The Changeling's Fortune (Winter's Blight Book 1)

by K. C. Lannon

  “I told you before not to wear the scarf.”

  “It’s just a scrap of fabric. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Iain shook his head. “It means something.” He pointed to his uniform and the patch attached to it on his left shoulder with an insignia of an iron horseshoe. “This is a scrap of fabric, yeah? But it means something. It means—”

  “It means you can ruin a person’s day?” James thought of the Iron Wardens in the shop earlier.

  “Nah. I can do that any day. It means I’m bound to serve this city and its citizens.”

  And steal their books.

  “Okay,” James murmured uncertainly, not entirely sure what Iain was getting at, “so what does my scarf mean?”

  “Well, it can mean a lot of things to… different people,” Iain said very slowly. “Things we don’t want people to think.”

  James lowered his head to hide his disappointment. You may want to hide part of your heritage, but I don’t, he thought to himself sullenly. Then he remembered how he’d avoided Deirdre’s question about the scarf and knew he was just as guilty of withholding information. He had only wanted Deirdre to give him a chance.

  Iain tilted his head to meet James’s gaze and grinned. “More importantly, it means that you like flowery things and wearing women’s clothing. You won’t meet a girl like that, now will you, little brother?”

  “Flowers are neutral,” James muttered, feeling his ears heat up. He stuck out his chin indignantly, stating, “And Deirdre liked my scarf. In fact, that’s how I met her.”

  “Well, she clearly has good sense. A paragon of sense, that one.”

  “Yes, she—” James broke off, perceiving the sarcasm in Iain’s tone. He brushed off the comment, saying, “She’s just… different, I guess.” When Iain snickered, James added, “She’s much too interesting to hang out with someone like you anyway.”

  “You’re probably right. My loss.”

  The brothers left the shop after paying and headed to their next destination on Iain’s list. As they walked down the street, Iain asked, “Does she know she’s your girlfriend?”

  “She’s—she’s not—” James broke off again with an irritated sigh and shoved Iain in the side. A passing woman looked very alarmed to see a young man pushing an Iron Warden.

  “Careful,” Iain warned. “I might have to pretend to arrest you to keep the peace.”

  “You are so annoying.”

  “I know.”

  * * *

  “There you are, Red.”

  Deirdre whirled around. She had headed inside after loitering in the front school yard for a while and had been searching fruitlessly for some sign of life in the now-empty building. She sighed in relief to see a broad-faced woman with short grey hair walking toward her from a side hallway.

  “I was looking for you,” she said, jerking her head back the way she came. “Come along. I’m your dormitory supervisor.” As Deirdre began to follow her, she added, “I teach British history on the side. There’s nothing about the history of this island I don’t know, if that means anything. You may call me Miss Becket. Not Mrs. Becket.”

  “Oh… Becket, like Saint Thomas Becket!” Deirdre said with a small smile as they headed toward a side door.

  Miss Becket looked back at her, an eyebrow raised. “Who?”

  “You know, the archbishop of Canterbury, ages ago? He was murdered in his own cathedral.”

  The woman laughed and patted Deirdre’s shoulder so hard it was almost a swat. “You must have read that in a fantasy book somewhere. I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  She furrowed her brow. “Really?”

  “Who’s the history teacher here, Red?”

  Deirdre folded her arms, wondering if every woman she met in the city was going to call her by that nickname.

  They stepped outside into a large, expansive courtyard, separating the school from two other sets of buildings. One Miss Becket identified as the school offices, and the other housed the dormitories. Both were two-story, brick, and surrounded by short iron fences. As they walked past the fence and up to the dormitory entrance, Deirdre once again felt sick to her stomach. She felt caged in.

  Miss Becket opened the door, saying, “Come along inside, Red; it’ll be warmer at least. Not much prettier to behold though.”

  As she stepped across the threshold, Deirdre inhaled deeply: the scents of old wood, faint mildew, freshly baked potatoes, gas in the lights, and a strange powdery smell that reminded her of heavily made-up ladies she’d met. The white-and-blue-wallpapered foyer was large but unadorned; there wasn’t a single glimpse of a painting, flower vase, or anything else to give the room character.

  Remembering all she’d ever been schooled about manners when house calling, Deirdre forced out, “It’s… nice.”

  “Yes, positively dreadful.” Miss Becket sighed, then began to walk down the hall, which opened up into a wide, similarly bland great room. There were many windows, but they were all narrow and barred on the outside by iron rails. On their right was a wooden staircase, along with a small sitting area with only enough furniture to accommodate a couple of people comfortably. The rest of the room was taken up by a large wooden table with bench seating. Near it was an open door, through which Deirdre glimpsed a couple of elderly women; one was putting a pot into an oven.

  “Dinner won’t be ready for a while, I suppose,” Miss Becket said, glancing at the kitchen. “Come along.”

  Deirdre followed her upstairs while the older woman began talking without pausing for breath. “I have a room below, near the front door. There is a back kitchen door, but that’s kept locked, in case one of you lot try to break curfew. I’m supposed to keep you from getting out, and it’s a thankless job, I’ll tell you that. But I’m not above beating you back upstairs with a broom if that’s what it takes.”

  As they reached the top of the stairs and headed down a long, narrow hall lined with doors, she continued, “And don’t imagine you can intimidate me; I had to force my husband to stay inside the same way when he got caught up in gambling after hours. He hated me for it.”

  They stopped at the last door on the right, and Miss Becket walked Deirdre inside. It was a small room with just enough space for a bed, a dresser, and desk in front of a large window. The window was barred with iron, once again, making Deirdre sigh. And she barely restrained a groan when her gaze fell on the hideous yellow wallpaper.

  “You’ll be spending most of your time studying in here, so you’d better get used to it.” Miss Becket tapped the wallpaper with a long fingernail.

  “This whole room is mine?” Deirdre asked, turning to face Miss Becket, her eyebrows raised. She had hardly been alone her entire life, much less had her own room.

  “Uh-huh. Dinner will be in about three hours. Stay out of trouble until then.”

  “Can I wait downstairs, in that room?” Deirdre asked, glancing out the window.

  Miss Becket laughed again and said, “That’s reserved for the girls who are about to graduate. You’ll have to wait until next semester to have dibs on that space.” She looked back at the wallpaper, scrunching her nose at it. “Think of it as something to look forward to. I suppose.”

  And she left before Deirdre even had the chance of thinking of another question to ask.

  After tossing her suitcase onto the bed, Deirdre headed over to the window, sitting down cross-legged on her desk and spinning around so she could lean against the glass. Shutting her eyes, she let out a long sigh.

  This is how it’ll be from now on, she thought. I’ll all be alone, behind bars. Ugh, that makes it sound like I’m in jail! She sighed loudly again. I thought the city would be more fun than this. This isn’t at all what I imagined. Those faeries are lucky they don’t have to bother with all this silly iron…

  Opening her eyes, she reached up and unlocked the window, opening it as much as she could. She inhaled the afternoon breeze; it was damp and cool, smelling slightly of salt. But it also carried
the smoky, thick, greasy scents of the city; she coughed and looked out at the cityscape.

  The grey buildings of Neo-London were uninteresting and unremarkable. But in the distance she spotted pulsating green and blue lights. They did not flash alarmingly; instead, their glow was more akin to a lighthouse. It beckoned rather than repulsed.

  I wonder if that’s Ferriers Town. The thought came from nowhere, but Deirdre couldn’t dismiss it. It did sound like an interesting place, from what James was saying… She sat for a moment, watching the lights through the iron bars until she realized that Miss Becket hadn’t forbidden her from going out and exploring. She had mentioned curfew, but it didn’t seem like it was anytime soon—it wasn’t dark yet.

  Anything would be better than staying here alone.

  She made a face at the iron bars and wallpaper, then turned and jumped off the desk. Throwing open her luggage, she pulled out her change purse and popped it open. The inside was lined with a folded handkerchief, the only one she’d managed to finish embroidering, and there was a fair amount inside, a farewell gift from the Sisters. She snapped the small purse shut and slipped it into her skirt’s pocket.

  Grinning, she hurried out of the room, down the stairs (Miss Becket was sitting, reading at the table and listening to a blaringly loud radio program), and breezed down the hall and out the door before anyone could stop her. Out in the courtyard, she broke into a run, dashing back into the school, down the empty hall, her steps echoing loudly. Bursting outside and jumping down the stairs to the street, she turned right toward Ferriers Town.

  She smirked back at the school. I’ll be back before they know I’m gone!

  Chapter Six

  Alan Callaghan drove off the side of the road just outside of Neo-London’s walls. In the distance, two battalions of the Iron Infantry were periodically shooting at something in the distance. Military trucks blocked the road behind him to keep anyone from going in or out of the city, to keep civilians from straying into the line of fire. The barrage of gunfire, punctuated with unearthly roars, was sure to draw attention.

  It had been years since Alan had last seen one of the ancient Fae monsters. When he had been a young man of low rank in the Iron Infantry, he traveled briefly to the more remote towns up north, where he had encountered quite a few beasts of myth the farther they ventured to the wild country where Fae roamed unchecked. He had learned much about the Fae then, like how best to destroy them. He had learned much about himself as well.

  This was the first time Alan had ever seen a monster so close to Neo-London, however. He knew what that meant: the faeries had no respect for them anymore. All the signs were there, but it seemed to Alan that he was the only one who had the knowledge to read them and the foresight to prevent what would surely happen next.

  As he drove up to the main flank, one of the Iron Infantry soldiers, Boyd Prance, traipsed over to Alan and saluted. He was sturdy and bulkily built, with close-cropped blond hair. “General Callaghan,” Boyd said, “the animal is approaching.”

  Alan followed Boyd’s pointing finger out to the field. A black-furred shape bounded in the distance, lithe and powerful. It looked like the shadow of a dark cloud over the field, but unlike a shadow, the creature was very corporeal. It was a wolf nearly the size of a tank. Infantrymen on either side of it were targeting the beast with flamethrowers. Smoke streamed through the air as flames licked the vegetation. The great wolf bounded on unconcerned as its fur was engulfed by fire.

  “Animal?” Alan’s voice was flat as he watched the futile battle. “I have no doubt that is the specific term General Edgar Windsor will be using to describe it. Animal sounds so… nonthreatening.”

  Boyd glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing range before he leaned in and said, “It’s exactly how you predicted it’d be. There are monsters coming from the north.”

  “It’s another reminder from the Winter Court. Another threat of war if we don’t do what they want.”

  The smell of petrol pervaded the air from the flamethrowers. The great wolf swiped at the soldiers to either side of it, sending them flying like they were nothing, and ran right over their bodies. It was headed straight for the city gates, undeterred and burning brightly, patches of its dark fur singed away to reveal angry, bleeding red burns. Its roar sounded like a rockslide.

  “This should be interesting,” Boyd murmured, taking a step back from Alan as General Edgar Windsor walked purposefully toward them through the trail of smoke the wind was blowing toward the city.

  “General Callaghan.” Edgar nodded once. His brow shone with sweat darkened by smoke. “Why are you here?”

  “I’ve come to ensure that beast doesn’t reach our walls.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “The incendiary devices don’t appear particularly effective,” Alan commented shortly. “What is your next strategy?”

  “Infantry sharpshooters will position themselves on either side”—Edgar pointed in the direction of the wolf—“aiming for the legs of the wolf, preventing it from moving any faster toward the city. From there, we will send troops in close range.”

  The wolf was a blurred, distorted image in the heat of the flames, moving a bit slower now but getting nearer. The flames were close enough for the heat to warm Alan’s skin; it bolstered his resistance, feeling almost like the flush of anger.

  “It will reach these walls, General, if we do not take risks. Even if it is nearly dead by the time it reaches the walls, it will still have reached them, and citizens of this city will no longer feel safe.”

  Alan turned to Boyd, who was standing at the ready, and then looked to Edgar again. “Tell the infantry to line up directly in the monster’s path. We’ll arm them with their new silver artillery. Meanwhile, with suppressive fire on both sides, we will keep the beast on track. The offensive team will wait until the signal is given and then target their fire at the beast’s head.”

  Edgar’s mouth formed a thin line. “That will be putting the entire infantry at risk. If we launch a direct offensive attack, many more lives could be lost.”

  “I have seen many monsters like this before, and I’ve seen them all brought down,” Alan reminded him. How often the general forgot who among them was the most experienced with Fae. “The new artillery is tested and sound. I was present at the demonstration. The infantry cannot miss.”

  Edgar knew they were running out of time. His eyes narrowed on the field.

  Alan studied the general’s face, how the hard lines of his features twitched to relent. It was a familiar sight, a soothing sight. He was about to understand how relenting to Alan’s will would make his life so much easier. To some, like Boyd, the realization was painless.

  Alan leaned in as if not wanting anyone else to hear and said, “I would not like to be the one to explain to the king how a monster reached his walls, General.”

  Edgar stared at him, perhaps wondering if he’d only imagined hearing Alan’s statement. Then his shoulders lowered. “We will try your plan, General Callaghan. The success or failure of this operation is on your head.”

  Alan got to work immediately. Boyd trailed along behind him obediently to where the other infantry troops were gathered and awaiting orders. Alan explained to them the strategy they were to follow and made sure to iterate they were to wait for his signal only.

  “I request to be in the foremost rank, General Callaghan,” Boyd said as the soldiers began to file to their posts.

  “Then go, Prance,” Alan said. “Make sure the others stay in line.”

  By the time the soldiers had been handed their new artillery and formed a U shape in the path of the danger, the wolf was close. The flames had eaten away at the beast’s hide, the air filled with the stench of singed fur.

  Bullets pelted the ground by the wolf’s paws, sending dust and dirt swirling into the air, chasing the wolf straight toward the line of armed troops.

  Alan waited to give the signal. Edgar stood beside him, growing tense
r with every passing moment.

  The wolf was nearly there, well within range, but it wasn’t close enough.

  One of the soldiers shouted something and clambered to his feet. Boyd barked at him to stand his ground and yanked the soldier back to his position.

  The wolf was one giant bound away from falling upon them and ripping them to shreds.

  “Fire!” Alan shouted.

  Gunfire rang through the air. It was nearly impossible to tell where the roar of the gunfire ended and where the roar of the beast began.

  Silence settled over the field. The wolf was still, but standing. Soldiers readied to pull back, no matter what came next.

  With a great heaving breath, the wolf took a step forward before collapsing. The infantry scrambled away to avoid being crushed as the heavy body impacted the ground with a thud. After a few breathless moments, the wolf twitched no longer and breathed no more.

  “Excellent,” Alan said brightly and began walking in the direction of the body.

  Boyd was waiting for him as the other soldiers began to clear out. Alan instructed the infantry to clear away the corpse as soon as possible to avoid civilians seeing it. Although Alan intended for the city to hear of the wolf’s attack, he needed the information to be released in the controlled environment of the government.

  The creature seemed even more impossibly large up close. It was gargantuan, and while most of its fur was gone, revealing red, glinting flesh, it was obviously a Fae wolf. Unseeing eyes the color of steel stared glassy at the sky, and its great maw hung open to reveal sharp canines slick with saliva.

  “You did well,” Alan said to Boyd.

  “We’ve got a few of those black dogs back in Ireland,” Boyd said with a whistle, “but none as big as this fellow. Used to go after me gran’s chickens.”

  “There was a time”—Alan nudged the Fae creature with the toe of his boot, his mouth curling in disgust—“when no Fae creatures would have dared to venture this close to the walls. There was a time when their kind was not tolerated behind our walls.”