Page 19 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“No need to hover. This will go faster if you give me some space so I can concentrate,” I tell him, my voice clipped.

His grin reveals his sharp white teeth. I know that smile. The bitter edge to it is very far from real humor.

“My apologies.” He takes a few steps back and gestures to his mother. “Have a try.”

I swallow and then hover my hand over Evanthe’s.

“May I?” I ask Ruskin.

“Please.”

I take one of her hands in mine, closing my eyes and reaching for my magic. Ruskin is right that it feels like it’s always moving, to the point that in the past it’s reached for me in return without me even asking. Usually when I’m in trouble. But here, without any immediate threat, it’s harder to get it to listen and respond. That is, until I employ Ruskin’s suggestion and simply stay with that rippling surface until its frantic energy dies down, waiting for guidance and instruction.

I focus on the warm hand in mine, on the body attached to it. It’s easy, in a way, because the body is itself just a system of channels, a map full of routes waiting to be followed. In my mind I remember Mom’s lessons on anatomy and trace my focus up the veins in her arm, into her arteries…

The picture Ruskin promised comes to me then.

Iron. It’s broken down so fine it’s almost a powder, but I can see it floating in hazy gray clouds, choking Evanthe’s body, suffocating it. Remembering Destan when he was speared by the same substance, I ache at the thought of the kind of agony Evanthe must have been in when she was attacked by humans all those years ago. It’s no wonder her magic immediately put her into a sleep—it would’ve been the only way to preserve her sanity, I’m sure.

I pull away from the image, laying down her hand and opening my eyes.

“I see it. The iron has broken down so much over the years…it’s like it’s polluting her body.” I think of the rivers in Styrland, contaminated thanks to King Albrecht’s negligence, and how hard life has to fight to exist in such waters. “It must’ve been so hard for her to hold on for all this time.”

“Nearly impossible,” Ruskin says to me with a layer of knowing I don’t bother trying to dissect. “Are you ready to try drawing it out?”

“What?” His eagerness startles me. “No, Ruskin. This isn’t like pulling iron out with a magnet or manipulating gold. There’s barely anything physical to hold on to.”

“It’s a good thing your magic isn’t a physical object either, then. At least, not in the way you can hold it in your hands.”

I reach out for the mental picture again, this time discovering I don’t need to touch Evanthe or close my eyes to find it. I examine the dark fogginess before me, shaking my head.

“It’s much easier with gold. I don’t even need to try. It’s just sort of drawn to me.”

“That doesn’t mean this iron won’t respond to you.”

I can hear the strain of him holding back what he really wants to say. I think it surprises him, this reluctance on my part. After all, the Eleanor he knew didn’t need to be prompted to experiment and try new things. He changed that, though, when he taught me to doubt myself and my instincts. If I could be so wrong about him, then how can I trust my judgment about other things—about myself?

“Why are you so certain?” I demand. “How can you be sure I can do this?”

He doesn’t hesitate, making his answer sound as inevitable as the rising sun.

“Because, Eleanor, you’re you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

He emits a little huff, like I’m being deliberately obtuse.

“You’ve already achieved far beyond anything you should have been able to. Before I could even see the obstacles you might come up against, you’d met them head on and found ways to overcome them. I’m not blind to the dangers of this world for someone like you, but what I couldn’t have anticipated is how much of a force you’d be in return.”

I already knew Ruskin sees me in a way others don’t, but he’s never been so candid before. I open my eyes, trying to keep my face blank, but inside his words touch me, reminding me of the depths that hide beneath his mask: a man who understands the part of me that needs this acknowledgement.

“You’re sure this isn’t just flattery to soften me up because you want your mother back?” I ask, trying to minimize his sincerity even as it warms me.

“I do want her back. But I also want you to see that Faerie might be a better fit for you than you realize.”

I stiffen.

“After all, it brings out a side of you even you didn’t know was there.”

---