Page 84 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

It means telling him that we’re naminai, though, and I didn’t want to do it like this. On the other hand, I definitely don’t want to die.

I grab hold of Ruskin, speaking before I can talk myself out of it.

“Channel your power to me,” I whisper, eyes wide as the roar of the crowd grows. From the volume of their baying, I think they won’t wait much longer.

Ruskin’s brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That night in the tent, when the metal danced. It wasn’t just me—you channeled your power to me. Do it again. It will make me strong enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ruskin, I have a true name.”

I stare at him, willing him to grasp the implications of what I’ve just told him. I can see the moment understanding dawns on his face. At the same time Lisinder speaks up.

“Eleanor Thorn, your challenge awaits. Do you still accept?”

I tear my gaze from Ruskin’s stunned expression, turning to face the Unseelie king.

“I do,” I say and with a thudding heart, I begin to descend the stairs.

Chapter 26

Ifeel woefully unprepared as I face the gate. I have a sword, and my magic, and a hope. But that doesn’t seem like a whole lot when I don’t know what’s coming for me. Back on the training grounds I at least looked like a soldier. Right now, I’m still in my riding dress and don’t even have my leather breastplate to protect me.

I try to concentrate on my memories of Halima and Ruskin’s lessons, taking a combat stance Halima showed me. Even as I position my sword, it occurs to me that I was trained with the idea that I’d be fighting opponents who were also on two legs and armed with a sword. This stance might be all wrong for something more beast-like.

The court has fallen silent again in anticipation, and it’s quiet enough that I can hear the pad of large feet in the corridor beyond the gate. Then comes a low, rumbling growl.

I feel a bead of sweat escape my hairline, running beneath the collar of my dress and tracing my spine.

The gate nudges open and the beast emerges from the shadows. On all fours, it’s the same height as me, its red eyes alert, darting around the space. Unlike the Minotaur, its entrance is slow, its huge lion-like head dropping low as it stalks into the pit. I can’t tell if it’s wary or hungry, but it sure doesn’t seem friendly, judging from its raised hackles and exposed teeth. Every part of this animal is built to be a predator, from the inch-long claws extending from its paws, to the powerful hind legs and the tail that arches above its back, hovering aloft with what looks like a scorpion’s stinger.

Gold Weaver. Iron Tamer. I chant the names to myself as the animal and I begin to circle the pit, slowly sidestepping in what’s almost a dance. I have overcome monsters and murderers before, and I’ll do it again, I tell myself. I don’t risk taking my eyes off the animal, but I reach out towards my magic, wondering if Ruskin has tried to send power to me yet.

It doesn’t feel any different, just the same rippling pool inside me, and I wonder if he truly understood what I was asking. Before I can worry about it anymore, the creature leaps forward in a powerful bound.

I panic, seeing only the rows of teeth and claws rushing towards me. Rather than reaching for my magic, I throw myself sideways, my survival instinct screaming at me to just get out of the way.

The beast has to slow to avoid hitting the wall, but at the same its tail comes slicing down towards me, the stinger glittering like a needle. I roll over and it pierces the ground instead, then retracts with a spray of thick, filmy liquid which would probably scald me from the inside out if it had actually pricked me. As it is, a few drops of the venom land on my arm, burning like acid and making me gasp.

I have to deal with that stinger first. Beating this thing will be impossible if I have to keep watching both ends. When its tail comes whipping down again, I’ve gathered myself enough to throw my sword up, remembering some words from Halima in training about downwards momentum—it’s hard to change course once you’ve committed to a strike, and that goes for your enemies too.

Her words hold true. I think the beast sees my blade, but it can’t stop its tail in time. My blade goes straight through the thin tip, slicing the stinger clean off. It flops against the ground beside me, blood darkening the earth.

The creature roars, clawing at the earth in pain, and thrashing its wounded tail, sending droplets of crimson spraying across the pit. Warm, wet drips of it hit me in the face.

The shock of the sensation clears my mind a little, enough to remind me that while I’m waiting on Ruskin, I have some magic of my own, for heaven’s sakes. I need to start using it, and soon, as the creature starts recovering from its shock, and fixes its red eyes back onto me.

I stand and glance around me. A sword is all well and good, but I don’t think I can get close to this animal faster than it can get its claws into me. And anyway, I can always guide the sword back into my grip if the beast knocks it from my hand, but what if it eats the sword? What then? I might wind up without a blade at all. I need something else I can use as a projectile. Something big. Hairpins won’t do it this time.

The beast is pacing the far side of the pit, and I think I’m picking up on its patterns. It wants to size me up before it strikes again. I risk looking further afield, up around the edge of the pit, but there’s nothing that seems immediately helpful. Just more weapons strapped to people’s sides.

And the chandelier. The huge, black one hanging right in the heights of the cavern. That would do the trick, except it’s far enough away that it would take too much time and concentration for me to reach it with my magic.

With a snarl of warning, the animal chooses this moment to pounce again. I at least manage to summon some magic to direct my sword, affording me some power and precision as I jab out at the storm of fur and teeth descending on me. Some part of my blade connects, but that doesn’t stop the animal’s momentum, forcing me to hurl myself backwards, where I fall down again. My leg sticks out invitingly, and before I can curl it under me, the beast’s claws latch on, dragging across the flesh, leaving a trail of blood and mangled flesh.

I scream, the pain almost blinding me, but I’ve felt agony like this before under the knife of Ruskin’s sister. I manage to keep my wits about me enough to jab outwards with my blade. There’s a strangled whine and the creature releases its hold on me.

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