Page 68 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

Ruskin says something to Evanthe, then fixes his gaze on me. I only realize what he has planned when he leaps forward.

“Don’t!” I yell, but I’m too late.

He vaults over the twisting iron, wincing as he lands one foot on it to propel him further across the corridor. The iron splits into more shoots, hungrily twisting around the spot his leg was a second before. Ruskin lands in front of me, reaching out to grip my arm.

“What do you need to stop this?” he asks.

I swallow at his confidence in me—his conviction that I can stop this relentless, terrible thing.

“I need to get closer to the orchard,” I say. “Soon, before this whole place is overrun.”

Ruskin nods, taking my hand. “Come with me.”

He’s so much faster, so much stronger than I am. He weaves us through the crowds of people, past the undulating artery of metal, dodging its sudden offshoots, and scooping me up into his arms when we need to clear an obstacle I can’t jump. As we run, I try to prepare my magic for the huge task ahead of me, but the rumbling of the palace’s stones and the screams of the fae around me invade my mind, distracting me as I try to visualize and still the inner pool.

You’ve called on it with more distraction than this, I remind myself. Just a few days ago, up against Ruskin on the training field, I was fighting off direct physical attacks at the same time as magical ones, and still holding my own.

Ruskin sets me down a few feet from the orchard. It’s as close as we can get with all the iron, and I notice the slight shake in his arms as he lets me go.

“You don’t need to stay,” I say. I don’t want him to suffer.

“Yes I do,” he replies, his bright eyes burning with intensity.

I don’t argue. Instead, I turn and find that sharp focus I discovered in training, not asking the pool of magic to still, but willing it to.

Almost immediately I feel the iron pushing back—puncturing holes in my power. I pull away and try a different attack. Weaving a net out of my power and catching the iron up in it. It’s like wrestling a huge, angry serpent.

I let out a scream of pure exertion, my face contorting as I put every ounce of effort into the spell. I think I feel a blood vessel pop somewhere near my eye and my muscles beg for a break, as if I’m actually in a physical fight, but I don’t give in. I’ll keep pushing through until the iron stops or I pass out…or maybe both.

The iron thrashes under my magic—once, twice, but then at last it stops spreading, slowing its sprawl through the palace. The orchard exits are no longer shaking in their foundations as the iron stops pumping through them. The dark tendril right in front of us twitches and stills.

It’s not good enough, though. I have to keep going. I need to send some of it back, to free the palace so everyone left can get to safety.

Push harder.

It’s only my mind’s own limitations saying I can’t do this. I’ve seen—I’ve done—more impossible things than this. No way this is where I meet my match. I won’t let that happen.

The iron nearest us begins to groan—the grind of metal against stone as I tug on the leash of magic I’ve constructed. The iron moves some more, but every inch is a battle, and I gasp, unable to catch my breath. I keep sucking in air, but it feels like it’s doing nothing for me.

“Eleanor,” Ruskin says.

“Wait,” I choke out.

“Ella…” He places a hand at my waist, tracing a finger across my ribs. “Ella, stop. That’s enough. You’ve done enough.”

He’s giving me permission to quit, and I’m at once grateful and angry at him for it. Because this is my job, I’m the one who has to do something about this, and I know I haven’t succeeded. Not really. But at the same time, my body is screaming for relief, and I honestly don’t know how much longer I can stay standing.

I let go of my magic.

My muscles sag, and the hand at my waist becomes a support as Ruskin holds me to him. I feel the warmth of his chest through the shirt at my cheek and sigh. I want to bury my face against him, close my eyes and never again look at the evil, gray metal.

But that’s not possible. This world isn’t going to save itself.

I lift my head, pulling away from Ruskin.

“I need to look at the orchard.”

“I don’t think—” Ruskin starts to protest, but I cut him off.

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