Page 2 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“I didn’t have a choice,” I snap. I know how foolish I’d been, but I’d been desperate too. And in the end, I’d gotten what I wanted. I had my freedom now. All it cost me was a broken heart. Ironic, considering I’d gone to Faerie to mend his.

“Anyway, it was my skills he wanted, my metallurgy. I did the job he asked, and he let me go.”

“Just like that?” she asks, skeptical.

No, of course not. First, he made me love him. Then I had the world pulled out from under my feet when I found out how much he’d been deceiving me. He’d always had his secrets, but these—about my abilities, about my own mother—were too much to swallow. He’d looked me in the eye and let me think he trusted me, and I could trust him, all the while keeping from me things about the very core of who I am.

“It was hard,” I say to Ruth. “But I found a way.”

Ruth lays down the cloth she’s been using to clean Dad’s wound and takes my left hand. I try to resist, but she has strong surgeon’s hands, and she pulls open my fist to reveal the stump of my ring finger, severed by Ruskin’s sister Cebba before I killed her.

“I know there’s more you’re not telling me,” she says, and I squirm under her stare. Then, to my surprise, she drops my hand and turns back to Dad.

“Let me wake him up now,” she says, reaching for a small, green bottle that I assume is smelling salts. I exhale, relieved she’s letting this drop. I know that sooner or later I’m going to have to deal with my feelings about Ruskin. But not tonight. Tonight, my home’s been wrecked, and my father’s been beaten. I’m full up on trauma for now.

“You can’t stitch him up while he’s unconscious?” I ask. I’d hoped we could avoid putting him through more pain.

“I’ve cleaned the wound, but it’s better to check he’s still got his wits about him before we do anything else,” she explains, waving the bottle under Dad’s nose. I can smell its sharp odor from here, so I’m not surprised when his nostrils twitch and his eyes blink open.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, my smile not hiding the strain in my voice.

“Nora?”

“Isaac, can you see my finger?” Ruth holds up her index finger. “Can you follow it for me?”

Dad obliges, his eyes tracing it as it swings back and forth in front of his face.

“The eyes can help tell you if there’s any problem inside the head,” she explains to me. “If they’re off balance, something in the brain could be too.”

She drops her hand, looking satisfied.

“Is he all right?” I ask. I’m a little uncomfortable talking about Dad like he’s not there, but he’s still looking between us, dazed, not even trying to speak up for himself. I hope it’s more to do with waking up in a strange place, and maybe the shock of seeing me, rather than the cut on his head.

“I don’t think it’s a concussion. Not a serious one anyway. He hasn’t vomited?”

I think back to when I found him in the cottage, but there was no evidence of him being sick. I shake my head.

“Then I think with some rest he should be okay.”

For the first time in what must be weeks, a genuine smile finds me, and I squeeze Dad’s hand. He lays his head back and closes his eyes, but when I look to Ruth, alarmed, she just nods as if she expected it. All right, then, his sleepiness is nothing to worry about. We step over towards the door so as not to disturb him when she starts speaking again.

“You’re a good girl,” she says approvingly. “You looked after your dad well. Leah would be proud.”

“I’m just glad I got back when I did,” I say, looking over at him. “If I’d been even a day later…”

I don’t finish the sentence, instead shuddering at the thought of how lucky my timing had been. A little earlier, and I’d have been caught by Albrecht’s men. A little later…what condition would Dad be in if he’d been left like that another day, with the cabin freezing cold and no one to stop his bleeding? Would our neighbors have helped him? Or would they have even realized what had happened before it was too late?

The idea is too much to bear. Dad is all I have left now, the only person I truly trust. After my time in Faerie, I know how precious trust can be—and how betrayal can come from the most painful of places.

Ruth is watching me again and I sense she wants to ask me more about where I’ve been—that mysterious, dangerous world we usually only hear about in old stories and unreliable tales. I see her eyes fall to the place where my finger should be and I self-consciously pull my hand behind my back.

“That’s not Blackcoat’s doing,” I say, “in case you’re wondering.”

Why am I defending him? He doesn’t need or deserve my protection. But Ruth doesn’t seem intrigued by this statement. Instead, she looks worried, almost like she’s having a debate with herself.

“There’s something I think you should know,” she says at last. “Whatever happened to you in Faerie…well…this might be important.”

I stare at her, her sudden change in tone worrying me.

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