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“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?”