Page 54 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“It’s hard,” I say reflexively, tired and sore, but I regret my complaint the moment I air it. Halima rounds on me.

“Hard? Hard? You’re right it’s hard. Dying is easy, Eleanor. If you want to stay alive, you need to fight like it’s worth the effort. What are you going to do the next time a High Fae decides they want you dead? Stamp your feet and complain about it being too much work?”

I scowl. “I don’t stamp my feet,” I grumble halfheartedly. Halima just nods—she knows I’ve gotten the point. If you want the result, you have to put the work in. You can’t give up, no matter what. It was that mindset that kept me working with metal all those years, conducting experiment after experiment to get the results I needed.

I’m worn out, but if we’re going to call it a day on this training, I need to show Halima that we’re making progress—that I won’t quit when things get tough.

I lift my arms back into a fighting stance, rally my frayed mind, and raise my sword.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go again.”

I think Halima smiles, but the expression is gone too quick to confirm. And then I can’t be bothered to look at her face because she raises her sword and comes at me.

Up until now, I’ve tried to just manipulate my own sword, guiding it into the parries and thrusts Halima has shown me, pulling it into place as her blade comes whistling through the air at me. I haven’t touched Halima’s weapon—partly because I know I need to learn defense as much as offense, but also because when I’ve gotten close to sensing Halima’s sword with my magical awareness, it had felt too big and too firmly locked into her grip to budge.

But I try it now. I only have seconds before her sword will collide with mine, and, unless I have my magic ready, my weapon will go flying out of my hand. I decide I need to get to hers first. Focusing in on the flashing strip of metal, I race down the length of it in my mind, until I reach the curve of the handle and Halima’s large hand wrapped around it.

I put all my remaining strength into pulling on it.

To my surprise, the blade rips from Halima’s fingers. She looks bewildered, totally confused as to what has just happened. Now it’s her turn for her weapon to go flying through the air. I still have control of it, though, and in a final flourish, even as the effort of it makes me wince, I slow its momentum. I let out a pant as the sword drifts towards me, the handle landing in my outstretched palm.

I grin. “Now I bet you didn’t thi?—”

It hits me like a lightning strike.

One moment I’m in the training square with Halima, the next I’m standing on the bank of a hill. The sky is black with a rolling fog, a thick stench of fire and magic seeping from it, blinding and choking me.

Then a gust of wind lifts it, carrying the wave of smoke up over the hill, clearing my view.

This time, I nearly choke on my own horror.

Screams of agony rip through my ears as I take in the sight of a battlefield. There are bodies everywhere, limbs lying severed and mangled in the grass, bits of flesh and bone barely identifiable as bodies entwined around ragged uniforms and dented armor, piled on top of each other so you don’t know where one person ends and another begins.

Now the fog has cleared, I can smell the decay and death. The ground is slick and dark with blood. Three feet from me a horse lies with its side ripped open, its rider draped across its exposed ribs, her own eyes wide and unseeing. From the half of her face not mashed to a pulp, I can tell she was beautiful—High Fae.

Most of them are. Their elegant bodies have been slashed to ribbons, or crushed by blunt objects, or turned purple and bulging from vines wrapped around their now limp necks: a field of slaughtered angels, except this place is worse than hell.

Below me the battle rages on, the clash of steel joining the groans of the dying, as swords meet and spells collide, filling the air with even more sparks and smoke.

I feel cold, bone-weary grief at the sight of it. A rage and sorrow that I fear will never leave me as long as I live. It is knitted into my soul now—the stain of slaughter. I look down and see my breastplate spattered with blood, my sword in one hand and in the other…

My stomach roils in disgust, and I throw the severed head of the fae I’ve just butchered from me.

But I must collect myself. This is war and I am a soldier. Whatever they ask of me, I must answer the call. If I must blacken my spirit for my kingdom, I shall. I raise my blade, and sprint towards the fray…

The loose earth of the training square softens the impact as my knees hit the ground. I fling the sword from me, thick sobs clawing up my throat.

Halima bends over me, shaking me.

“Eleanor. Eleanor!”

“Oh God,” I gasp, relief flooding through me as I take in the familiar sight of her, the sound of birds in the air and the empty courtyard, where the sun shines on bloodless ground.

Chapter 17

“Eleanor.” Halima keeps shaking me, which, given her size, risks knocking me over. I open my mouth to try to explain.

“I…I saw…”

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