Page 63 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“Thanks,” I say, giving her a genuine smile.

“But this isn’t the job Dawnsong gave you,” she says, setting the mask down. Surprisingly, there isn’t judgment in her voice. Instead, I think I detect a hint of curiosity, as if she simply can’t understand why I’m not following orders.

“No, but this will help people quicker. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.”

“Not just people, the Low Fae,” Halima corrects.

“Yes,” I say, not sure what she’s getting at. “Is that a problem?”

“Most wouldn’t bother,” she says.

“Maybe you’re used to being around people who wouldn’t care, but there’s plenty of folk who value compassion, who don’t like to see other people in pain, whether they think they’re better than them or not,” I say. “Look at you—you help the Low Fae. I saw you in the first iron attack, making sure the servants got out of the hall.”

“You know why I notice the Low Fae when others don’t,” Halima says stiffly. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up—didn’t know if she’d want me to—but I nod now.

“Because of your blood? Destan said you had some Low Fae ancestry.”

She snorts, which is so unlike Halima it startles me. “As if that wasn’t obvious from just looking at me.”

I shrug. Halima doesn’t look as human as the other High Fae. Her skin and hair, dappled and textured like a tree, give away that she has more in common with the fae servants of the palace than Ruskin and Destan do.

“Does it make a difference?” I ask.

“It shouldn’t,” she says. “I am the best fighter in this court, my parents are war heroes, and yet when I swore my sword to Dawnsong, there were whispers about what kind of prince would accept someone lesser in his inner circle.” Her hand is on the pommel of her sword, a gesture I notice she makes when she’s unsettled.

“Maybe this doesn’t mean much coming from a human, who we all know is considered the lowest of the low in these parts, but I think they’re all idiots. All the stuff they value—blood, status and power—doesn’t exactly seem to have left this court in a better place. You have, though.”

Halima looks faintly moved. She gives me a curt nod.

“And you, Eleanor Thorn.”

I smile at her, my gaze falling on the pile of lead equipment.

“I hope to find a way to make a difference, but this is my best bet until we have some breakthrough elsewhere. What we need is something to stop the iron, instead of just reducing its impact.”

“That is partly why I’m here,” Halima says. “Dawnsong has decided that Queen Evanthe is now ready to be reinstated.”

I lift my eyebrows in surprise. “He has?”

“I believe he feels the sooner it happens, the better. He thinks we will be more…protected, with her officially on the throne once more.”

“And you?” I ask, noticing her hesitation.

“I will just be glad when we are no longer deceiving the court about its true leader. The people are dissatisfied as it is.”

I wonder what it’s like to be Halima, having to be always on the front line, trying to keep constant watch for the slightest threat against Ruskin—trying to predict them before they even rear their heads.

“So what does Evanthe’s coronation have to do with me?” I ask.

“Dawnsong has requested your presence.”

I blink. “Mine? Why?”

“He didn’t go into details.”

Of course he didn’t. Ruskin doesn’t explain anything he doesn’t have to.

“And he sent you to fetch me?” I say, unimpressed.

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