Page 46 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)
B ryson shook her head as a wave of dizziness crashed over her system. She stumbled, the thin shoes digging into something hard and uncomfortable. Straightening, she looked around at her surroundings and was assaulted immediately with gold.
“Weylyn.”
Bryson’s entire body went on high alert as the queen’s rich voice imbued the air. It was sharp like a dagger, and equally cutting and vicious, like a blade tipped with poison.
She slowly turned in the direction of that voice. The queen was merely a few feet away. Unclear to Bryson’s vision, but formidable just the same. Surrounding her were several figures. Through the sharp, dangerous smell of iron, Bryson could pick up some of the scents from yesterday. Weylyn’s siblings. A few goblins, crowding around her fabric-clad legs.
The queen dripped in gold as bright as what surrounded them.
The relic room, as the goblin had called it, wasn’t a room at all. It appeared to be within a room, yes, but one with crumbled walls and an open ceiling where the darkening sky was visible. It looked like a tomb, from what Bryson could tell. A tomb encased in riches. It merged with iron and wildlands, with vines and plant life growing within. And just outside of the walls, she could smell the scent of smoke as it clogged through the air. Like a factory.
It reminded her of the iron prisons she’d long since escaped from.
The reminder made her chest pressurize uncomfortably. It felt like she was drowning all over again. Iron from all sides, closing in on her body, getting smaller by the second. She fought not to wheeze as the stench grew almost unbearable. She blinked the water from her vision and all it did was blur. The pain in her chest intensified to strange proportions.
It had been so long since her mind had last flashed back to the camps. Of course, it lived with her far too much, for far too long. But it was past. It was something she was moving on from. But surrounded by iron, feeling it against her skin?
It felt like she was there, and the memories drowned her, dragged her under, and she couldn’t reach the surface even if she wanted to.
“I can see the iron is affecting you.” The voice of the queen cut through Bryson’s panic, grounding her to the present.
She blinked, feeling tears—or blood, she wasn’t sure which—slide down her cheeks.
“Your eyes bleed at their proximity,” the queen mused.
Bryson could feel the queen’s eyes on her, but her vision kept blinking in and out of focus, blurring and darkening. Her hands lifted to swipe the blood away, though all she felt was it smearing against her cheeks.
“It’s toxic,” Bryson whispered, her voice hoarse.
The queen chuckled. “Toxic for you.” Her hands lifted as she gestured at the space around them, as if embracing the iron. “When the humans invaded Seelie with their iron and drove the High Fae from their lands, the iron spread. It mated with magic and eventually made its way here.”
“The iron should have been fatal,” Weylyn said from Bryson’s side.
“It was, at first. But eventually we adapted. The longer we were forced in the proximity of the iron, the more our systems embraced it. Now, we are a part of it. Our magic has melded and joined with it, and we are stronger because of it.”
Bryson tried to contain her shock. She wondered, if the Seelie had stayed, would that have been the case then? Would they have adapted to iron? Would they have become stronger instead of...
Her eyes burned just thinking about it. It would do no good to hope, to dwell.
“Remarkable,” Weylyn murmured. “Though I see it has also caused side effects to some.”
She didn’t know what he meant by that. She couldn’t see what he was staring at, either. A moment after that thought hit her, her mind blackened as he shoved an image in her mind. An image of Unseelie creatures with twisted, deformed features that couldn’t have been more unnatural. Twisted faces that didn’t belong, even on an Unseelie.
She blinked again and the image was gone.
“Some were contaminated more than others,” the queen replied, her tone dismissive. “Now, the reason I called you here.”
In a swish of golden skirts, the queen turned and went deeper into the relic room. Everyone followed, so Bryson and Weylyn had no choice but to do so as well.
“You cannot see, I am sure, but my goblins have forged many relics over the years. Infusing magic and iron, magic and gold, and have created many masterpieces.”
Once the pressure of iron subsided, though it was still heavy on her bones, Bryson glanced around the room. A new pressure invaded the air, this one infused with magic. It was potent, charging a static through the air that made the hairs all over her exposed body rise.
“We have an array of relics with incredible power holstered here. Rings of iron that can glamor you into anything you wish. Weapons disguised as jewelry. Swords that can shrink to the size of a quill. Mirrors that can portal you anywhere you desire.”
Bryson followed down an aisle with gold and mountains of objects clustered on all sides of her. As she passed them, her skin tingled. She didn’t even want to begin to know what more each of these objects did.
“My goblins will fabricate something for you as well.” The queen stopped mid stride and turned to face Bryson.
“For me?”
“For your sight. All they would need is measurements. Kneel.”
The command in the last word was obvious, and Bryson was still reluctant and slow to do so. She turned to Weylyn, but couldn’t see his face at all clearly to gauge what he thought or what she should do. Was this an infamous Unseelie exchange? Would the queen demand something of her for this?
Bryson warred with herself as she slowly dropped to her knees. Then, bodies crowded around her. Little goblins grasping her face with their rough hands and twisting her head unkindly from side to side. Claws scraped near her eyes, over the marks of her scars, then pulled her eyelids open forcefully. A face appeared so close, she could make out the wrinkled details of rough, leathery skin.
“Iron poisoning,” the goblin muttered. “Iron wounds. Scars. Sightless Fae.”
Bryson huffed a breath at the clinical, rough words.
“Can she be fixed?” the queen demanded.
Bryson wanted to bristle at the callous way the queen said that. As if Bryson were broken.
“Yes,” the goblin answered with confidence. “Easily, Your Majesty.”
“Very good. We cannot have the prince’s mate weakening our bloodline, can we?”
Weylyn huffed out a breath, the sound both exasperated and amused. “It is too late to worry about weak bloodlines now, do you not think so, mother?”
The goblin stepped away from Bryson and she immediately pushed herself to a stand. The energy in the air changed then, becoming more aggressive than the iron clogging around them.
“That tongue will be the death of you,” the queen snarled.
“Really?” Weylyn mused. He injected as much humor as he possibly could into the word, and Bryson felt a sliver of fear slide down her back at the tone. She wanted to reach for him, to warn him.
Losing her sight had made Bryson perceptible to so much more than she’d ever been. To things others weren’t privy to. Like threats. Perhaps the shock of landing in Unseelie had crippled her to that part of her senses at first and nearly landed her within the mouth of a ghoul. But she knew the queen was a threat. The ultimate predator.
And Weylyn was playing with fire.
She had the urge to slap him, if only so he would shut up. He had been adamant she not say a word, but it was obvious he was trying to antagonize his mother.
“I thought you would be the death of me.”
“Yes,” the queen crooned. “Continue to provoke me and I will be. Now that her measurements have been taken, it is time to head to the feast.” Bryson felt the queen’s smile like a snake ready to strike. “The court is very excited for your return.”
And by Mana, those words felt more like a threat than anything else Bryson had ever heard. The fear was immediate, but the queen didn’t give them a single moment to contemplate it before they were whisked away into darkness once again. A moment later, they appeared within the center of what felt like wild lands.