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I hit the grass—sparing a moment to be vaguely glad that Parsley is fairly low to the ground—and then all I can think about is the pain, radiating outwards from my left side. It envelops me for a moment, throbbing so strongly I feel like I can see it, hear it, beating a rhythm of agony through my veins.

But then the piercing heights of it subside just a fraction, then a little more. My hearing returns, and I hear Ruskin shouting my name. My vision returns, showing me the cloudy Unseelie sky.

“Ella! Ella!” Strong hands scoop me up, and I realize he’s lifting me onto his horse. I look down to see a crossbow bolt buried in my side, spilling blood down my pant leg. It hurts—stars, it hurts—but my mind starts to become my own again, and I grab Ruskin’s hands where he’s trying to strap me to his saddle.

“Put me back on Parsley,” I say, my words hitching slightly.

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Ella, we have to get you to a healer?—”

“I can keep going, trust me. Just help me get back on Parsley.”

Somehow, I know I can fight through this—long enough to do what’s needed, at least. It’s like on the bastet field. My body is damaged and wracked with pain, but it still feels strong underneath that. I know my muscles will do what I tell them to, and enough of my mind remains undistracted for me to keep conjuring. This stamina probably won’t last long, but it’s here with me now, and I need to use it.

Ruskin keeps doing the buckles, clearly having decided to ignore my instructions. I let my voice go hard, showing him I’m still alert and steady.

“Ruskin, I’m the only one who can stop the iron. Let me finish this.”

“No.”

“Solskir,” I say, using his true name. It won’t force his hand, not until I pair with instructions, but I’m hoping the use of it will shake him out of his stubbornness.

He freezes at the word, absorbing.

“You don’t fight fair.” He sighs. He looks and sounds angry, but he’s already relenting, unfastening me from the saddle.

“No words will do justice to my rage, Eleanor Thorn, if that crossbow bolt kills you,” he growls. I believe him, and stay tactfully silent as he lifts me down and helps me limp over to my waiting steed.

Wistal and Jasand are still running interference around us as best they can, but the iron has advanced again. I try to hide my wince as Ruskin perches me back in the saddle, telling myself to focus on the tendrils, but when I look around, Evanthe is gone from where she stood before. I scan the field, but there’s no sign of her.

She has to be nearby, though—the shoots are proof. That kind of magic can’t be worked from a distance.

“Watch my back,” I say to Ruskin, though I know it’s like telling grass to be green. “I’m going to need all my concentration for this.”

I pour every ounce of my focus into the strands, and under the uninterrupted pressure of my magic, the iron is forced to start giving way, sinking down into the earth like massive, gray worms.

I watch the rest of the battle play out like a drama on the stage, unable to do anything but the task I know falls to me. As the iron clears from the field, the Unseelie press their advantage and the Seelie start losing momentum. Without Evanthe they fall back, their horses scrabbling away with ursinians and transformed Unseelie snapping at their heels.

Ruskin grabs hold of Parsley’s reins and begins leading him forward.

“Come with me,” he says, just as the iron stops fighting me, sliding beneath the earth with a final, grinding screech.

“She’s gone,” I say, though I still look around me, feeling the need to be ready since she might pop up at any moment. But I notice the shadows from the iron disappearing southwards also, retreating beneath the earth rather than gathering above ground. “There’s no source for them to return to,” I say, pointing it out to Ruskin. “Her magic’s not here anymore.”

“Then we succeeded,” Ruskin says. We climb the hill, joining the Unseelie forces gathered at the top. They stand there, watching the Seelie ride out across the plains.

“We’re not going after them?” I ask no one in particular.

“This is the border,” Elias answers, pulling his horse up beside us. “The king wanted them off our land, but we’re not ready to retaliate…yet.”

“And Evanthe?” I ask.

Elias pulls a face. “She got nervous when her soldiers started turning tail and you got back up from that crossbow hit.” He gawks at the bolt still protruding from my side, but I can’t look at it. If I do, I know there’s a very real chance I might pass out. “She found a well by one of the buildings and portalled herself away. I saw it, but didn’t get to her in time. She could be anywhere by now.” He scrunches up his bushy, red eyebrows. “How are you still upright, anyway?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully, the words coming out in a gasp. I get the feeling I might not be vertical for much longer.

Ruskin squeezes my hand. “Hold on,” he says, and a warm balm seeps through me, easing my suffering. It’s the bond, I realize. Ruskin is using it to help me. “Not much longer, and then you can rest. Just wait here, my love.”