Page 38 of The Iron Raven

“Aw, are you playing tour guide, Rusty? That’s so nice of you. Do you have any brochures?”

Coaleater ignored my comment. His attention was suddenly riveted to the window, to something beyond the glass. The Iron fey had removed his glasses, and the look in his burning red eyes was one of solemn respect. I followed his gaze and immediately shut up.

Across a flat, dusty plain, a tower sat in the center of the plateau, jagged metal walls catching the light of the sun. Most of the tower lay in ruins, shattered and broken around the roots and trunk of an enormous tree that soared into the air, rising above the crumbling walls to brush the sky. The tree itself, a massive oak with enormous, gnarled branches and broad leaves, glimmered and flashed in the sun, as if it was made of liquid metal. Even after all these years, it still caused a shiver to run down my spine.

Nyx gazed out the window as well, drawing in a quiet breath as she observed the ruins and the giant tree. “That is a place of power,” she said softly. “I can feel it from here.”

Coaleater said nothing, his silence one of somber reverence, so she turned to me.

“What is it?” she asked in a whisper.

“Machina’s tower,” I muttered, as memories from a darker age came back to me. “Where it all began.”

11

MAG TUIREDH

Mag Tuiredh was just as wacky as I remembered. And I’ve seen some pretty bizarre things. The wyldwood is ever changing, but in the Summer and Winter courts at least, things were odd but expected. For example, you can expect Tir Na Nog to be cold enough to freeze your chin hairs off, and for the Summer Court to be full of frolicking Seelie fey that will either turn you into a rosebush or dance you into an early grave. Pretty standard, really. After so many years of visiting both territories, not much surprised me anymore.

The capital of the Iron Realm could still cause a shiver of anticipation to run up my spine.

It was a massive city that was a blend of old and new, medieval and modern. Or maybe medieval and steampunk would be a better description. Cobblestone roads lined with lampposts ran alongside buildings that were a hodgepodge of every building material you could think of. Stone and brick huts sat next to buildings straight out of a Victorian steampunk novel, with copper pipes and weather vanes sticking haphazardly out of the roof. Iron fey crowded the streets and sidewalks, on foot or in carriages, and you couldn’t walk ten feet without seeing a gremlin, the tiny, bat-eared nuisances of the fey world, hanging on a wall or perched on a lamppost.

“So,” Coaleater commented as the train began to slow, huffing and shedding steam. “Now that we’ve arrived in Mag Tuiredh, you going to tell me why you’re here, Goodfellow?”

I shrugged. “Eventually. That was part of the deal, after all. Only...” I grinned up at him. “You didn’t say exactlywhenI had to tell you. Now, later, ten years from now?” Lacing my hands behind my head, I smirked. “Gotta watch those word choices, my friend. Someone with less scruples than me could really screw you over.”

He glowered. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to play word games with oldbloods,” he growled. “You were one of the queen’s closest companions in the war, you and the Winter prince. We fought on the same side, and the queen’s lieutenant spoke of you highly.” He sniffed, raising his head to peer down with a haughty look. “I thought Robin Goodfellow was the honorable sort, that he would not stoop to conniving faery loopholes like a scheming phouka.”

“Oh, chill out, Rusty.” I raised both hands. “I didn’t say Iwouldn’ttell you. It’s just a rather sensitive subject, and I wouldn’t want some eavesdropping gremlin spreading rumors through the city.” I jerked my head to the great castle looming over everything. “You want the details? Come with us to the palace. You can hear the whole story then.”

He blew out a long, exasperated whicker in a cloud of steam. “Very well,” he rumbled. “I was going to seek an audience with the Iron Queen, anyway. I suppose we will go to the palace together.”

Nyx, staring out the window at the glittering city and the crowds of Iron fey milling through it, took a deep breath as if steeling herself for what was to come.

I glanced at her worriedly. “You gonna be all right?”

She nodded, one hand going to the amulet beneath her cloak. “Here’s hoping I don’t turn into mist or burst into flames.”

I reached down and took her other hand, squeezing once. “Just stick close to me and the tin can. Anyone gives you more than a funny look, I’ll put a badger down their pants.”

The crowds of fey parted for Coaleater as he stepped from the train car onto the cobblestone streets of Mag Tuiredh. Just his size was enough to send most stumbling back a few paces. He really did remind me a lot of Ironhorse. A quieter, less socially awkward Ironhorse. The original leader of the herd was big, clompy, and had a voice like a tuba being played through a megaphone three inches from your ear. But he had that same noble attitude, that same proud, almost overbearing gallantry. I guessed most, if not all, of the Iron horses were like their progenitor in that respect.

“Hmph.” Coaleater snorted a puff of smoke as he looked around, his gaze landing on the distant palace just visible over the city roofs. “It has been a while since I have been to Mag Tuiredh,” he murmured. Which was another difference. Ironhorse couldn’t murmur if his life depended on it. Everything he had said was a bellow. “It’s so crowded here,” Coaleater went on, raising an arm as a small, rodent-like faery ducked around him and vanished down an alley. “How do fey live with the buildings right on top of them? I much prefer the openness of the Obsidian Plains.” He shook his head, then turned back to us, narrowing his burning eyes. “Your Forgotten isn’t casting a shadow, Goodfellow,” Coaleater observed. “That is most likely not a good thing.”

Alarmed, I glanced at Nyx and saw he was right. She stood silently in her cloak and hood, the sunlight beating down on her between buildings. I could see my shadow on the ground, right next to Coaleater’s massive one, but the road under Nyx was empty. As if the light was going right through her.

“Dammit,” I growled. “She needs to get out of the sun. We need to get to the palace quickly. Dammit again, that means I’m probably going to have to ride in one of the creepy spider carriages.”

Coaleater sighed, wreathing us all in smoke. “Wait here,” he ordered, taking a step back. “I will return momentarily. Don’t go anywhere without me.” He turned, ducked into the mouth of the alley behind us, and vanished behind the falling curtains of steam.

Nyx shivered, then slid down the wall until she was sitting against the building, knees drawn to her chest and hood covering her face. Trying not to be overbearing, I stepped in front of her, shielding her from the sunlight with my own body, trying to bring her some relief. A soft, rueful chuckle came from beneath the cowl, though she didn’t raise her head.

“Who would have thought,” she murmured, “the iron wouldn’t be the thing that killed me in the Iron Realm.” She sighed, and there was the gleam of a golden eye beneath the shadows of the hood. “It appears I won’t be going to see the Summer Court with you after all, Goodfellow.”

“Eh, it’s not the most exciting place in the world.” I crouched down next to her, putting a hand on her arm just to assure myself that she was still there. “We’ll go to Tir Na Nog instead. How do you feel about ice wyrms and blizzards and snow up to the inside of your nostrils?”

“Sounds cold.” Nyx blinked at me, a furrow creasing her pale brow. “But isn’t the Winter Court ruled by Mab? Won’t she dislike a Summer faery trespassing into Unseelie territory?”

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