouette of a bone-white tree emblazoned on the front. The room beyond was rather small and sparsely decorated with a tall bookshelf, a dresser made of polished black wood, and an impressive knife collection on the far wall. A simple bed sat in the corner, the blankets pulled tight, looking as if it hadn’t been used in decades. Everything looked exceptionally clean, neat and Spartan, not like a prince’s bedroom at all.

Ash sighed and finally released me, leaning against the wall with his head back. Blood soaked his shirt, leaving dark stains against the black material, and my stomach turned.

“We should clean those,” I said. “Where do you keep the bandages?” Ash looked right through me, his eyes glassy and blank. The shock was taking a toll on him. I bit down my fear and faced him, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Ash, do you have any rags or towels lying around? Something to stop the bleeding?”

He stared at me a moment, then shook himself and nodded to the corner. “Dresser,” he muttered, sounding more weary than I’d ever heard him. “There’s a jar of salve in the top drawer. She kept it … for emergencies …”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I walked over to the dresser and yanked open the top drawer. It held an assortment of weird things: dead flowers, a blue silk ribbon, a glass dagger with an intricately carved bone handle. I rummaged around and found a jar of herb-scented cream, nearly empty, sitting on an old, bloodstained cloth. In the corner sat a roll of what looked like gauze made of spiderwebs.

As I pulled them out, a thin silver chain came with the gauze and slithered to the floor. Bending down to pick it up, I saw two rings attached to the links, one large and one small, and what Ash said finally sank in.

This—this drawer full of odds and ends—was Ariella’s, where Ash kept all his memories of her. The dagger was hers, the ribbon was hers. The rings, exquisitely designed with tiny leaves etched in silver and gold, were a matching set.

I replaced the chain and shut the drawer, a cold knot settling in my stomach. If I ever needed proof that Ash still loved Ariella, here it was.

My eyes stung, and I blinked them angrily. Now was not the time for a jealous tantrum. I turned and found Ash watching me, his eyes dull and bleak. I took a deep breath. “Um, I think you’ll have to take off your shirt,” I whispered.

He complied, pushing himself away from the wall, leaving a smear of red. Removing his tattered shirt, he tossed it on the floor and turned back to me. I tried hard not to stare at the lean, muscular chest, though my mouth went dry and my face burned crimson.

“Should I sit?” he muttered, helping me along. Gratefully, I nodded. He moved to the bed, easing himself down on the mattress with his back to me. The wounds on his shoulder and ribs seeped crimson against his pale skin.

You can do this, Meghan. Carefully, I moved up behind him, shuddering at the long, jagged cuts across his flesh. There was so much blood. I dabbed at it gingerly, not wanting to hurt him, but he didn’t make a sound. When the blood was gone, I dipped two fingers in the salve and touched it lightly to the gash on his shoulder.

He made a small noise, like an exhalation of breath, and slumped forward, head down and hair covering his eyes. “Don’t worry about hurting me,” he muttered without looking up. “I’m … fairly used to this.”

I nodded and applied more salve to the wound, liberally this time. He didn’t flinch, though his shoulders were taut and rigid beneath my fingertips; I could feel the tight coil of muscles beneath my hands. I wondered if Ariella used to do this for him, in this very bedroom, patching him up whenever he was hurt. Judging from the pale scars across his back, this wasn’t the first time he’d been wounded in a deadly fight. Had she felt the same as me, angry and terrified whenever Ash put himself in mortal danger?

My eyes grew blurry. I tried blinking, but it was no use. Retrieving the gauze, I wrapped it around his shoulder, biting my lip to keep silent as tears streamed down my face.

“I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t moved, and his voice was so soft I barely heard it, but I still almost dropped the gauze. Tying it off, I didn’t answer as I went to work on his ribs, winding the bandages around his waist. Ash sat perfectly still, barely breathing. A teardrop fell from my chin to land on his back, and he flinched.

“Meghan?”

“Why are you apologizing?” My voice came out shakier than I wanted it to, and I swallowed hard. “You already told me why you were being a bastard. You had to protect me from your family and the Winter Court. They were perfectly good reasons.” Not that I’m bitter or anything.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Ash’s voice was still soft, hesitant. “I thought that if I could make you hate me, it would be easier when you returned to your world.” He paused, and his next words were almost a whisper. “What I said in the courtyard … Rowan would have tormented you even more if he knew.”

I finished binding his ribs and pulled the wrappings tight around his waist. My eyes still streamed, but they were different tears now. I didn’t miss the subtle phrasing: when you return to your world. Not if. When. As though he knew I would go back someday, and we would never see each other again.

Still silent, I picked up the jar and returned it to the dresser. I didn’t want to face him now. I didn’t want to think that he could be gone from my life forever, vanishing back into a world where I couldn’t follow.

“Meghan.” Ash turned and grabbed my hand, sending tingles up my arm. Against my will, I looked down at him.

His face was desolate, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I can’t … have feelings for you,” he murmured, tearing a hole right through my heart. “Not in the way you want. Whatever happens, Mab is still my queen, and the Winter Court is my home. What happened in Machina’s realm …” His brow knitted, and his expression darkened with pain. “We have to forget that, and move on. Once I take you to Arcadia’s borders and you’re safe with Oberon, you won’t see me again.”

The pain in my heart became a sick and fiery gnawing. I stared at him, hoping he would take it back, tell me he was kidding. He withdrew his hand and stood, facing me with a deeply sorrowful expression. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, avoiding my eyes. “It’s … better this way.”

“No.” I shook my head as he drew away, brushing past me. I whirled to follow him, reaching for his arm, missing. “Ash, wait—”

“Don’t make this harder.” He opened his closet and pulled out a tight gray shirt, shrugging into it with barely a wince. “I … killed Rowan.” He closed his eyes, struggling with the memory. “I’m a kinslayer. There’s nothing left in my future now, so be glad you won’t be around to see what happens.”

“What will you do?”

He grimaced. “Return to court. Try to forget.” Reaching into the closet, he pulled out a long black coat crossed with silver chains and drew it over his shoulders. “Throw myself on Mab’s mercy and hope she doesn’t kill me.”

“You can’t!”

He faced me fully, the coat swirling around him. Just like that, he became something cold and remote, a deadly beautiful faery, unearthly and unreachable. “Don’t get involved in fey politics, Meghan,” he said darkly, shutting the closet door. “Mab will find me, no matter what I do or how far I run. And with the war approaching, Winter will need every soldier it can get. Until Summer returns the scepter, Mab will be relentless.”

He turned away, but mention of the war reminded me of something else. “The scepter. Ash, wait!” I grabbed his sleeve, ignoring the way he went perfectly still. “It wasn’t the Summer Court!” I blurted before he could say anything. “It was the Iron fey. I saw them.” He frowned, and I leaned forward, willing him to believe me. “It was Tertius, Ash. Tertius killed Sage.”

He stared at me blankly for a moment, and I held my breath, watching his expression. Out of everyone in the Winter Court, Ash was the only one to actually see the Iron fey. If he didn’t believe me, I didn’t have a chance of convincing anyone else.

“Are you sure?” he murmured after a few seconds. Relief flooded me, and I nodded vigorously. “Why? Why would the Iron fey steal the scepter? How did they even get inside?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they want its power? Or maybe they took it to start a war between the courts. They accomplished that much at least.”

“I have to tell the queen.”

“No!” I moved to block him, and he glared at me. “Ash, she won’t believe you,” I said desperately. “I tried to tell her, and she turned me into an icicle. She’s convinced it’s Oberon’s doing.”

“She’ll listen to me.”

“Are you sure? With everything you’ve done? Will she listen to you after you saved me and killed Rowan?” His expression darkened, and I ignored the guilt stabbing holes in my chest. “We have to go after them,” I whispered, suddenly sure of what we had to do. “We have to find Tertius and get the scepter back. It’s the only way to stop the war. Mab will have to believe us then, right?”

Ash hesitated. For a moment, he looked terribly unsure, balanced between me and duty to his queen. He raked a hand through his hair, and I saw the indecision in his eyes. But before he could reply, a sudden scratching on his door made us both jump.

We exchanged a glance. Drawing his sword and motioning me back, Ash strode to the door and warily cracked it open. There was a streak of dark fur, and a cat darted through the opening. I yelped in surprise.

Ash sheathed his blade. “Tiaothin,” he muttered, as the phouka shed the feline form for her more human one. “What’s happening out there? What’s going on?”

The phouka grinned at him, slitted eyes bright and eager. “The soldiers are everywhere,” she announced, twitching her tail. “They’ve sealed all doors into and out of the palace, and everyone is looking for you and the half-breed.” She spared me a glance and chuckled. “Mab is pissed. You should go now, if you’re going. The elite guard are on their way right now.”

I looked to Ash, pleading. He glanced at me, then back to the door, his expression torn. Then, he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he was doing this. “This way,” he snapped, yanking open the closet. “Inside, now.”

I crossed the threshold into the small, dark space and looked back for Ash. He paused at the frame, glancing at the phouka dancing in the middle of the room. “Lie low after this, Tiaothin,” he warned. “Stay out of Mab’s way for a while. Got it?”

The phouka grinned, mischief written on every inch of her smile. “And what fun would that be?” she said, sticking out her tongue. Before Ash could argue, her ears twitched backward and she jerked her head up. “They’re almost here. Go, I’ll lead them away. No one does a wild-goose chase better than a phouka.” And before we could stop her, she ran to the door, flung it open and leaned into the hall. “The prince!” she screeched, her shrill voice echoing down the corridor. “The prince and the half-breed! I saw them! Follow me!”

We ducked into the closet as the sound of booted feet thundered past the door, following Tiaothin as she led them away. Ash sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Idiot phouka,” he muttered.

“Will she be all right?”

Ash snorted. “Tiaothin can handle herself better than anyone I know. That’s why I asked her to keep an eye on you.”

So that’s why the phouka was so interested. “I didn’t need babysitting,” I said, both annoyed and thrilled that he’d thought to look out for me when he couldn’t be there.

Ash ignored me. Putting a hand to the wall, he closed his eyes and muttered several strange, unfamiliar words under his breath. A thin rectangle of light appeared, and Ash pulled open another door, bathing the room in pale light and revealing an icy staircase plunging into darkness.

“Come on.” He turned to me and held out a hand. “This will take us out of the palace, but we have to hurry before it disappears.”

Behind us, a roar of discovery echoed through the hall, as something poked its head in the room and bellowed for its friends. I grabbed Ash’s hand, and we fled into the darkness.

CHAPTER SIX

The Goblin Market

I followed Ash down the glittering staircase and through a narrow corridor studded with leering gargoyles and flickering blue torches. We didn’t speak; the only sounds were our footsteps echoing off the stones and my ragged breathing. Several times, the tunnel split off in different directions, but Ash always chose a path without hesitation. I was glad for the long winter coat around my shoulders; the temperature here was frigid, and my breath clouded the air as we ran, listening for sounds of pursuit.

The passage abruptly dead-ended, a solid wall of ice blocking our path. I wondered if we’d taken a wrong turn, but Ash released me and walked forward, placing one hand against the ice. With sharp, crinkly sounds, it parted under his fingers, until another tunnel stretched away before us, ending in open air. Ash turned to me.

“Stay close,” he murmured, making a quick gesture with his hand. I felt the tingle of glamour as it settled over me like a cloak. “Don’t talk to anyone, don’t make eye contact, and don’t attract any attention. With that glamour, no one will notice you, but it will break if you make a noise or catch someone’s eye. Just keep your head down and follow me.”

I tried. The problem was, it was difficult not to notice anything beyond the castle walls. The beautiful, twisted city of the Unseelie fey rose up around me, towering spires of ice and stone, houses made of petrified roots, caves with icicles dangling from the openings like teeth. I followed Ash down narrow alleys with eyes peering out from under rocks and shadows, through tunnels that sparkled with millions of tiny crystals, and down streets lined with bone-white trees that glowed with sickly luminance.

And of course, the Unseelie were out in droves tonight. The streets were lit up with will-o’-the-wisps and corpse candles, and swarms of Winter fey danced, drank and howled at the top of their lungs, their voices echoing off the stones. I remembered the wild Revel in the courtyard, and realized the Unseelie were still celebrating the official arrival of winter.

We skirted the edges of the crowds, trying to avoid notice as the Winter fey whirled and spun around us. Music rang through the night, dark and seductive, stirring the mob into frenzies. More than once, the dancing turned into a bloodbath as some unfortunate faery vanished under a pile of shrieking revelers and was torn apart. Trembling, I kept my head down and my eyes on Ash’s shoulders as we wove our way through the screaming throngs.

Ash grabbed me and pulled me into an alley, his glare warning me to be silent. A moment later, a pair of knights cantered into the crowd on huge black horses with glowing blue eyes, scattering the Winter fey like a flock of birds. The dancers snarled and hissed as they leaped aside, and a goblin screeched once as it was trampled beneath a charging horse, falling silent as a hoof cracked its skull open.

The knights yanked their mounts to a halt and faced the mob, ignoring the growls and hurled insults. They wore black leather armor with thorns bristling from the shoulders, and the faces beneath the open helms were sharp and cruel. Ash shifted beside me.

“Those are Rowan’s knights,” he muttered. “His elite Thornguards. They answer only to him and the queen.”

“By orders of Her Majesty, Queen Mab,” one knight shouted, his voice somehow rising over the cacophony of music and snarling voices, “the Winter Court has officially declared war on Oberon and the Summer Court! For the crime of killing Crown Prince Sage and the theft of the Scepter of the Seasons, all Summer fey will be hunted down and destroyed without mercy!”

The Winter fey roared, screeching and howling into the night. It was not a roar of rage, but rather one of ecstasy. I saw redcaps laughing, goblins dancing for joy, and spriggans grinning madly. My stomach heaved. They wanted blood. The Winter Court lived for violence, for the chance to rip into their ancient rivals without mercy. The knight let them howl and carry on a few moments before holding up his hand for silence.

“Also,” he roared, bringing the chaos to a murmur, “be aware that Prince Ash is now considered a traitor and a fugitive! He has attacked his brother, Prince Rowan, gravely wounding him, and has fled the palace with the half-breed daughter of Oberon. Both are considered extremely dangerous, so it would do you well to be wary.”

Ash sucked in a breath. I saw relief cross his face, as well as guilt and concern. Rowan was still alive, though our escape through the city had become much more dangerous.

“If you see them, by order of Queen Mab, they are not to be harmed!” bellowed the knight. “Capture them, or report their whereabouts to any guard, and you will be greatly rewarded. Failure to do so invites the queen’s wrath upon your head. Spread the word, for tomorrow we march to war!”

The knights spurred their mounts into action and galloped off, amid the roars of the Unseelie crowd. Ash looked deep in thought, his eyes narrowed to gray slits.

“Rowan isn’t dead,” he breathed, and I couldn’t tell if he was pleased with this news or not. “At least, not yet. This will make things considerably more difficult.”

“How will we get out?” I whispered.

Ash frowned. “The gates will be guarded,” he muttered, looking past me into the street, “and I don’t trust the regular trods if Rowan knows we’re out here.” He paused, thinking, then sighed. “There is one more place we can go.”

“Where’s that?”

He glanced at me, and I suddenly realized how close we were. Our faces were just inches apart and I felt his heartbeat quicken, matching my own. Quickly, he turned away, and I ducked my head, hiding my burning face.

“Come on,” he whispered, and I thought I caught a tremor in his voice. “We’re not going far, but we have to hurry. The Market keeps its own hours, and if we don’t reach it in time, it will disappear.”

A wild howl rang out of the darkness, and we looked back at the crowd. The Winter fey had gone back to their partying as if nothing had happened, but there was a meaner, desperate edge to their revels now, as if the promise of war had only whetted their appetite for blood. A pair of redcaps and a hag squabbled over the body of the dead goblin, and I turned away before I was sick. Ash took my hand and pulled me on, into the shadows.

WE FLED THROUGH the city, keeping to the shadows and darkness, somehow avoiding the mobs in the street. At one point, we very nearly tripped over a redcap exiting a hole in the wall. The creature snarled an insult, but then its beady eyes widened in recognition and it turned to shout a warning instead. Ash gestured sharply, and an ice dagger thunked into the creature’s open mouth, silencing it forever.

We reached a circular courtyard on the banks of a huge underground lake, mist writhing off the water to drift along the ground. Colorful booths and tents stood empty as we passed through, flapping in the breeze like a dead, abandoned carnival. An enormous white tree stood in the very center, bearing fruit that looked like human heads. A narrow door was embedded in the thick trunk, and Ash quickened his pace as we approached.

“The Market is through here,” he explained, pulling me behind the tree as an ogre lumbered past, its steps slow and ponderous. “Now, listen. Whatever you see in there, don’t buy anything, don’t offer anything, and don’t accept anything, no matter how much you want it. The vendors will try to make a deal with you—ignore them. Keep silent, and keep your eyes on me. Got it?”

I nodded. Ash opened the narrow door with a creak and led me inside, shutting it behind him. The interior of the trunk glowed softly and had a putrid sweet smell, like decaying flowers. I looked around for another door or way out, but the trunk was empty except for the door we came in.

“Stay close,” Ash whispered, and he pushed the door open again.

Noise exploded through the doorway. The circular courtyard now thronged with life; the booths overflowed with merchandise; music and faery fire drifted through the night, and fey milled about in huge numbers, buying, talking and haggling with the vendors. I shrank back against the trunk, and Ash gave me a reassuring smile.

“It’s all right,” he said, leading me forward again. “In the Market, no one questions why you’re here or where you came from. The only thing they’re concerned about is the deal.”

“So, it’s safe, then?” I asked, as a faery with a wolf’s head stalked through the crowd, carrying a string of severed hands. Ash chuckled darkly.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

We joined the throng who, despite the jostling, shoving and snarled insults, paid us little attention. Unearthly vendors stood beside their booths or tents, crying out their wares, beckoning to passersby with long fingers or claws. A warty goblin caught my eye and grinned, pointing to his display of necklaces made of fingers, teeth and bones. A hag waved a shrunken pig’s head in my face, while a hulking troll tried handing me some kind of meat-on-a-stick. It smelled wonderful, until I noticed the crispy bird and rat heads stuck on the kebabs between other unidentifiable chunks, and hurried after Ash.

The oddities continued. Dream catchers made of spider silk and infant bones. Monkey Paws and Hands of Glory. One booth had a prominent display of still-beating hearts, while the tent beside it offered flowers of delicate spun glass. Everywhere I looked, I saw wonders, horrors, and the just plain weird. The vendors were incredibly persistent; if they caught you looking, they would leap in front of you, shouting the marvels of their wares and offering “a deal you can’t refuse.”

“A few locks of your hair,” cried a rat-faced imp, holding out a golden apple. “Be young and beautiful forever.” I shook my head and hurried on.

“A memory,” crooned a doe-eyed woman, waving a glittering amulet back and forth. “One tiny memory, and your greatest wish will be answered.” Yeah right. I’d done the whole memory thing before, thank you. It wasn’t pleasant.

“Your firstborn child,” quite a few of them wanted. “Your name. A phial of your tears. A drop of blood.” With every offer, I just shook my head and hurried after Ash, weaving my way through the crowds. Sometimes, a glare from the Ice prince would cower the more persistent vendors who followed us through the aisles or latched on to my sleeve, but mostly we just kept moving.