Chapter Seventeen #2
“The updated dinner menus or the faerie-killing knife project?” she asks.
I blink. In my experience, faeries are invincible. Every injury is stitched back together as quickly as it was obtained. They never age. Never grow weaker. If I didn’t know Bram had killed his father, I wouldn’t think they could be killed at all.
“Faerie-killing knife?” Maybe it’s stupid, but while I want Bram gone, viciously, completely, the thought of actually killing
him leaves me reeling. Could I do it if it came to it? Could Lydia?
In my worst moments, I’ve thought perhaps Lydia was on Bram’s side. That she’d stay loyal to him, win the competition to keep
whatever power she has here.
Emmett can read the horror on my face. “We hope to just use it as a threat—something to convince him to abdicate his thrones
for the good of both kingdoms.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I say uncomfortably.
Lydia pales. “He’ll abdicate. I know he will.”
“That’s where Ferrinus comes in,” Emmett offers.
“Ferrinus?” I’m lost.
“Ferrinus is the name of a legendary knife, one used to kill a faerie king. Bram used it to kill his own father after he banished
his mother to England.”
I’d always known in some way that Bram was responsible for his father’s death, but it chills me to hear it said so plainly.
“What kind of knife would be capable of killing a faerie? Is it magic?” I ask.
“Faeries can use magic to kill each other, but it doesn’t touch Bram,” Emmett explains.
Lydia nods. “It makes sense. The only way to have a new ruler is through regicide, so why wouldn’t there be protections put
in place for the king? Otherwise, it would be chaos.”
“So a faerie can kill another faerie, but Bram can’t be harmed.”
“Exactly.” Lydia nods gravely. “We believe only this knife can kill a royal.”
“What kind of knife would be capable of that?” I shudder. But through the mist of memory, a page from Faeries of the British Isles comes back to me.
“Cold iron,” I say. “That’s what can kill a faerie.”
Emmett snaps his fingers. “Precisely. Remember how those chains took down Queen Mor at your wedding?”
I prefer not to think of that day at all.
“Then we have to find it,” I say. I feel horrible the moment the words leave my mouth. For all that Bram has done, not all
of me wants him dead. But if we could use the knife somehow, to threaten him into giving up power or permanently closing the
door between our worlds, then perhaps there is a way out of all of this. England would be free of him, and I would have my
sister and Emmett back. For the first time since I came here, I feel like I’m finally achieving what I set out to do.
“We’re ahead of you there.” Emmett crosses the room and pulls one of the journals from the stack at his bedside table.
He leans over Lydia and me, so close I can feel the heat of him. His long fingers riffle through the pages before settling
on one in the middle.
“Here.” In meticulous pencil, he’s sketched a weapon. It looks less like a knife than a very sharp rock with a gilt handle.
“Cold iron!” I exclaim. “Cold as in unforged! It all makes perfect sense!”
“I’ve gathered accounts from hundreds of faeries and small folk alike,” Emmett says. “As the story goes, after Bram banished
his mother and killed his father, he disappeared for a day and a night. All we have to do is figure out where he went.”
The door to Emmett’s room swings open, making the three of us jump.
“If only you had someone who was there and knew exactly where Bram went.” Rhion leans against the doorjamb gallantly.
Emmett sighs loudly and rolls his eyes. “You again.”
“You’re lucky no one ever uses this hall; your voice really does carry,” Rhion replies.
“Or were you listening at the door with a glass pressed to your ear?” I retort.
Rhion shakes his head. “Nothing so undignified as all that.” He pauses. “I used magic. Like a gentleman.” His eyes flit to
Lydia. I didn’t think it was possible for Rhion to look bashful, but a blush creeps across the tops of his cheeks. “Your Majesty,
I only want to help.”
Lydia doesn’t seem to notice; she’s too focused on Emmett’s sketch.
“Great.” I stand. “Let’s go. We could leave tonight. Rhion can tell us where—”
Rhion stops me. “You’re not going without me.”
There’s tension in every line of Emmett’s body. “I don’t trust you.”
Rhion sighs. “I won’t let any harm come to—” He stops and his eyes land on Lydia. “I won’t let any harm come to either queen.”
“I don’t like this,” Lydia says softly.
“What if I gave you the knife to hold on to once we get it?” Rhion offers.
Lydia sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “I suppose that could work. But then I must go with you to ensure you don’t
swap it out with a fake. I need to know it’s the real one.”
“Then I’m coming, too,” Emmett insists.
“Then we must also bring Marion and Faith,” I counter.
Emmett looks horrified.
I toss my hands up in frustration. “I’m not leaving them alone in this castle without us.”
Emmett’s face falls and I know he has relented.
Lydia turns to Rhion, who still can’t meet her gaze. “How much longer will Bram be in England?”
“Not long: two days, maybe less. He told me he only needed a day at court in England to tend to business. He’s already been
gone for a day and a half here. We don’t have much time to waste.”
I cross to the window and look out over the ragged landscape of the Otherworld. Far off in the distance, golden beams of light
cut through the clouds to illuminate a dark forest at the base of a shadowy range of jagged mountains.
“We can’t all leave,” Emmett says. “Even with Bram gone, if both queens, his adviser, his regent, and his hostages go missing
for two days, people will talk. This court runs on gossip.”
“There’s a revel tonight,” Rhion says. “We’ll go make an appearance, be very respectable, and then sneak out in the chaos.
We’ll have until late afternoon the next day to return. People will assume we’re sleeping off our hangovers and Bram will
be none the wiser when we return.”
Emmett narrows his eyes. “I still don’t like it.”
“Tonight,” I affirm.
“Bring a lock of hair, the button from your favorite coat, and something shiny,” Rhion says.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” I reply.
Rhion joins me at the window and looks out onto the expanse of the Otherworld. His long fingers flex against the windowsill.
“I never joke about a quest.”