Chapter 32
I thought Irnua was peaceful when I first laid eyes on it—the dark waters of the lake contrasting with the green, moss-laden ground. By now any sense of peace is long gone, chased away by the violence of Evanthe’s ambush against us all those weeks ago.
But none of that prepares me for the battlefield we find today. From a distance, the earth is covered in a black, moving mass, like a swarm of ants. As we ride closer, those shapes transform into soldiers, striking up against one another to a chorus of clashing metal, underpinned by screams.
I can see what must be the Unseelie army on the other side of the field against the backdrop of the mountains, their animal fighters helping me confirm what side they’re on. And then, closer and with their backs to us, is Albrecht’s army, half a mile from the edge of Lake Irnua. My heart sinks at the sheer number of soldiers in dark, iron armor. I know Styrland doesn’t normally command an army on this scale, and I wonder where on earth Albrecht found all these men. More than half of it must be made up of farm boys and tradesmen, surely. Inexperienced, barely trained, brought here to act as little more than fodder.
“We’ll surprise them from the rear,” General Sunshard says to her lieutenants. “Gather your soldiers and choose a position—northeast or southeast. If we advance on both sides we can drive them harder against the Unseelie forces, trapping them. Remember, humans are neither as fast nor as strong as fae. Avoid them piercing your armor, and you should be able to bring them down.”
The lieutenants nod, turning to relay the orders to their troops.
“Wait,” I say.
I’ve been watching the army intensely. The General is right, the human forces shouldn’t be a match for the fae, even with the cold iron. And yet even from this distance, Albrecht’s army looks strong, capable, colliding with the fierce Unseelie warriors with breathtaking force. Impossible force. No one in Styrland can fight like that, I’m sure of it. It doesn’t add up.
“There’s something we’re missing here. Hold on.”
I close my eyes and reach my magic out across the plain, dancing through the vague shapes of bodies clad in armor, my magic sparking as it hits upon weapons of cold iron and steel. So much metal that it takes me a minute to realize what’s lacking .
There aren’t any bodies in the armor.
Row upon row of soldiers march across the battlefield towards the Unseelie, but they are simply puppets—suits of cold iron with nothing inside but the stench of Evanthe’s dark magic. As I watch, one of the iron soldiers’ helmets is knocked by an Unseelie blow and goes flying, but the suit of armor simply keeps advancing, mowing down one Unseelie after another. An ursinian lows, the sound reverberating through the metal around it, and dips its head to swipe its antlers through the iron soldier. It works to take that one down, the suit flying through the air, scattering into several pieces that don’t rise again. But then there’s immediately a dozen more behind it to take its place. The Unseelie must have taken their cue from the forces they fought at Cavalil, since they are protected by lead armor, but what can protect them from these sheer numbers?
I’m about to tear myself away from the images, when a familiar shape plows through the front line, the unusual shape of his metal-tipped horns standing out to me. Wistal, in his huge bull form, snorts and tramples iron soldiers beneath his hooves. But he releases an almighty bellow when an iron soldier lodges a lance in his side. Turning to charge at the enchanted armor, he misses the soldiers gathering on his other side. They work in unison to scale his flank, piling on top of him until he disappears under the weight of them.
I want to shout out his name, and try to crush the soldiers with my magic, but it happens too fast for me to do anything, an awful powerlessness crashing over me. A hand touches my shoulder, gently shaking it, and the sensation yanks my mind back from the battlefield.
“Ella, what is it?” Ruskin asks, as my awareness returns to the edge of the field, surrounded by the Seelie.
He takes one look at my expression, and his face darkens even before I can answer. It’s a struggle to force the words out, but I manage to tell them about the iron soldiers—and how I watched Wistal fall.
“This must’ve been the real key to my mother’s and Albrecht’s alliance,” Ruskin says. “He hasn’t given her an army, he’s made her one.”
“We’re done for,” one of the High Fae lieutenant curses. “What’s more indestructible than an army that can’t bleed, that doesn’t need to eat or sleep? They have no weakness.”
“You’re wrong,” Destan says firmly. “Lady Thorn is their weakness. Isn’t that right?” He turns to me, and I’m bolstered by his words.
“Yes,” I agree. “Given their numbers, I’d say Evanthe’s spread herself thin. There won’t be much magic powering each one, so I should be able to take out big groups of them at a time.”
General Sunshard nods. “And meanwhile, we’ll work on drawing some of the heat to help the Unseelie.”
But as she speaks, I realize something. I was so distracted by the horror of the iron soldiers, I’d almost forgotten our initial plan.
“Evanthe’s not anywhere on the battlefield,” I say. “The army is a diversionary tactic. She’s keeping us all busy as she tries to open the portal. Defeating her soldiers won’t matter if we don’t find her in time.” I hear the panic in my voice.
Ruskin places a hand on my arm.
“I know. Leave that to me,” he says. “We can help our friends and still target her as planned.”
I nod weakly, wanting him to be right, because now I’m here I can’t face the idea of walking away from the Unseelie—to see more of our friends taken down like Wistal—because I’m too busy with Evanthe. I bunch my hands into fists, already imagining the feeling of crushing those soldiers with my magic.
The lieutenants return to their contingents, and I see some healers from the palace working to unpack equipment. I’m both comforted and sobered by the sight. They’ve come prepared for casualties.
At General Sunshard’s signal we ride on, down the south-eastern flank of the army, until we’re close enough to see the black abysses where the faces of the iron soldiers should be.
Ruskin dismounts and walks over to me, placing one hand on my leg and the other on my horse, stretching up to stare into my eyes.
“Show them what you’ve got, Iron Tamer,” he murmurs. I lean down and kiss him.
“You too,” I say, and he smirks before stepping back and transforming. His limbs lengthen, his skin darkens, becoming covered with thick, glossy fur, and moments later the huge black panther is stretching itself and yawning, exposing rows of sharp teeth in a red mouth.
The Seelie around us exclaim in surprise, drawing their horses back.
“It’s all right,” Destan calls to them. “His Majesty just picked up a few new tricks in the Unseelie Court.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Does he always have to be so dramatic about everything?”
I laugh despite myself, knowing Destan is trying to set me at ease. Ruskin must have overheard, because he gives Destan a withering look, growling lightly at him.
“Enough of that,” Destan says, pointing over Ruskin’s head. “Look.”
The cursed marionettes have at last taken notice of us now. A group of them breaks away, heading towards us. The Seelie draw their weapons, and I drop the leash holding back my magic.
It hits the soldiers like an invisible wave, crumpling their suits inwards and throwing them back against each other, going down like ninepins. The Seelie cheer, but while the iron soldiers may be down, they’re not out. Empty gauntlets crawl across the ground as if they’re possessed, and helmets creep forward. The Seelie descend upon them, protected by their own lead armor, striking and crushing the armor until it’s had all movement beaten out of it.
“We’ll be okay here,” I tell Ruskin. “Just find Evanthe.” He nods, then lopes away into the fray.
I don’t like to let him out of my sight in the midst of so much violence, but I don’t have time to worry about him. Our initial attack has attracted more iron soldiers. I lead the way, clearing a path through the battle. Dozens fall, but there’s still so many of them, and the occasional puppet slips through my net. I glance over my shoulder to see a Seelie being yanked from their horse. To my right someone screams when an iron sword pierces their lead armor. I push on, knowing I can’t help everyone.
Deeper into the fray, I see a group of Unseelie Low Fae have succeeded in breaking the front line of Evanthe’s forces. And their opponents look different.
Damn it . I curse as I spot pale, blood-spattered faces staring out of their helmets. Humans.
It appears Albrecht’s army has been forced to join the battle after all. Except as I search their ranks, I notice that—like Evanthe—the king is nowhere to be seen. Their battlefield leader is Prince Gawain, his face twisted with determination and fear as he grapples with an Unseelie. They shouldn’t be here—I can only assume Albrecht forced his son to lead his men, the coward—but I can’t intervene in this moment. Several roars of pain echo across the battlefield, and I see the iron soldiers streaming over the bodies of three bleeding ursinian, forcing their way through a gap in the Unseelie front line.
I urge my horse onwards, further into the chaos.
My heart thuds in my ears as I go, almost drowned out by the sound of metal puncturing metal and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. Only the screams and groans can tell me if it’s a person that’s fallen or one of Evanthe’s puppets. To add to the turmoil, I see that some parts of the battlefield seem to have collapsed, the earth having given way to reveal churned up pits of dirt and stone. Glancing down into one as my horse skirts it, I think I glimpse suits of armor buried under the earth and rocks.
I reach the Unseelie front line and hurl my magic at the iron soldiers charging forward. It runs through them quick as lightning, tugging them to the ground and crushing them into twitching lumps of scrap metal. The Unseelie cheer as I clear the nearest line of soldiers, and then focus on picking off the strays.
That’s when I spot a goaty, craggy-faced figure several yards behind the warriors, standing on a cart with a book in one hand and the other raised. It’s Maidar, chanting something, his eyes on a spot thirty yards to my right. I turn to it, just in time to see a crowd of iron soldiers seemingly disappear. The ground has given way beneath them, swallowing them as they fall into a pit of Maidar’s making. So that’s what’s causing the potholes.
I grin with triumph, only to feel my own body shifting and start to fall. My horse whinnies in alarm as Evanthe’s puppets swarm it and attack its legs. It rears up, throwing me off, and then bolts. The iron soldiers’ hauntingly empty faces turn to me, their weapons swinging, but I shove them back with my magic, giving me time to scramble onto my feet.
“My Lady!” someone bellows. A crossbow bolt slams into the head of the nearest iron soldier, causing it to jerk violently, but it doesn’t go down. Instead, the thing takes another step towards me, and I ready my magic?—
Except I blink, and the iron soldier is gone. A clank of metal makes me look down, and I see the bolt that struck the soldier was attached to a long chain, that’s now dragging the armor across the ground, bouncing it against the earth with such force that the armor scatters into pieces. On the other end of the chain is a harnessed ursinian with Elias sitting atop it, his red hair streaming.
He brings his steed round in a U-turn, aiming his crossbow again. This time, when it hits the iron soldier, it explodes in a flash of magic. I make swift work of the other two iron soldiers just as Elias reaches me.
“Lady Thorn, take my hand. Quickly now.”
I let him haul me up onto his ursinian, then he rides us back through the ranks of the Unseelie.
“Thanks,” I say. “Are you all right?”
“The cursed warriors took us by surprise, but we’ve adapted.” He lifts his crossbow to illustrate his point. “However, the king was injured in the initial charge. He’s with the healers now.”
“Is Wistal—?” I ask, unable to finish my question.
Elias shakes his head. “I saw him go down. He did not get back up.” He dips his chin, his tone reverent. “May his name echo in our halls forever.”
“And may we do justice to his name,” I respond, remembering Lisinder’s words from the remembrance ceremony. As we continue to ride, the Unseelie’s numbers thin, and we reach a cart of supplies. A huge, brown beast is tethered behind it.
“Parsley!” I shout, scrambling off Elias’s ursinian and scruffing the fur of the bear’s snout. He releases an indignant whine, like he doesn’t understand why he’s stuck here and not in the fight, and snuffles at my armor.
“As I promised, I brought him with us.”
“Thank you,” I say, immediately releasing the tether and climbing up into the saddle. I pat the bear’s flank. “No suits of armor are going to spook you, are they, Parse?” He snorts his agreement.
“Let’s get back,” I say to Elias. “I don’t want to leave anyone unprotected from those things for too long.”
Elias nods, and we hurry back to the front line. But even my few minutes of absence has had consequences. The iron soldiers have advanced several more yards, and Maidar’s cart lies upturned, the wheels spinning.
“Maidar!” I shout, but there’s no answer. In a fit of panic I lift the cart up by its metal axles, not caring about how much energy it costs me. The wood creaks and groans, but it holds together as I levitate it into the air. Then I hurl it upon a cluster of iron soldiers, pinning them to the earth, twitching.
When I turn back I see Maidar lying where the cart was, his book muddied and splayed open beside him, his eyes open to the sky, unseeing.
I feel like the battlefield is suddenly airless, and I frantically tug on Parsley’s reins. He responds, battering his way through the madness towards the edges of the fighting. The iron soldiers may be strong, but they’re not smart. Unless I’m actively attacking them, they don’t see me as a threat, and so there are few obstacles for Parsley as he takes me away from it all. There, at a spot where the ground is clear of bodies, I lean forward and take great gulps of air, trying to summon up the strength to go on. How many more of my friends will I have to watch die before I can stop these things? My breathing at last slows, and I look up towards the Seelie end of the field, only to spot something that makes me freeze.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing here!?”
He’s standing at the edge of the battlefield, a loose breastplate strapped to his chest and a short sword in hand. I urge Parsley after him, blocking his way, and my dad immediately takes a terrified step back, before he recognizes who is on top of the bear.
“Nora?”
“How did you even get here? You’re supposed to be back at the palace.”
His face hardens. “Some of those resistance fighters let me come with them. I wasn’t going to sit by and watch you all go off to war.”
I stare at him, my fear spiking at the idea of him being so close to so much power and destruction. How could he put himself in danger like this, after we just went to such lengths to make him safe again?
“Dad, you don’t know the first thing about fighting.”
He shakes his head, and I see his stubborn streak rising to the surface. “I have to do something, Nora.”
“Why?” I ask, bewildered. “This isn’t your fight.”
“Isn’t it? When it involves boys from our village, dying for a king who doesn’t care a whit for them and who imprisoned me? When it involves my own daughter—fighting for her husband’s kingdom, for her life ?”
“That doesn’t mean?—”
But to my shock, Dad cuts me off. “I’ve spent the last decade doing nothing. Walking around like a ghost. It’s time I stood up for something.” The hand around his sword tightens, and he glares out over the battlefield.
My heart twinges at his words—because I can’t argue against them. He’s right. And he looks more alive now than he has for years.
“I agree with you, Dad. But you don’t have to get yourself killed to stand up for what’s right. There are healers here, like Mom.” I point back towards where I saw Atlana and the others set up their tent. “I bet they need help, especially with the iron injuries. Cold iron burns the fae and makes them sick. Pulling out the shards can be as dangerous for the healer as it is for the wounded—but you could do that for them. You can help.”
He wavers, looking from me, to his sword, to the battle.
“Please, Dad,” I beg. “It’s where you can do the most good—and it’s where I won’t be sick with worry about you.”
“All right,” he says.
He lets me pull him up onto Parsley and I escort him back to the healers. Atlana looks so relieved when I offer Dad’s services, that he actually starts believing he really is needed. He squeezes me tight before I go, and then makes one request as I mount Parsley again.
“The Styrlanders…they’re not here of their own accord. I know the fae are fighting for their land, but help our people too, if you can. Albrecht has put them in an impossible position.”
Sparing them might be an impossible task for me , but I promise to do my best. As I ride back out I see Prince Gawain and his men are still clashing with the Unseelie Low Fae, and now some Seelie High Fae too. His numbers have fallen, and Albrecht is still nowhere in sight. Maybe I can convince Gawain to surrender—spare his forces any more loss of life. But even if the human soldiers are taken out of the equation, the iron soldiers will never back down—and somehow there still seems no end to them.
I pat Parsley on the neck. “All right, Parse, time to shine.” The bear roars, and then begins to ram his way through the iron soldiers. I clear swathes of them on either side as I go, parting the sea of iron and leaving piles of crumpled metal in my wake. Once I’m closer to the humans I can see a contingent of Seelie cutting the Styrlanders down like wheat. I recognize one of the Seelie—a big, brawny youth called Axtil who threatened me once with a knife. I watch his face light up with glee as he now uses one to carve a gash into the chest of a Styrland soldier.
“Hey!” I shout. But I don’t even know what to say. Technically, the humans are our enemies, and Axtil has already moved onto another victim. The human he stabbed sways, then begins to slip from his horse. As he does so, he turns his head, and I recognize him.
Dad said they had boys from our village fighting here.
“Thatch!” I urge Parsley forward, not quite managing to catch my onetime suitor before he hits the ground. I dismount, then kneel beside him. Even in the filth of the battlefield, he’s still recognizable as the boy that all the girls in my village used to swoon after, who used to drive me nuts with his constant bragging. He still looks handsome, even with mud and blood staining his blond hair.
The idiot. Of course he signed up for Albrecht’s army. What a waste.
His eyes blink open and focus on me. Immediately, his face twists in fear.
“Get away from me, fae scum!” he growls. He scrabbles weakly for his weapon, managing to lift his sword enough to angle the point towards me. It takes a second to realize he doesn’t recognize me.
“Thatch, it’s me. Eleanor Thorn. From home.”
He gapes, clearly trying to make sense of all the ways I’ve changed. Then the bewilderment on his face turns to anger. He coughs, and flecks of blood spatter onto his chin.
“What have you done to yourself?” he spits, disgusted.
“It’s just magic, Thatch. It’s still me.”
“No it’s not. Traitor.” He coughs again, his breathing growing more labored. “How could you side with them? These monsters?”
“That’s not?—”
“Stay away from me,” he wheezes, trying to crawl out of my reach. But his strength is gone. His head slumps against the earth, and his body stills. Unlike Wistal and Maidar, I never really liked Thatch, and yet this simple, foolish boy has come all the way from Styrland just to die under an unfamiliar sky. The awful futility of it makes tears prick at my eyes again.
A huge black panther leaps past the Seelie to land in front of me, and a moment later, Ruskin stands at my side. Although chaos is still spinning on around us, I grab his hand, not saying a word, just needing to feel him solid and warm beside me.
His fingers tighten around mine as he meets my gaze.
“I found her.”