Page 26 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

Servants begin to bring in the food and their arrival gives an opportunity for the chatter of the court to peter out. Despite its delicious smell and appearance, I steadfastly ignore the dishes laid out on the table in front of me. I’ve already learned the hard way the intoxicating consequence of eating fae food.

A curtain of what looks like seaweed drifts into the corner of my vision, and I turn to see Kaline, the maid who tended to me on my last stay here, sliding a bowl of soup in front of me.

“I had the cook make it special when I heard you were back,” she says with a smile, her teeth like pearls. “All human, I promise.” She gives me a wink, and I force myself to smile as I thank her, knowing it’s not even her job to serve the food.

I am grateful for the kindness, but it’s hard to trust these simple, friendly gestures after Cebba. I’d been so convinced that the servant girl she pretended to be was my friend, only to discover that every welcoming gesture and intimate conversation was a ruse to draw me deeper into her web. But Kaline has never tried to push the boundaries set between us. Only once have I seen her gentle demeanor shift, when she was dealing with the aftermath of Ruskin’s angry execution of some guards. An anger stoked by an attack on me…

I let my eyes move sideways to consider the man on my right. To my surprise, I note he’s not wearing his Unseelie features. His eyes remain the same bright, yellowy-green, but the pupils are round, plus there’s no horns or claws in sight. He usually wears them like a disguise whenever he appears before court. No, not a disguise, like armor. Perhaps for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel the need to protect himself against his own court. And perhaps that’s because they aren’t going to be his court for much longer.

“My Lord,” a more mature High Fae addresses Ruskin. “May I ask how any of this is possible?” He then turns to Evanthe. “Of course, Your Majesty, I’m overjoyed at your return, but…we were given to believe your sickness was nearly impossible to overcome.”

Evanthe looks to Ruskin, her eyes then falling on me where I sit beside him. Her son takes her cue.

“A worthwhile question, Lord Glidma.” He looks at me. “We have Eleanor Thorn to thank for my mother’s recovery.”

I feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on me and try to take a leaf out of Evanthe’s book, staring back at them all with my best pretense of indifference.

“May I ask how?” Lord Glidma replies, a slight tilt of his head the only sign of his confusion.

This time Evanthe answers.

“Miss Thorn is quite talented when it comes to metal,” Evanthe says. “She, unlike our kind, is unaffected by the bite of cold iron and so was capable of removing it from me.”

“Just with human tools?” Lord Glidma asks, sounding more perplexed.

“With magic,” Ruskin says bluntly. There a smile playing about his lips, and I think he’s actually having fun playing with his subject’s confusion like this.

The ensuing rumble from the Seelie Court isn’t quite as loud as when Evanthe appeared, but it’s close to it.

“I knew Eleanor was gifted in this area, so I brought her here to help my mother.” I watch him, understanding how he’s rewriting the narrative, erasing Cebba’s curse and my part in lifting it. How easily the lie falls from his lips. Of course, it’s a technical truth—this time it is why he’s brought me here—but it simultaneously obscures the reality.

“A human, with magic?” someone mutters to my left.

“Some ancient fae ancestry, perhaps?” another High Fae suggests, more loudly, though they can’t conceal their distaste at the thought.

“Perhaps,” Ruskin replies.

I hate being talked about like I’m not here, but I also have nothing to add. I don’t care what these people think about me—whether they’re grateful to me for saving their queen or not. Soon all this will be a distant memory.

A blue-haired woman whom I remember as being a notorious talker joins in, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“It’s rather ironic, don’t you think, Your Majesty, that your cure should come from the same quarter as your attack?”

Evanthe seems to think about this before responding. “It’s an interesting observation. It would suggest that fate favors balance, I think. Even the worst crimes will find a fitting resolution eventually.” She gives me an appreciative look, and I’m thankful she doesn’t hold my species against me—especially when the blue-haired lady had to go and remind everyone that it was humans who attacked her in the first place.

“Might I propose a toast?” Lord Zastel says. I barely recognize him as the fae who was brutally attacked by a rabid creature before Ruskin’s curse was broken. He looks well now, and is lifting his goblet with a genuine smile on his face.

“I would think that very fitting, Lord Zastel,” Ruskin replies, reaching for his own cup.

But before anyone speaks another word, a wave of chills grips my body, like a fever striking out of nowhere. I look around the court, searching for the source of this sudden sensation, the feeling of something big and unstoppable hurtling towards me—towards us. For a few seconds more, the faces of the Seelie Court seem unchanged, then Destan shifts next to Ruskin, his hand going to grip the table. Halima’s fist goes to her sword, and all around me fae fidget like they, too, feel something isn’t quite right.

Then the floor of the orchard explodes.

Chapter 9

The earth flies upwards in a swirling spray as something dark and twisting erupts from beneath. It’s thick as a person, and at first I think it’s some kind of great, gray snake. It rises from the grassy floor of the dining room, then continues to grow, coiling its way across the space, spreading.

It hits the nearest tree, punching a chunk out of it as it glides by, as if the trunk was soft as butter. Fae throw themselves from a table that’s a pile of shattered wood a moment later, smashed to pieces by the long, advancing coil.

---