Page 36 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“Mother!” Her daughter reaches out beside me.

“I’ll help her,” I say. “You just focus on getting yourself down.”

Normally, I wouldn’t dream of manhandling a High Fae, but if there was ever a situation to sacrifice dignity in the name of practicality, this was it. I throw aside all my caution, shuffling down onto the steps and wrapping my arm around the waist of the older fae. She says nothing—doesn’t even really seem to notice me. She’s so weak that she’s almost entirely limp.

I try to move quickly, but it’s difficult, my shoes and skirts getting caught in the vines as we make the awkward journey downwards, with me half-dragging, half-guiding the High Fae woman. At the bottom, human servants and the stronger fae who—pale faced and nauseous—are otherwise managing to resist the iron, help her to her feet. I look up to see other fae are following my example, clambering down with their less-able companions. I immediately turn around and make my way back up the steps, helping to ferry another weakened fae from the top to the bottom. There’s more rustling beside me, and I watch as Ruskin’s powers continue to cover the iron in layer upon layer of vines, enrobing it greenery to try to dampen the iron’s sting.

On my third trip I grab a woman on her knees in the gallery. She’s crying, but barely making a noise.

“Come with me, I’ll help you down,” I say, wondering if she can hear me in her shock.

But she nods wordlessly, allowing me to guide her. It’s not until we’re halfway down that she seems to come back to herself, twisting in my grip.

“No, I have to go back,” she says, and I hear her mounting panic as she reaches up towards the gallery. “My boy, my son is up there.” Her voice rises to a shriek. “Where is he? Where is my son?”

“Just focus on getting to safety,” I say. “I can go back and look for him.”

“He was with me, and then he wasn’t.” She wails, but doesn’t fight me as I drag us closer to the ground.

When we reach the paving stones of the palace floor, she pulls free from my hold.

“What does your son look like?” I ask. “Maybe he’s hiding in one of the rooms up there,” I say, attempting to offer some hope.

Before she can answer, two familiar Low Fae rush up to us, one with mossy skin and another with a kind of mushroom complexion.

“My Lady,” gasps the mossy-faced one. “We were with Master Wildplume in the drawing room when the iron attacked. We were trapped.”

My heart plummets as I realize that I know exactly where this woman’s son is—at least, where his body lies impaled by the iron.

“Why isn’t he with you now?” Her fear makes the question a demand, and she takes a step towards her servants, searching them like they might somehow be hiding her son from her. They shrink back.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice coming out like a croak. “I was there. I tried to stop the iron…”

I can’t find the rest of the words, the image of the boy’s petrified face playing again in my mind. Why couldn’t I stop it? Why wasn’t I strong enough?

“He’s dead?” All color drains from her pretty face, and a stream of emotions cross it in quick succession. Disbelief. Horror. For a moment, I think she might vomit as she clutches her throat and covers her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, not knowing what else to offer her. The number of fae around us is growing as they continue evacuating the gallery.

The lady drops her hand, her face twisting into a new expression which stays there: hatred.

“You mean you let my son die, but you saved the servants?” The last word breaks into a screech of rage as she darts her hand towards me. I think she might claw my eyes out.

Then a strong arm clad in black catches her wrist before she can reach me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ruskin asks, his voice low and deadly.

“She killed my son!” the lady wails, a horrible, desperate sound. “She saved these worthless parasites but condemned a High Fae to slaughter.”

Ruskin eyes her coolly.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but many High Fae are dead,” he says, flinging her arm down. “And more would be if it weren’t for Eleanor. I suggest you take yourself away to grieve before you do something you’ll regret, Lady Petra.”

“Don’t you see that this freak wants to punish us? She probably let my boy die on purpose because she’d love to see our kind suffer. Stars, she’s probably the reason this iron is here in the first place!” Lady Petra jabs a long finger in my direction. “She’s a curse on this court, and she needs to be dealt with.”

Sparks fly from her outstretched hand like red embers, but I’m quick enough to dodge them. They strike the ground where I was just stood, sizzling against the stone, then dying out.

Before I take my next breath, thick vines are binding Lady Petra, wrapping around her wrists and yanking on them so that her arms twist behind her.

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