Page 65 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“How old is this place, anyway?”

“Millenia,” Ruskin says, his voice hushed with reverence for the space. “We don’t know who built it, but when they laid the foundation for the palace, they dug deep. We still have a bit of a walk yet.”

I try to wrap my head around that amount of time and fail. I’ve been around for two decades. To me, even a century seems impossibly long ago. It does for most humans. But the fae are a different matter.

“How old are you?” I blurt out, suddenly realizing I don’t have any real idea.

Ruskin glances at me.

“Three hundred and twenty-two.”

My jaw drops, but I quickly clamp it shut again. I knew he had centuries on me, but hearing it said so casually kind of puts it into perspective.

The passageway levels out, then splits into several directions. Remembering Cebba’s labyrinth in the Emerald Forest, I shudder. Hundreds of available paths but only one way out.

“So this is how you keep the stone’s location hidden?” I ask.

Ruskin nods. “You could wander these corridors for years and never find it unless you knew where you were going.”

“But you definitely do, right?” I ask as he strides ahead.

He lets out a low chuckle. “Yes. Since I was a child. The monarch’s family is taught early. We don’t just use the stone to rule, we’re supposed to protect it too.”

I keep close behind him, still not convinced I won’t get lost in this maze. I hate the part of me that wants to reach out to him for comfort and protection. I’m still haunted by the ghost of how he made me feel—safe, loved.

I keep my hand down at my side.

Eventually, the passage we’re in widens and we approach a circle of stone columns. A figure paces the perimeter, and as we get closer, I see it’s Evanthe, looking magnificent in a silver dress, the bodice sparkling in the faerie lights like it’s covered with stars.

She looks up as we approach and smiles.

“At last.”

I see now why she hasn’t entered the circle. There’s a single shoot of iron winding itself around the interior. It’s not as thick as the ones upstairs, but it seems to be more than enough to keep Ruskin and Evanthe at bay.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mother, but Eleanor has kindly agreed to help.”

I offer her a respectful nod, wondering if the two of them can tell how nervous I am. What if I can’t shift this iron for them? Can they still do the ritual? Or will the stone’s magic simply not work?

I feel a hand at the small of my back, nudging me forward.

“Go on, Iron Tamer,” Ruskin murmurs. “I know you can do it.”

I want to protest at this, because it’s not like he’s never been wrong before. But arguing won’t do any good, so instead I step towards the iron, already reaching out to read it.

It’s different when it’s not moving, impaling everything in its path. It’s easier to get hold of, to examine in my mind’s eye with my magic. There’s still more resistance there than with other metal, but that resistance doesn’t seem so conscious now—so alive.

I move close enough to lay my hands on the tendril and immediately hear a small intake of breath from Ruskin. He knows the iron won’t hurt me, but I suppress a smile, knowing his protective instinct kicked in anyway. I slide my palms along the cold metal, feeling that same echo of malice as before. Bracing myself, I wrap my magic around it—and then I start pushing.

The metal grinds, shifting beneath my hand a few inches.

“That’s it,” Ruskin says, pleased.

But even that small movement was hard work. I pause, wiping a bead of sweat from my face, then take a breath and push again, throwing the weight of my power behind it. Nothing for a second—then the iron retreats—inch by inch, foot by foot, sliding back beneath the earth it erupted from like a huge, gray worm. It requires less effort as the moments slip by, as if it accepts its defeat. By the end, the last tendril disappears quickly under the surface of the soil.

I kick the dirt over the hole it leaves behind. I can still feel it there, under the ground, but it’s covered enough not to be a threat. I swallow, trying to catch my breath. If I thought I was sweaty and gross before, it’s twice as bad now.

“Are you all right?” Ruskin is by my side, his hand at my back again. I can’t help but notice that he finds any excuse to touch me, and that I rarely protest when he does.

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