Chapter 27
T he damp air hits my face like a welcome embrace as we tumble out under the gray sky of Styrland.
Home.
Or at least the place I once knew as my home. Now I’m not so sure.
Ruskin helps Destan to his feet, as Lord Sunshard brushes mud off his wife’s tunic. None of us speak for a moment, catching our breath, absorbing the mess that we just left behind. I close my eyes briefly; all I see is Kaline being impaled, the image vivid against the inside of my eyelids. If I’d managed to get to that iron shard in Evanthe’s heart, everything might’ve worked out. Instead, I lost another friend. How much more death will I have to see before this fight is won?
When I open my eyes, I’m struck by the appearance of our party. Illusions or not, they make a strange sight among the very ordinary field we find ourselves in, with their brightly colored eyes and pointed ears. It occurs to me that I probably look as out of place as they do.
“The queen may follow us via the common gate,” General Sunshard says, getting back to business. “Although she’s probably aware that searching for us in the human realm is a lost cause. She doesn’t know it as well as Faerie, and we have a native who can help us hide effectively.” She gestures to me.
“What do you propose?” Ruskin asks the general, guessing as I have that she’s already started formulating a strategy.
“We stake out the common gate for a day or so to establish if she’s sending any troops after us, and if not, we can return to Seelie and lie low with the resistance as we plan our next movements.”
That they all seem to have decided to simply move on from what just happened makes my reply come out more forcefully than I intend.
“No,” I say. The group turns to me in surprise. “We’re not doing any of that before we’ve freed my father.”
“Where is he?” asks Lord Sunshard, confused.
“According to Evanthe, my king—” I stop, because calling Albrecht that sounds wrong, and I rephrase. “The Styrland king has him captive.”
“I cast a protective charm on Isaac before we last left Styrland to shield him from physical attacks,” Ruskin explains to the others. “But Lord Hadeus insinuated that there were other ways Albrecht could punish him.”
Without any information about Dad, the only way I’ve been getting through the days is by telling myself that I’m only imagining the worst, that Ruskin’s magic should still be keeping him safe from most dangers. But Evanthe confirmed he’s in Albrecht’s dungeons, and the thought of that is enough to turn my stomach.
“If he is mostly protected, then it’s wiser to prioritize Evanthe,” General Sunshard says. “We have just sustained losses and?—"
“We will go and find Isaac,” Ruskin says, cutting her off. “It will not take long, and it will provide Eleanor with peace of mind that will allow her to focus on our challenges ahead, and it will give us a chance to see what ties there are between this human king and my mother’s plans.” His voice rings with command, making it clear he’ll accept no argument, and I feel a surge of appreciation for him. The General nods her acceptance, and Destan offers me an encouraging smile.
“Let’s just hope we don’t have any run-ins with that ex-fiancé of yours.”
I give him a cool look, but it’s not truly serious. I know he’s just trying to distract me from my worst fears.
“Call him that again and we’ll leave you behind in this realm, Destan,” Ruskin says. Destan pales at the thought, and I smirk as Ruskin strides across the field, looking for some water to make a portal.
The corridors of Albrecht’s castle aren’t as imposing as I remember. In fact, the building seems positively pedestrian—simple layouts and dull, colorless stone without any real imagination or attention to beauty. I suppose that before, when I was just a girl from a backwater village, I had nothing to compare it to. But after the courts of Faerie, I wonder who that girl was that she ever thought this place was impressive.
Ruskin portalled us right into the castle, finding a handy well in one of the yards. No one pays us any mind—the humans here are even less equipped to see through Ruskin’s magic than the Seelie. “Diversion spell,” he explains. Everyone we pass seems to have an intense interest in anything but us.
“I only have a vague idea where the dungeons are,” I say, trying to get my bearings. “I tried to find out when they locked Thatch up the first time I was here, but the servants were too afraid of Albrecht to tell me.”
“I know where the dungeons are,” Ruskin says. “I’ve made many a deal from inside them. We need to find the way downstairs,” he continues. “Towards the east wing.”
We adjust our course and I try to get used to being around so many humans again. It’s strange, but when I look into their faces, I don’t feel the familiarity I expect. There’s a distance there already, a gulf between them and me, and I don’t think it’s just because my face is now a different shape. I’ve seen and done things these people couldn’t begin to comprehend. There’s no undoing that gap between us, even if I wanted to, and when I look at Ruskin, I know that for the most part, I don’t.
More and more people pass us as we turn a corner onto a busy corridor. Up ahead an open door shows a room loaded with swords and spears—the castle’s armory. But when I look round at my companions, each of them looks pale.
“Does anyone else feel that?” Destan asks, and I notice beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“Yes,” Lord Sunshard responds tightly, as if in pain. Two men walk by, carrying a large box, and the group flinches away from it. Even Ruskin takes a step back.
“Cold iron,” he grunts.
My stomach lurches at the prospect, and I follow the men down the corridor, neither of them acknowledging me as I peek beneath the lid of the box they’re carrying. Inside there’s sheets of stacked metal. One touch of it with my magic confirms what Ruskin said—it’s cold iron. The men carry it into the armory. There must be a forge inside, because when I reach out with my senses, I can feel vast quantities of the metal being heated and shaped.
I hurry back to the group, shaking my head.
“They’re using it to make weapons and armor,” I say. “Lots of it.”
“How do they even know how to make cold iron?” General Sunshard demands.
“I don’t know,” I say. The idea of this power in Albrecht’s hands is terrifying. I knew he was making iron weapons after Ruskin “kidnapped” me. I saw his men carrying them, but they were just regular metal, not the special, blood-infused kind that’s so deadly to the fae. Does this mean they finally worked out what they needed to do differently? But how? I think back to my notebook that I saw Albrecht’s jeweler holding…but nothing in my notes ever touched on the topic.
But maybe I’m looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe Albrecht and the jeweler didn’t have to figure it out. If they’re working with Evanthe…maybe she told them.
“No…She wouldn’t, would she?” I look to Ruskin. “After what happened to her?”
He looks like he’s halfway to understanding what I’m thinking, but he asks anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Would Evanthe make an alliance with Albrecht and tell him the secret to making cold iron?”
Ruskin stills, his expression a mix of shock and horror. He saw what happened the last time humans learned the secret to the fae’s ultimate weakness. That Evanthe would willingly hand over that information again must feel like a gut punch.
“Interra took her sanity,” he says dully. “She’s capable of anything at this point.”
“At least, anything that gets her closer to punishing the Seelie,” adds Destan.
I nod. “For Evanthe, this is all part of being the leader she thinks the kingdom needs. Leaders have to make difficult decisions. I suppose recreating the circumstances of her attack is just another in a list of hard choices for her.”
I can see Ruskin wanting to shut down, unable to process this, on top of everything else that his mother has done. But I think it would help him to understand, to think about the fact that Evanthe isn’t cruel for cruelty’s sake. In a twisted way, this makes sense to her.
He meets my gaze, and I can tell he’s heard some of my message.
“We should find Albrecht and question him. From what you’ve told me, he isn’t a brave man. It shouldn’t be hard to get the truth of this alliance from him,” says Ruskin. “After we’ve found Isaac, of course.”
We agree it’s a good plan and move on, finding the stairs down into the belly of the castle. My heart rises to my throat as we hit the first cells. I hesitate at the row of dank, barred rooms. This fills me with the most dread: the idea of walking down that row and finding my worst fears manifested before my eyes.
“You go look,” I say to Ruskin, my courage failing me. “I can’t face it.”
He squeezes my hand and nods, the Sunshards flanking him as he walks along the narrow aisle between the cells.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Destan says beside me. “And I can’t lie, remember?”
I don’t respond, frozen by apprehension, until I see Ruskin stop and look into a cell at the far end. He turns to me and smiles, beckoning me closer. My heart leaps, and I all but sprint after them, catching myself against the bars of the cell that holds my father—alive.
Alive, but not well. He’s seated on the edge of a dirty cot, staring at the wall. He hasn’t noticed us, because of the spell, naturally, and I have a moment to take him in. He’s always been thin, but he’s worryingly so now, his shoulder blades make visible bumps in his thin shirt, and his face is gaunt. He’s not been starved—I suspect Ruskin’s charm prevented Albrecht from harming Dad outright by denying him all food—but it seems they’ve given him as little as they could before the protection magic was triggered.
I wrap my power around the cell’s lock, opening it. Ruskin must have lifted the diversion spell on Dad, because he suddenly turns to look at us with confusion in his eyes.
“Nora?” he asks, and I feel a desperate relief that even with my altered face, he recognizes me.
“It’s me, Dad.” I fling myself down on the cot beside him, pulling him into an embrace. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve come sooner. But we’re here now.”
Despite his thinness, Dad grips me back with encouraging strength. “Don’t fret about it, Nora. I’m all right,” he insists, though his tone is hardly convincing.
“Eleanor.” Destan and the Sunshards remain by the doorway, but Ruskin stands opposite the cot, his eyes on the walls of the room.
It’s now that I see what he does. Dark stains, splatters of rusty-red, cover the walls, trailing down onto the floor. The stains aren’t fresh, so I hadn’t noticed the smell at first, but now I catch its metallic tang.
“Dad,” I say, searching him for signs of injuries. “What did they do to you?”
“It’s not what they did to me , my dear,” Dad says, and something in his voice stops me short. I look into his eyes and see that they’re not the same as they were before. There’s a haunted quality to his stare.
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever magic Blackcoat worked stopped the king from harming me. But he wanted information about you, badly, so he tried to find a workaround. He couldn’t torture me, but…” Dad’s stare passes over my shoulder, looking far away into the distance. “He made me watch as they hurt others. Innocent people, some of them even from our village. He did awful things to them, Nora.” His eyes brighten with tears. “Terrible. He told me he’d stop if I told him what he wanted to know. But what could I tell him? I didn’t know anything really. He’d already guessed you were with Blackcoat.”
“Oh Dad.” I take his hands in mine, my own eyes filling.
“I couldn’t save them,” he says, as if begging me to understand. “There was nothing I could say to make Albrecht believe me.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say. Dad wipes his face with the back of his hand, his expression growing calmer.
“Eventually he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere and stopped. But he left the evidence to remind me.” Dad points a shaking finger at the wall.
“You did everything you could,” I say.
“Did I?” he asks, and it seems like he’s directing the question to himself.
“Come on,” I say, wanting to be out of this horrible, blood-stained place that houses so many demons. “Let’s go.”
Dad raises his eyebrows when we stroll past the guards on our way out without anyone even glancing our way, but he says nothing, just sliding a thoughtful look towards Ruskin.
“You look different,” he says to me at last, as we climb the stairs.
“A lot has changed,” I say, not knowing where to start. “Because of Faerie, I have some magic now, and it’s altered me in other ways.” Dad studies me, and I worry he’s going to bombard me with questions. Yet to my surprise, he doesn’t ask anything, but simply nods like he’s satisfied.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it soon,” he says, and I give him a grateful smile.
“Do you know where the king’s quarters are?” General Sunshard asks me as we reach the top of the stairs. “He’s not likely to be elsewhere at this hour.”
She’s right, night is drawing in, and it’s past dinnertime.
“I have a vague idea, yes,” I say, taking us up two more flights and along a corridor.
“We have to find Albrecht first,” I explain to Dad, although he hasn’t spoken again. I wonder if he’s too exhausted to do anything more than follow along. “You’ll be safe, I promise, but we have questions to ask him.”
We don’t need to search long, the increasing numbers of guards giving us a clue that we’ve reached the royal wing. The rooms are opulent, but like all the luxury in the castle, it feels gaudy and artificial to me now. I suppose that’s to be expected now I’ve lived in a palace decorated with blooming flowers, or the rugged beauty of minerals like in the Unseelie Court.
But Albrecht isn’t anywhere to be found. When Destan finds a hallway leading to a smaller set of quarters, there’s only one person there.
“The king’s child?” General Sunshard guesses, as the young man sits reading in the bay window, oblivious to us watching him.
“Yes,” I say.
Albrecht’s son looks a little older than when I saw him last. I didn’t get to know him during my stint at the castle, but I saw him around a few times and learned the name of the boy who was supposed to be my stepson: Gawain.
When I first saw him it had been in the throne room, when his face was twisted with fear and sorrow as he’d been forced to kill an innocent man. I thought at the time he couldn’t be more than sixteen. Now, even though I’ve been away from the castle less than a year, his face looks less boyish. But maybe that’s because the expression he’s wearing is peaceful for once.
“We can ask him where his father is,” Lord Sunshard says. Before I can say anything, Ruskin lifts the diversion spell. Gawain’s head jerks up, and his eyes widen.
“Prince Gawain,” I begin, but the young man has already thrown himself across to his bed, grabbing a bow and sheaf of arrows.
“Quick reflexes,” murmurs General Sunshard, sounding impressed. None of us move, even as the prince nocks an arrow and tries to decide who to aim at first.
“Wait,” I say, holding up my hands to indicate we’re not a threat. Although in truth, we are. He’s the one who’s not a threat, despite his weapons. His arrows are metal-tipped—I could swipe them out of the air before they got anywhere near us. “It’s me, Eleanor Thorn, the Gold Weaver.”
Gawain squints at me, his eyes flashing with recognition, but he makes his choice and levels his arrow at Ruskin.
“I know who you are, and I also know who he is. Blackcoat.” He says the word like a curse, but he sounds more afraid than hateful. Fair enough. We have just ambushed him in his own bedroom. I glare at Ruskin.
“There was a better way to go about this,” I say to him.
Gawain juts his chin out, his eyes still fixed on Ruskin. “Eleanor may have fallen foul of your tricks, fae, but you won’t harm any more of this court on my watch.”
“An admirable sentiment,” says Ruskin cooly. “But it’s not your court we’re interested in. Where is your father?”
Gawain readjusts his stance. He’s trying to look brave, but I suspect he doesn’t know what to do here. He must be aware we could take him out easily before he could call in any guards.
“Tell us where your father is, and we won’t harm anyone in this castle,” Ruskin says.
Gawain frowns. “You can’t fool me with your word games. You’ll just take us outside before you start killing us.”
He’s not wrong—Ruskin could do that. I don’t believe he would, but there’s no point in me telling Gawain that. He knows I can lie. Still, it seems obvious that I have the best chance at getting through to him. Better than Ruskin, at any rate. I give Ruskin a hard look, and he gets the message as I step forward.
“Prince Gawain, you know me. Or at least you know that I, like you, have been a victim of your father’s cruelty.”
Gawain still looks suspicious, but I see a flicker of another emotion when I mention Albrecht.
“We came here to rescue my father,” I indicate Dad behind me, “who King Albrecht has been holding captive.”
The tops of Gawain’s ears redden as he looks at my dad. Maybe he feels guilty about his father’s ruthless behavior. Often the children of tyrants become tyrants themselves, but I saw the regret on Gawain’s face when Albrecht made him execute a man in front of me. He takes no pleasure in violence, and yet here he is, standing up to us to defend his court. I think he might listen to reason.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he says, dropping his gaze for a moment. “You must understand, I have no say in what the king does.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” I say soothingly, pleased that he seems receptive. “But we’re afraid your father is now up to something that will have terrible consequences for both Styrland and Faerie.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
I look at Ruskin, wondering where to start.
“You know I can twist my words, but I cannot outright lie,” Ruskin says to Gawain.
The young prince nods cautiously.
“Then believe what I tell you next: in Faerie, I am a king, but for reasons of her own, my mother seeks to destroy my kingdom. Many centuries ago, the then-ruler of Styrland tortured her. Since then she holds a grudge against your kind as well.”
“Is your mother…the faerie queen?” Gawain looks between us, his face pale. “With green eyes and dark hair?”
“Yes,” Ruskin says.
“Has she been here?” I ask gently. “Has your father made a deal with her?”
I notice his fist tighten around his bow. He says nothing.
“She means trouble for Styrland, Prince Gawain,” I say. “Whatever she’s promised your father, it will end badly. You want to protect your court? Help us. Tell us what you know.”
Gawain slowly lowers his bow.
“My father has had experts poring over your research since you disappeared,” he says. “At first, all he cared about was finding out how you made your gold, but then recently things changed. They were looking for something else. He sent his best metalsmiths and that awful jeweler, Radditch, to Faerie, and I couldn’t figure out why. All he’d done since you disappeared was curse the fae.” He glances at Ruskin, but keeps talking. “So I went snooping in your old workshop where they were working, but I got caught.”
He looks away, grimacing at the memory. I suspect Albrecht was not lenient with his punishment.
“That must have been unpleasant,” I say quietly, wanting to show him I understand. He swallows, gives a curt nod, and continues.
“My father was furious—but he also couldn’t help bragging about his rapport with the beautiful, powerful faerie queen.”
“And what about the experiments? Do you know what the jeweler and the others were working on?” I ask. I doubt Evanthe needed him to teach the metalsmiths how to make cold iron. And they certainly don’t need my notes for that. The missing piece is here somewhere, and I don’t think we’ll like it when we find it.
“I saw some of their research before I got caught.” Gawain shrugs. “It just looked to be a bunch of ingredients and calculations.”
“Think carefully,” I say. “What ingredients? Can you describe them?”
Gawain thinks. “There was salt. And some kind of blueish rock. Flowers too.”
I try to decipher his description, going over the long list of plants and minerals in my mind.
“Were the flowers little white ones, with long, round leaves?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Nitre bush flowers. And boothite. That’s what they’re using.” My voice is toneless as I put it together, because I suddenly understand.
“She’s going after the founding stone.”