Page 46 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

You forget how fast fae can be until three figures are bearing down on you in the blink of an eye. I can’t see their faces, they’re obscured by unsettling masks with exaggerated features—clownish expressions with gaping mouths.

I back away, suddenly aware of how far I’ve strayed from familiar territory. I’m in a deserted corner of the palace I don’t recognize. But even though I’m alone and cornered, that doesn’t mean I’m helpless. You can protect yourself now, I remind myself, clamping down on my panic.

I start by screaming, making a racket in case anyone is nearby, while at the same time I search the approaching fae, knowing there must be something I can use—a knife, a necklace—hell, even a brass button would do.

A chill runs through me when I realize they’ve thought of that. There’s not a trace of metal on them, from the ties fastening their masks right down to their leather shoes.

But when I got dressed this morning, I definitely put some metal on. I reach into my hair to tug out the pins keeping it up, using my magic to sharpen a handful of them so their tips will draw blood. I fling the first one towards them, guiding its direction like an arrow whistling through the air. It stabs itself deep into the shoulder of the tallest attacker. A male voice shouts in pain, but he pulls the pin from his flesh, letting it drop, and continues to advance on me.

I back up another step, realizing I need to be more strategic with my aim. I focus in on the glitter of their eyes beneath the holes of their masks. If I could just get a pin in through there?—

But the male raises his hand, and in that instant, I know that magic, rather than metal, will be their weapon. His ghost-white mask is the last thing I see before I’m hit with a beam of light so bright I think he’s seared my pupils from the inside out. I scream again—in pain, this time—and drop to the floor, spilling the pins and thrashing my head, trying somehow to get that burning light out of my eyes.

But no matter how tight I squeeze them shut, the blinding brightness is still there. I feel hands on me, grabbing tight, ripping the sleeve of my dress with the force of their grip, long fingernails scratching the flesh beneath. I try to kick out, and my foot connects with a leg beside me.

There’s a satisfying grunt, then a rib-shattering blow to my side that knocks all the wind out of me.

“Quick, before she can make more noise,” comes a shrill voice that I know but can’t place.

Hands close around my throat. I’ve been here before, with a crushing force squeezing my windpipe. Just as it did the last time, my brain fires off wild thoughts as I struggle for air, my head throbbing, lungs screaming for breath. Back then the attack was in the middle of the night, of course, and I had metal on my side. When I blink, I notice the searing white light has been replaced with looming blackness, closing in on me.

Then I hear a scream that definitely isn’t mine.

“Hortense!” the male shouts, and I suddenly know why that shrill voice sounded familiar.

There’s stomping, the crackle of magic, and a strange gargling noise down on the ground beside me. But most importantly, the hands around my throat let go.

I curl in on myself, choking and spitting as my vision comes back to me. There’s no room for relief that I’m not permanently blind, all I can do is stare at the mossy paving stones in front of me as my lungs spasm, trying to restore air to my starved body.

I notice, in sharp focus despite my watery eyes, that the moss is stained dark and wet-looking. It’s covered in blood, but not mine. I follow the trickle to a pile of orange curls, a dislodged mask and a freckled face. Hortense, Galaphina’s friend, is lying there with a blank expression, probably due to the dagger sticking out of her back.

“On your knees.”

I know the words from that intimidating, regal voice can’t be directed at me. I’m already on my knees.

I look up to see Evanthe five feet from me. She’s magnificent in an emerald dress, her brown hair coiled around her shoulders, and in that moment she’s looking down at the remaining two of my attackers with all the heavy judgment of an avenging angel.

Even with their masks still on, I can see they won’t look her in eye, their gazes fixed on Hortense’s body.

Evanthe takes another step towards them, and they flinch.

“Show yourselves,” she commands. Without hesitation, the pair pull off their masks, revealing Vanis, Galaphina’s other friend, and a girl with the same golden blonde hair that I think must be a relative.

I’m still gasping in mouthfuls of air, my rib cage shifting painfully with each inhale, but all my attention turns to the queen.

The disappointment is written plainly across her face, quiet anger rather than the burning rage I see in Ruskin. She examines the faces of Vanis and the girl, frowning.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asks, shaking her head.

The girl is crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Revenge,” she sniffs. “For my sister.”

Evanthe glances at me and I give her a grateful nod, trying to communicate—silently, given my aching throat—my thanks for saving my life. The queen addresses the sister.

“Revenge is a poisonous motivation, child. It places your anger in the hands of another and gives them control over it. And over you. That can have deadly consequences.”

Evanthe gestures to Hortense, who I realize must have been the one strangling me. Evanthe stopped her life with an expertly aimed dagger before she could stop mine.

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