Page 78 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

Across the border the landscape changes far more quickly than should be possible—the atmosphere too. The balmy air of the Seelie Kingdom leeches away, to be replaced by a stiff breeze that burrows into my clothes. Ruskin doesn’t seem to notice, but I pull a cloak from one of my horse’s packs to ward off the chill. The mountains dominate the land here, and we pick our way along rocky trails, always ascending, it seems, as we leave any view of the Emerald Forest behind.

Eventually, we start passing fellow travelers on the road. Ruskin nods confidently to them as we pass, bedecked in his Unseelie features, while I keep my hood up and my head down like he’s instructed. It’s not out of the question for an Unseelie to travel with a human servant, but Ruskin tells me that humans are less common in this kingdom, and so I’m likely to draw more attention. Still, I risk peeking out at them from under my hood as they pass.

The Low Fae passing us now look far from human, but where their Seelie cousins sport skin like moss and hair like flowers, these people look much fiercer. There’s not a pretty bloom in sight, instead their skin is either white and hard as bleached bone, or dark and craggy like rock. Tusks protrude from some of their mouths and others have thick tufts of fur poking out from under their clothes.

I try not to stare. I had some context for the Seelie fae when I first came to Faerie, but the Unseelie rarely come to the market in Styrland. The ones who do, like my friend Maidar, don’t typically strike the kind of bargains you hear about in cautionary tales—the dangerous ones that end badly for us humans. Maidar, with his goat-horns and gravelly voice, would only sell me augium in return for fae gold and human books.

“Magna Lunis, friend,” comes a voice from up ahead. I peek out under my cloak to see four fae riding up to us. They wear none of the silks and chiffon of the Seelie, but I can see their leather tunics and boots are exquisitely made. They look mostly human, but each of them sports a set of animalistic eyes, putting me in mind of snakes and wolves, and when they smile, they expose delicate fangs. These must be the High Fae of the Unseelie.

I tense, knowing that while the Low Fae probably wouldn’t think to question Ruskin, these people are a different matter. But Ruskin just inclines his head and offers what I assume is the expected response from the fae’s greeting.

“And may its light bless you.”

They nod back and, to my relief, ride on past him. I tilt my head away when the last of them—a long-haired male—glances my way, then urge my horse to catch up to Ruskin as they carry on.

“Maybe we should find a quieter road,” I murmur to Ruskin. “I don’t want?—”

“Wait!” The same commanding voice rings out behind us and I freeze. Ruskin grabs my reins and turns our horses, so we can face the group of High Fae now trotting back after us.

“Yes?” Ruskin asks, his tone relaxed.

The long-haired fae bares his teeth.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice? That you could sneak a Seelie into our kingdom right under our noses?” he barks.

“Seelie?” Ruskin cocks his head, pulling my hood back so my ears can be seen. “She’s human.”

“Not her, you.”

Ruskin looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Is it my horns that are confusing you, or these?” He holds up his hand so that his claws flash menacingly in the weak sunlight.

The long-haired fae just narrows his eyes.

“You’re Seelie. You can’t pretend. I could smell it when I rode by,” he hisses.

The jig is clearly up, and I glare at Ruskin, turning my head to mutter at him.

“Shouldn’t you have thought of that?” So much for his Unseelie features working as a disguise.

He shrugs. “I forgot,” he says, loud enough for the others to hear. He obviously thinks there’s no use maintaining the lie now. “I’m usually the only one whose nose is that good.”

“Kasgill is a master hunter,” one of the others, a female with antlers and blond hair tied back in lots of small braids, says proudly.

“Good for him,” Ruskin replies archly. “Unfortunately, there’s no prey for him here.”

“I beg to differ,” growls Kasgill. “A Seelie and his human pet in our kingdom? Fair game, I’d say.”

“Half-Seelie,” Ruskin corrects with a roll of his eyes. “And she’s not a pet. I assure you, Eleanor is far from tame.” He throws me a wink over his shoulder, and I want to hurl my sword at him. He might not be worried about taking these guys on, but I can’t stop focusing on those fangs and pointy horns.

“And here I thought all you Seelie collected humans like dogs. I still don’t see why we should care about some mongrel’s tainted parentage.”

“That’s no way to talk about your king’s bloodline.”

“You? Royalty?” Kasgill laughs, the sound bouncing off the rocks around us.

But the antlered woman leans in to him and I hear “Dawnsong” whispered between them.

Kasgill looks at Ruskin with an edge of doubt, then shakes his head.

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