Page 43 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“I expected better from you, Lord Zastel.”

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but I fear we are ignoring the evidence.”

“There is no evidence,” Ruskin snarls. “Only suppositions and guesses.”

There’s silence for a moment, and I think that Ruskin’s anger might’ve scared his audience into leaving, then comes a reedy voice I recognize.

“If you’ll please, my Lord, there is evidence.” It’s Ephor Jorna, the woman from the square with the prophecies.

“Beyond your dusty texts?” Ruskin replies. “Enlighten me.”

It’s Zastel who answers.

“We know no fae would have a hand in crafting cold iron. That abomination has always been the product of humans. For it to appear now, here, in our court…it must be a warning that allowing anything human to infect our way of life will poison us. It is one thing to have humans as servants, but a human with magic? You must see that this Eleanor Thorn is a bad omen.”

My stomach twists at his words, then a third voice speaks, a woman.

“It cannot be coincidence, my Lord, that she is the only one who can stop the iron. Her existence, the abnormality of it, must be what’s inviting these attacks. Ephor Jorna has seen it.”

Jorna speaks next, sounding less certain. “Well…things are open to interpretation, of course, but I agree there could be something to it. If the unnaturalness of this girl being human and magical is creating an imbalance and poisoning the veins of this court?—”

“Enough.”

I can hear the anger making Ruskin’s voice as sharp as steel.

“I hadn’t taken the Seelie for such a collection of gullible fools. Eleanor Thorn’s presence in this court has saved it from greater disaster than you can imagine. And that was before she proved she was the only one who could do anything about this iron.”

“My Lord, perhaps if we could speak with the High Queen?—”

“Do not test my patience any further, Lord Zastel. I will not have you waste my mother’s time with childish superstition. If you choose to indulge in bedtime stories about the evil of humans, then that is your affair, but Eleanor Thorn is here to protect the court, and therefore she will remain under my protection. Now, leave my sight before I decide it is you who brings bad luck to this kingdom.”

I feel the heat of the three High Fae dissipate, leaving Ruskin alone. Mentally working my way back from that point, I can tell where he is now, or, at least, how to get to him. I release my magic, but feel instantly drained, my legs aching and my pulse beating in my temples like I’ve been sprinting. Despite this, the exercise has definitely extended my sense of awareness. As intense as it was, the longer I maintained focus on the silver at a distance, the stronger my hold on it became. By the end of their conversation, my sense of the space and their presence was as clear as the area right outside my workshop, even though I now have to take deep breaths to calm my thudding heart and burning lungs.

Yet part of me wishes I hadn’t heard the conversation at all. I leave the workshop to go show Ruskin that I’ve passed his test, not needing to glance at the silver to know the direction I’m heading. I felt this path with my mind before I walked it, and I notice it makes the route feel familiar to me, allowing my mind to wander.

It was nice to hear Ruskin stick up for me. But he’s always been protective—to a fault. I’ve seen him take more than one life because of a perceived threat to me. If Lord Zastel hadn’t been willing to take no for an answer, it’s likely that things would have turned bloody.

I’m also confident that Ruskin will not mention any of this to me. If the High Fae are labeling me a bad omen, I should know, and yet I’m sure that he’ll try to keep it from me, just as he always does. More secrets, more doors closed in my face. More proof that he’ll never see me as the true partner I wanted to be. More reasons not to give in to his flirting…or the attraction to him that burns as hot as ever. I might not be able to stop myself from wanting him, but I’ll be damned if I give myself to him when I know how little he’s willing to give back.

I force my thoughts away from my relationship woes and concentrate once more on the words of the High Fae.

Unnatural, they’d called me. Freak was the word Lady Petra had used yesterday. I suppose to a fae, a human with magic would seem like something freakish, like an animal that can talk. But even the birds here do that, and no one seems bothered by it. Yet they consider my magic so strange and dangerous. Could they be right?

I think of the dark, musty house of the changeling, her piercing gaze as she explained how I, unlike normal human children, could not survive without the true name ritual. Am I really so warped that my body needed something magical and nonhuman to survive?

I find Ruskin, picking up the end of the chain outside the door before entering the room I know he’s in to hand it over. He straightens up when he sees me, his hard expression softening in a way that plucks at my jumbled insides.

“Here,” I say. “It worked.”

“You used your magic?” He gives me a sly look. “You didn’t cheat?”

“No. I stayed in the workshop until I knew where you were. You were right, I could reach further than I thought.”

My answers are flat, but I can’t bring myself to change that. My earlier enthusiasm has vanished. I don’t want to talk about this test now. What I want is to understand how I can pass it in the first place—how I got this magic. And I know that answer isn’t going to come from Ruskin.

“What’s wrong?” Ruskin asks, studying me.

“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m hungry. Let’s take a break so I can eat.”

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