Chapter 12
The whimpers and sobs filling the air pull me back to myself. Fae are scattered around me, clinging to what remains of the gallery, trying to move even as I see the iron draining them of strength. Some of the stronger fae are attempting to help the others, dragging their friends and family closer to safety even as their knees start to buckle beneath them. I help catch the other side of a white-haired fae lady being held up by a younger woman who looks to be her daughter.
“The stairs are covered,” the younger fae gasps. “There’s no safe way down.”
But even as she speaks, an almighty rustling sound, like a hurricane ripping through a forest, reaches us. I look down to see Ruskin by the steps, his face taut with concentration. He’s holding his hands aloft as a sea of vines and leaves crawls across the palace floor towards the gallery steps. I think I see his arms shake a little even as he fights to hold them firm. It must be hard, even with his High King power, to summon his magic amid all the iron.
I feel like I’m watching time sped up—a thousand years’ worth of growth overtaking the cold metal in a matter of minutes. Meanwhile, the fae around me release cries of relief as the plants swallow up the poisonous metal.
“Come on,” I say to the older fae I’m holding. “You can climb down now. Just be careful.”
Ruskin’s efforts have ensured the iron won’t burn the fae as they descend, but his magic won’t block all of its effects, and the white-haired fae’s limbs immediately begin to shake as she tries to ease herself down onto her knees on the steps—which now resemble more of a ramp with all the metal and foliage obscuring them.
“Mother!” Her daughter reaches out beside me.
“I’ll help her,” I say. “You just focus on getting yourself down.”
Normally, I wouldn’t dream of manhandling a High Fae, but if there was ever a situation to sacrifice dignity in the name of practicality, this was it. I throw aside all my caution, shuffling down onto the steps and wrapping my arm around the waist of the older fae. She says nothing—doesn’t even really seem to notice me. She’s so weak that she’s almost entirely limp.
I try to move quickly, but it’s difficult, my shoes and skirts getting caught in the vines as we make the awkward journey downwards, with me half-dragging, half-guiding the High Fae woman. At the bottom, human servants and the stronger fae who—pale faced and nauseous—are otherwise managing to resist the iron, help her to her feet. I look up to see other fae are following my example, clambering down with their less-able companions. I immediately turn around and make my way back up the steps, helping to ferry another weakened fae from the top to the bottom. There’s more rustling beside me, and I watch as Ruskin’s powers continue to cover the iron in layer upon layer of vines, enrobing it greenery to try to dampen the iron’s sting.
On my third trip I grab a woman on her knees in the gallery. She’s crying, but barely making a noise.
“Come with me, I’ll help you down,” I say, wondering if she can hear me in her shock.
But she nods wordlessly, allowing me to guide her. It’s not until we’re halfway down that she seems to come back to herself, twisting in my grip.
“No, I have to go back,” she says, and I hear her mounting panic as she reaches up towards the gallery. “My boy, my son is up there.” Her voice rises to a shriek. “Where is he? Where is my son?”
“Just focus on getting to safety,” I say. “I can go back and look for him.”
“He was with me, and then he wasn’t.” She wails, but doesn’t fight me as I drag us closer to the ground.
When we reach the paving stones of the palace floor, she pulls free from my hold.
“What does your son look like?” I ask. “Maybe he’s hiding in one of the rooms up there,” I say, attempting to offer some hope.
Before she can answer, two familiar Low Fae rush up to us, one with mossy skin and another with a kind of mushroom complexion.
“My Lady,” gasps the mossy-faced one. “We were with Master Wildplume in the drawing room when the iron attacked. We were trapped.”
My heart plummets as I realize that I know exactly where this woman’s son is—at least, where his body lies impaled by the iron.
“Why isn’t he with you now?” Her fear makes the question a demand, and she takes a step towards her servants, searching them like they might somehow be hiding her son from her. They shrink back.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice coming out like a croak. “I was there. I tried to stop the iron…”
I can’t find the rest of the words, the image of the boy’s petrified face playing again in my mind. Why couldn’t I stop it? Why wasn’t I strong enough?
“He’s dead?” All color drains from her pretty face, and a stream of emotions cross it in quick succession. Disbelief. Horror. For a moment, I think she might vomit as she clutches her throat and covers her mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, not knowing what else to offer her. The number of fae around us is growing as they continue evacuating the gallery.
The lady drops her hand, her face twisting into a new expression which stays there: hatred.
“You mean you let my son die, but you saved the servants?” The last word breaks into a screech of rage as she darts her hand towards me. I think she might claw my eyes out.
Then a strong arm clad in black catches her wrist before she can reach me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ruskin asks, his voice low and deadly.
“She killed my son!” the lady wails, a horrible, desperate sound. “She saved these worthless parasites but condemned a High Fae to slaughter.”
Ruskin eyes her coolly.
“I’m sorry for your loss, but many High Fae are dead,” he says, flinging her arm down. “And more would be if it weren’t for Eleanor. I suggest you take yourself away to grieve before you do something you’ll regret, Lady Petra.”
“Don’t you see that this freak wants to punish us? She probably let my boy die on purpose because she’d love to see our kind suffer. Stars, she’s probably the reason this iron is here in the first place!” Lady Petra jabs a long finger in my direction. “She’s a curse on this court, and she needs to be dealt with.”
Sparks fly from her outstretched hand like red embers, but I’m quick enough to dodge them. They strike the ground where I was just stood, sizzling against the stone, then dying out.
Before I take my next breath, thick vines are binding Lady Petra, wrapping around her wrists and yanking on them so that her arms twist behind her.
“Don’t touch her,” Ruskin says, each word an enraged growl.
Lady Petra whimpers, tears tracking down her face. She looks at Ruskin with pure venom, but cries out when the vines tighten their grip around her.
“Walk away,” Ruskin orders. “Or you’ll be joining your son.”
Looking terrified, she manages a nod, and the vines retract. Lady Petra stands there for a moment, massaging her wrists and quivering with loathing. Then Ruskin lets out what can only be called a snarl, and she jumps and scurries away. I feel just the tiniest bit sorry for her as she goes, having nothing but her anger to keep the devastation at bay.
A few fae have paused to observe the scene, but most who are still able to are trying to get as far away from the gallery and the memorial square as possible. Some haven’t gotten far, however, simply collapsing to the floor, while others are stumbling, as if drunk, in random directions. Halima’s there, but despite looking pale and sick herself, she’s powering through, hoisting a fae under each arm to carry them away. I find myself wondering if this court would survive without people like her, so fiercely dedicated to holding it together. Perhaps that fierce devotion is why she can see so clearly where the cracks are.
“We should help,” I say, nodding towards a fae clutching the nearest wall to help him lurch forward a few steps.
“I will,” Ruskin replies, but he doesn’t follow my gaze. Instead, his eyes are fixed on me. “But first, are you all right?”
Before I can stop him, he cups my cheek in his hand, his eyes darting over my face, examining me. I feel heat rise in my cheeks, but I don’t shake him off.
“Thank you,” I say. “I didn’t think she’d go for me like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I would never let her lay a hand on you.” His eyes burn fiercely at the thought, then soften. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “But we should get going before the iron overpowers you too.” He’s strong, but strength just means he can bear the pain better than the others. It doesn’t stop him from feeling it. Suffering from it. And even with the destruction around me, I feel a prickle of worry for him.
“Don’t tell me you’re concerned for me, Iron Tamer,” he says, but his voice isn’t mocking, more wistful—like he’s voicing a hope. It’s too painful to hear, and I gently remove his hand from my face.
We set about helping the fallen fae up, pairing them with fae who are steadier on their feet to help clear the area faster. As we work, my mind turns over the vivid images of the attack. I’m so used to them being the ones in power, the ones who make others afraid. And even now, I still consider most of the fae dangerous, untrustworthy. Yet the memory of their faces as the iron advanced on them stick with me—the pain and the fear. And beyond all that, the dread. Because we all know now that this could happen again, without anyone being able to do a thing to prevent it. The only weapon that seems to be any use against it…is me.
This isn’t my world, this isn’t my problem to fix, so why is there a voice at the back of my mind, growing stronger by the moment, saying that it is?
Ruskin comes up behind me as I hand a fae over to their human servant.
“I should thank you for saving my subjects,” he murmurs, his closeness and the tone of his voice making it feel too intimate. I spin round.
“I didn’t save them. Not really. The iron’s still there and I took too long to stop the spread.”
“But you’re the only one who could do anything at all. There are many who are only alive now because of you. You mustn’t downplay that.”
He looks down at me in a way that renders me wordless for a moment.
“Once again, Eleanor, the fate of this court finds itself in your hands,” he says, moving closer to me again, until there’s just a whisper of space between us.
I’m exhausted, worn out in all the ways I could imagine, and then some more. At this moment, part of me thinks it would be easier if I just let him in—allow him to step over all my carefully constructed walls. But I need to be smarter than that.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “And what is that?”
An hour before all this, I was on my way home, riding towards the gate that would take me away from Faerie forever. And now…
“You’re trying to emphasize all the reasons I should stay,” I say.
“Not all the reasons,” he says, and something in his voice sends a bolt of energy through my body. It dazzles me enough that I let him lift his hand and touch my arm, ghosting his fingers along it with a touch so light it leaves goose bumps in its wake. “Besides, wouldn’t I be a fool if I didn’t? You’re the only who can help us right now. What kind of ruler would I be if I didn’t do what was best for my kingdom?” His hand dances from my wrist up to my face, taking my chin between his fingers. My heart speeds up, and I’m very conscious that he’s touching me like this in front of everyone—and yet he doesn’t seem to care, his eyes locked only on me. “Think of the good you could do, and all the things you could discover. Your power is still so untested.” He lifts my chin, angling it so that he’s looking directly into my eyes. A familiar hunger wakes in me. I can’t pull away.
“I would so dearly love you to stay,” he says, the seductive lilt to his words making my knees weak.
As persuasive as he’s being, as easily as he makes me melt in his hands, I’m able to remember that what Ruskin wants isn’t the same as what I want. Even if he would like me to stay for…other reasons, his priority is the Seelie. Not me. Not our relationship. Those always have to come second to the secrets and machinations he thinks are so necessary. That should be enough to remind me that Ruskin and I are over. If I decided to stay it would be for practical reasons only.
That doesn’t mean it’s safe, though.
It’s not the iron or the deadly politics of the court that I worry about. It’s him. I feel him pulling at my strings, drawing me closer to a dangerous pit of emotions I’m trying to escape.
But some things are more important. There’s lives at stake here, and people looking to me for something only I can give. I look around me and see Kaline trying to help a fellow Low Fae away from the square. Her usually rosy-pink skin has taken on a sickly gray hue, and I can see every step is a struggle for her. There are people here who’ve looked out for me. I can’t abandon them just because it breaks my heart to be around their king.
I look at the man in question, who’s still waiting for my response, wearing a smooth expression I know must hide much more.
“I’ll stay,” I say, and immediately his eyes soften, lips loosening into the trace of a smile. “It’s not what we agreed, but it’s clear I’m meant to help you fix this,” I continue.
“What about your father?”
I’m surprised he mentions Dad. I was sure he’d want to avoid anything that could make me change my mind and push me to return to Styrland.
“I didn’t say how long I’d be away. We didn’t know how much time we’d need to wake your mother. But I’ll send him a message…somehow.”
“You can use the ravens,” he says. “With the royal seal, they can come and go by the gates as they please.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“No, Eleanor…” He gestures to the jungle of iron around us. “Thank you.”