Page 58

It was certainly a sight to see the army of Unseelie marching into a mountainside waterfall, only to disappear as the water swallowed them up. I rode through on Parsley, the mountains around me giving way to the squeezing sensation and darkness of portal travel before we emerged from a large lake onto a heath. Now, riding to the Low Fae settlement, I feel confident on Parsley in a way I never did on the horses. He’s smarter for one, changing stance intuitively when I shift my weight in the saddle.

He’s also closer to the ground, which is pretty important when I spend most of my time on horses worrying about falling.

What had been an atmosphere of activity and preparation at the Unseelie Court, however, has now grown into one of taut anticipation. I can feel it in the fae around me—the way they hold themselves, their alert expressions. It seeps into me, and even with Ruskin by my side, my nerves start to jump beneath my skin. I fix my eyes on the king near the head of the march and find strength in remembering that I’m here to help him and his people however I can.

It’s almost a relief when Cavalil comes into view up ahead. It’s bigger than my village, almost a town, with sturdy buildings of stone and clay. A fae with large, dark irises like a nocturnal animal rides forward a few yards, scanning the horizon, then circles back to murmur in Lisinder’s ear. He nods, then straightens on his huge black horse, leading us onwards.

“What’s happening?” I ask Ruskin.

“I suspect the scout can see further than most of us, and has just confirmed Evanthe’s soldiers aren’t lying in wait for us up ahead.”

“Well, that’s something,” says Destan. “I’d feel positively foolish if she managed to ambush us twice.” His wry humor does little to put me at ease.

The chance of a surprise attack feels even more unlikely when we get closer to Cavalil. Evanthe’s militia is visible on a slight incline on the other side of the settlement. I squint and judge they’re probably about half a mile from the outskirts, close to the border. But they’re just standing there, unmoving.

“I thought they’d be attacking the town by now,” I say, finding something creepy about the motionless figures on the hill. “The way Evanthe spoke, she made it sound like her punishment would be swift.”

“Maybe they’ve already finished,” Destan says grimly.

We enter the outskirts of the town, passing the first of the stone buildings as the Seelie on the hill watch our every move. There’s no sign of the town’s residents and everyone’s tension ramps up a notch, breaths getting shallow and movements more cautious.

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” I whisper to Ruskin.

“It could be,” he says, looking ahead to a cluster of houses. “But I sense that whatever Evanthe is up to isn’t subtle.” His face grows solemn as he points to something over my shoulder.

I turn, and my stomach churns with horror.

A Low Fae lies on the ground near a doorway, his eyes are wide and unseeing, pointed towards the sky. His mouth is open in a silent scream, a bloody iron spike protruding from it. Shadows hover over the body like a fog, strange tendrils that seem oddly familiar.

I look away, wanting to spare my eyes from the awfulness of it, only for them to settle on another body a few yards beyond the first. This one has iron pierced through her skull, exiting out of her eye socket. She lies to the side, revealing where the iron erupted from the ground beside her, and the same dark tendrils of shadow wrap themselves around the metal.

Lisinder sees the iron at the same time we do, calling for a halt.

“She’s found a way to extend her powers,” I say to Ruskin and Destan, my worst fears confirmed. The roots of the iron she used to terrorize the Seelie palace should be too far away for her to call on them here. Even Ruskin as High King has to work to call on his earth magic when he’s in Unseelie territory. But somehow, the iron is here, and it’s changed. These attacks seem targeted. Instead of the iron shoots I remember punching their way indiscriminately through buildings, these shoots seem to have consciously hunted down the residents, with terrifying precision.

And those shadows…

Ruskin recognizes them before I do.

“It looks like the darkness that plagues the beasts of Interra,” he says.

He’s right. The monster he fought had those very same shadows. I shiver as I remember the way they left its corpse, like parasites searching for a new host. What if they’ve found it?

“It seems that Interra has gifted my mother with something, just as Cragfoot said.”

“It’s made her stronger,” I say, turning to Destan. “Remember the iron attacks from before? How random they seemed?”

He nods. “Just senseless destruction.”

“She wasn’t fully in control of the iron then,” I say grimly. “But she is now.”

“Darkness calls to darkness,” says Ruskin, and something in his tone chills me.

“What do you mean?”

“You said that the iron in her blood wasn’t the only thing that changed Evanthe. She was also poisoned by dark magic from my sister, yes? If she carried that dark magic with her into Interra, it could very well have shaped what the space between realms decided to gift to her.”

I watch as Lisinder’s scout rides back from inspecting one of the bodies, pale faced, and speaks again with the king.