The Kingdom Cursed by Iron: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Gold Weaver Book 2)

Chapter 1

“Hold on, Dad, we’re nearly there.”

The cart judders, its old axles not built for the way we hurtle down the uneven road. Parsley, the donkey I’ve commandeered from my friend Sanna, gives an unhappy snort, and I know she’s probably going as fast as she can too. But it still doesn’t feel fast enough.

I glance over my shoulder to check that the jolt didn’t disturb Dad. He’s still lying unconscious in the back, his head lolling to one side. It means the three-inch gash across his forehead is on full display, bracketed by a stream of blood reaching down his face.

I can still see in my mind’s eye the awful way his body lay slumped in his chair when I arrived at our cottage only to discover it ransacked. I’d been traveling for two weeks, and yet my feet forgot all their weariness as I’d rushed to his side. I didn’t know enough about head wounds to treat him; I only knew it wasn’t a good sign when he could only slur a few words to me before passing out.

The trees lining the road are thin and give way to the houses of our neighboring village. Eventually, we reach one house in particular—the home of the only person I know who might be able to help Dad. I tug on Parsley’s reins to slow her and, in one swift motion, leap from the cart, throwing myself at the door. My fist pounds on the wood until the door swings open to reveal Ruth, the woman who’s been our region’s main healer since Mom died.

I watch her eyes flash in recognition as I pull back the hood of my cloak, then her normally calm, friendly face twists in a way I struggle to recognize.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, her voice unexpectedly harsh as she glances over my shoulder, checking to see who might’ve witnessed my arrival.

“What do you mean?” Ruth and I have known each other for years. Her mother, much older than mine, was a medicine woman who used to work with Mom on difficult cases back in the day. Sometimes we’d sit at the same table as they worked, me just a child, and Ruth watching her mother with careful eyes, taking everything in for the day she’d step into her shoes.

“The king’s looking for you,” Ruth explains under her breath. “We’re supposed to report any sightings of the ‘Gold Weaver.’” She shakes her head. “I can’t get caught up in this.”

When Ruth goes to close the door, I block it with my foot.

“It’s Dad,” I say, gesturing back to the cart where he’s just visible, curled up and wrapped in whatever blankets I could salvage from the cottage. “And you took an oath.”

At the sight of someone in need of help, Ruth looks torn. She bites her lip—weighing up the danger, I think—then she sighs deeply.

“All right, come in, quickly. I’ll have Danny carry him in.”

Ruth shoos her husband from the room once he’s laid Dad carefully down on the work bench inside.

“You better hope no one saw you,” she says as she unrolls a kit of surgical instruments and collects some glass bottles from a cupboard. “What happened?”

“Albrecht’s men,” I say through gritted teeth, my anger helping blunt some of my fear as she examines Dad’s injury. “Before he blacked out, Dad said something about them coming looking for me and my research. The whole house was wrecked.” I feel like kicking something, recalling how callously they’d torn the house apart—our windows smashed in and the door torn from its hinges. Digging through drawers and looking for papers, I could understand. But making our house unlivable when there’s still at least another month of winter…that was just meanness. Cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

“I thought I’d been careful enough on the road, but I suppose even just a woman traveling on her own was enough to start rumors about me being…back in the area,” I finish vaguely.

At first Ruth says nothing and I tense, wondering if I’ve made her change her mind about helping us. Maybe she’s about to throw us out. But she just pulls out a white cloth and opens a bottle that smells strongly of alcohol. As she starts to clean Dad’s wound, I feel her eyes slide across to me.

“Last I heard, you were set to be married to Albrecht,” she murmurs.

“That’s true,” I say. My voice is low, and I keep my eyes on Dad, trying not to give away any emotion. Thinking about my almost-wedding makes me think about my escape, which makes me think of…him. And I don’t want to think about him.

“Then you disappeared.”

When I say nothing, she forges ahead.

“Some people said you’d been killed—by Albrecht or one of your experiments. But then gossip spread from the castle, whispers that the fair folk were involved.”

“What else did these whispers say?” I ask, trying to sound neutral. I hadn’t dared ask any strangers on my travels for news in case it drew suspicion.

“They said you’d been taken by Ruskin Blackcoat.”

I freeze. It’s like she’s pierced me with the point of a knife. For two long weeks, I’ve tried to keep that name from my mind, tried to banish all thoughts of the handsome fae prince that it conjures. I’d done pretty well too. Since I stepped through the Monarch Gate, which took me from the realm of Faerie back into the damp, gray world of my homeland, I’ve kept at bay any thought of why I left. But now hearing his name brings it all rushing back.

“I wasn’t taken,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “I made a deal.”

Her hand stills, and she turns fully towards me.

“A deal? With Blackcoat? Eleanor, how could you be so?—”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I snap. I know how foolish I’d been, but I’d been desperate too. And in the end, I’d gotten what I wanted. I had my freedom now. All it cost me was a broken heart. Ironic, considering I’d gone to Faerie to mend his.

“Anyway, it was my skills he wanted, my metallurgy. I did the job he asked, and he let me go.”

“Just like that?” she asks, skeptical.

No, of course not. First, he made me love him. Then I had the world pulled out from under my feet when I found out how much he’d been deceiving me. He’d always had his secrets, but these—about my abilities, about my own mother—were too much to swallow. He’d looked me in the eye and let me think he trusted me, and I could trust him, all the while keeping from me things about the very core of who I am.

“It was hard,” I say to Ruth. “But I found a way.”

Ruth lays down the cloth she’s been using to clean Dad’s wound and takes my left hand. I try to resist, but she has strong surgeon’s hands, and she pulls open my fist to reveal the stump of my ring finger, severed by Ruskin’s sister Cebba before I killed her.

“I know there’s more you’re not telling me,” she says, and I squirm under her stare. Then, to my surprise, she drops my hand and turns back to Dad.

“Let me wake him up now,” she says, reaching for a small, green bottle that I assume is smelling salts. I exhale, relieved she’s letting this drop. I know that sooner or later I’m going to have to deal with my feelings about Ruskin. But not tonight. Tonight, my home’s been wrecked, and my father’s been beaten. I’m full up on trauma for now.

“You can’t stitch him up while he’s unconscious?” I ask. I’d hoped we could avoid putting him through more pain.

“I’ve cleaned the wound, but it’s better to check he’s still got his wits about him before we do anything else,” she explains, waving the bottle under Dad’s nose. I can smell its sharp odor from here, so I’m not surprised when his nostrils twitch and his eyes blink open.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, my smile not hiding the strain in my voice.

“Nora?”

“Isaac, can you see my finger?” Ruth holds up her index finger. “Can you follow it for me?”

Dad obliges, his eyes tracing it as it swings back and forth in front of his face.

“The eyes can help tell you if there’s any problem inside the head,” she explains to me. “If they’re off balance, something in the brain could be too.”

She drops her hand, looking satisfied.

“Is he all right?” I ask. I’m a little uncomfortable talking about Dad like he’s not there, but he’s still looking between us, dazed, not even trying to speak up for himself. I hope it’s more to do with waking up in a strange place, and maybe the shock of seeing me, rather than the cut on his head.

“I don’t think it’s a concussion. Not a serious one anyway. He hasn’t vomited?”

I think back to when I found him in the cottage, but there was no evidence of him being sick. I shake my head.

“Then I think with some rest he should be okay.”

For the first time in what must be weeks, a genuine smile finds me, and I squeeze Dad’s hand. He lays his head back and closes his eyes, but when I look to Ruth, alarmed, she just nods as if she expected it. All right, then, his sleepiness is nothing to worry about. We step over towards the door so as not to disturb him when she starts speaking again.

“You’re a good girl,” she says approvingly. “You looked after your dad well. Leah would be proud.”

“I’m just glad I got back when I did,” I say, looking over at him. “If I’d been even a day later…”

I don’t finish the sentence, instead shuddering at the thought of how lucky my timing had been. A little earlier, and I’d have been caught by Albrecht’s men. A little later…what condition would Dad be in if he’d been left like that another day, with the cabin freezing cold and no one to stop his bleeding? Would our neighbors have helped him? Or would they have even realized what had happened before it was too late?

The idea is too much to bear. Dad is all I have left now, the only person I truly trust. After my time in Faerie, I know how precious trust can be—and how betrayal can come from the most painful of places.

Ruth is watching me again and I sense she wants to ask me more about where I’ve been—that mysterious, dangerous world we usually only hear about in old stories and unreliable tales. I see her eyes fall to the place where my finger should be and I self-consciously pull my hand behind my back.

“That’s not Blackcoat’s doing,” I say, “in case you’re wondering.”

Why am I defending him? He doesn’t need or deserve my protection. But Ruth doesn’t seem intrigued by this statement. Instead, she looks worried, almost like she’s having a debate with herself.

“There’s something I think you should know,” she says at last. “Whatever happened to you in Faerie…well…this might be important.”

I stare at her, her sudden change in tone worrying me.

“What is it?”

“Did…did your mom leave you her notes when she passed?”

“Yes,” I say. “Why?”

She nods, as if this confirms something for her. “My mother left me hers. They’ve been a godsend. If there’s anything I haven’t seen before, she’s usually covered it in one of her notebooks.”

I shift on my feet, wishing she would get the point, and getting more nervous the longer she stalls.

“A little while ago, I came across something about Leah in there. My mother wrote about how your mom came to see her once, when you were a baby.”

She crosses to a cupboard in the corner. Out of it she lifts a stack of loose parchment held together with a leather cover and string. She pulls out a specific page, watching my face carefully as she hands it to me.

‘Leah Thorn, April 16th.’

The words are written in a looping, old-fashioned hand, and I have to squint to decipher it.

‘Infant, three months. Has been feeding but no weight gain. Sickly, thin. Mother has tried fennel and angelica extract.’

“This is about me?” I ask. Neither Mom nor Dad ever mentioned me being sick as a baby.

“Yes. I still remember it—I opened the door that day. Your mom looked frantic with worry. And you were such a tiny, sad looking thing.”

“But I got better?” I ask, looking back to the page to try to find the rest of the story. This doesn’t seem like enough to warrant Ruth’s nervousness. I wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Yes, look.” She taps the section of writing I should be reading.

‘Circumstances of pregnancy discussed. If none of the suggested remedies help, the child should be taken to the changeling. There she might get what she needs.’

The changeling? I frown, so confused that I have to re-read the sentence a few times.

“I didn’t think there were any changelings around here,” I say.

They’re so rare, in fact, that I’ve only heard about them in stories. Children like to tell tall tales about human babies getting snatched and replaced by horrible, bloodsucking fae who fed on their hosts at night, but Maidar set the record straight for me years ago. When I’d asked him about changelings, along with a hundred other questions about fae, he’d laughed and said that these were just horror stories to frighten children. The truth was that changelings were natural-born, part-human, part-fae offspring. They could seem a bit eerie, and were clearly not human, but they weren’t much of a threat, he assured me, telling me that any such creature I met in Styrland would have lost many of its fae powers from living in the human realm for too long.

Many…but not all. What kind of powers would a part fae have that my mother would need? That I would need when I was just a baby? Why have I never heard about this encounter before? I feel like I’ve just fled from a world of secrets and mystery, and yet here they are chasing me down again—questions crowding in on me until it’s hard to think of anything else.

“Why would I have needed to go to a changeling?”

Ruth watches me carefully. “I don’t know. Mom didn’t let me in the room that day when she and Leah talked. I do know who your mother would have gone to, though. There’s only one who lives nearby, in the Kilda. Most don’t know about her, but Mom did. When she was dying she told me. She said if ever someone came to me with a problem I thought was linked to the fae, I should send them to the changeling. There are some things even we can’t fix, but for the right price, she’d be willing to help.”

I stare at the writing and as Ruth’s words sink in, I feel the anger build again, the same bitter rage that flares when I think about him. What was Mom keeping from me? I hate this. All the riddles, every absent answer. I look over at Dad’s sleeping form, wondering if there’s secrets even he’s kept from me.

“When I read this, I thought about reaching out…but then I decided it was none of my business.” Ruth looks embarrassed. “When I’d heard you’d gotten mixed up with the fae, though, I wondered…”

“Can you tell me how to find this creature?” I ask abruptly. “I want to know why my mom went there.” I want to know everything. If I can’t trust those I hold dear to give me the truth, then I’ll just have to dig it up myself, even if it means going to strangers.

Ruth gives a reluctant nod and I remember she never wanted me here in the first place.

“I’ll go,” I say. “Dad can stay here for a little while, can’t he?”

Ruth dips her head. “Yes, I still need to do his stitches. I’m sorry, Eleanor. I was afraid before, but you were right to remind me of my oath. Your father will need some time before he travels again, so of course he can wait here with us.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I know you’re risking a lot, having us here.”

A thought occurs to me just then.

“This changeling, is she dangerous?”

Ruth lifts her shoulders. “I’ve never met her, but I’ve sent a couple of patients to her in the past. They always come back but…”

“But what?”

“Take a gift. She’ll be more inclined to help you.”

“Anything in particular?” I ask, thinking of all the things fae like to trade in—youth, good looks, a talent.

Ruth nods.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got some chickens out back.”