by Julie Kagawa
“I thought you wished to get to the palace quickly.” Coaleater’s gaze fell on Nyx, still slumped against the wall, and he swished his tail again. “It is either this, or take your chances with the spider carriage.”
“I’m all right.” Nyx pushed herself to her feet, gazing up at the Iron faery. “If you can get us to the palace quickly, I can endure. Let’s go.”
Coaleater nodded, then bent his front legs and lowered himself to his knees, making it easier to climb aboard his back. Even weakened and not feeling the best, Nyx hopped behind his shoulders with easy grace. Glancing at me, she held out her hand with a faint smile.
“Coming, Goodfellow?”
I rolled my eyes. “Revenge of the rash, part two,” I sighed, and took her hand, letting her swing me up behind her. Coaleater lurched to his feet with a snort, and I yelped as tongues of flame clawed at the bottom of my feet. “Ow, hey, Rusty, could you maybe not breathe so hard? I could probably go the rest of my life without having my toes barbecued.”
Coaleater tossed his head, powerful muscles coiling beneath his iron skin as he gazed toward the distant palace. “Hang on,” he said absently.
I frowned. “Hang on? On to what? I’m not seeing a saddle horn back here.”
Nyx shook her head. “Just grab on to me, Goodfellow,” she said, and with a deep whinny, Coaleater half reared and sprang forward, nearly dumping me from my seat. I lunged and wrapped my arms around the Forgotten’s waist, feeling her slim body against mine. My stomach twisted, and my heartbeat sped up as Coaleater’s stride lengthened and Nyx pressed low over his back. Her hood fell back, strands of silvery hair brushing my face, cool and softer than silk.
“Oh yeah, this definitely better than a saddle horn,” I grinned, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I could get used to this—” She pinched my leg. “Ow. Okay, shutting up now.”
* * *
The ride to the palace was short but very rough. Coaleater appeared to have unlimited endurance; his iron hooves clattered against the road as he cantered through the streets of Mag Tuiredh, dodging faeries, carts, vendors, and carriages. He was like a New York City cab driver, where vehicle lanes were merely suggestions and the sidewalk was a viable avenue for getting around traffic. After a few close calls, we finally found ourselves on a mostly clear road up a steep hill, where the Iron Queen’s palace resided at the top.
Our valiant steed skidded to a halt a short distance from the palace gates, huffing and wheezing like the train pulling into the station, steam spewing off him like a geyser. At the end of the road, Iron knights guarded the entrance to the palace in their super shiny armor, metal swords and breastplates glimmering in the sun.
I slid from our billowing ride’s back and hit the cobblestones with a grunt, relieved to be on solid ground again. The steam and humidity had made my hair stand on end like a dandelion poof. Nyx swung a graceful leg over the horse’s back and dropped to the ground without so much as a stumble.
“Well,” I remarked, putting my hands on my hips as we stared up at the soaring palace of stone, glass, and steel, “we’re here.”
I felt a ripple of Iron glamour behind me, as Coaleater shed his equine form for his more human one. The skin on his arms and shoulders still steamed, though, giving him the impression of being on fire. “I take it you and the Forgotten are expected, Goodfellow?”
“Nope,” I said cheerfully. “Not in the slightest.”
The Iron faery frowned. “Then how do you expect to get in to see the Iron Queen?”
Nyx gave a resigned chuckle. “We’re going to walk through the front gates again, aren’t we?” she sighed.
“Wow, it’s like you’ve done this with me before.”
“Yes, and it worked out so well for us last time.”
“Robin Goodfellow?”
We looked up. A guard was striding toward us, not aggressive or hostile, but definitely with some purpose. I felt Coaleater stiffen, and Nyx drew farther into her hood as the knight approached, but the faery’s attention was solely on me.
“Robin Goodfellow,” he said again, stopping with a quick salute. “You’ve arrived. If you and your friends would please follow me. The queen has been expecting you.”
I blinked, then turned to lift a brow at the other two, both looking stunned as the knight bowed and strode back toward the gates. “See, what did I tell you?” I said, falling into step behind the knight. “Everything works out for Puck in the end. I don’t know how you could have doubted me.”
12
OLD FRIENDS, OLD ENEMIES
The knight didn’t take us all the way to the throne room. Once we were past the enormous courtyard, up the flight of stone steps, and through the massive double doors, a small, squat faery waited for us in the main foyer.
He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his wrinkled nose and carried an enormous pile of junk on his back. Kitchen utensils, broken appliances, several clocks, and a few shattered phones all balanced precariously between his hunched shoulders. He was a packrat and, like his name implied, hoarded all kinds of junk that, somehow, he was able to carry on his back. The larger the junk pile, the more respected the packrat. By other packrats, anyway. This one had a truly impressive hoard, reaching past the top of my head. In fact, I was pretty sure it was bigger than when I’d seen him last.
“Robin Goodfellow,” the packrat wheezed, waddling forward. His enormous junk pile swayed and clanked as he walked, and from the corner of my eye I saw Nyx watching it dubiously, ready to leap back should it topple. “You have finally arrived.”
I grinned. “Hey, Fix. I didn’t know Meghan was expecting me. I’m guessing socket-head let her know I was coming?”
“I am not privy to the decisions of the first lieutenant,” Fix replied, ignoring the rather casual nickname for the commander of the Iron Queen’s army. “Nor do I question the ways of my queen. I am certain you can ask her yourself. Now then...” He paused, squinting up at me with bleary eyes.
I crossed my arms, waiting for him to say something about the pair of protuberances that hadn’t been there before.
The packrat hesitated, then took off his glasses, polished them with a rag, and stuck them back on his face with a sniff. “If you would kindly introduce me to your companions,” he said, as I got the impression that the glasses were purely for show. “I must at least know their names so that I can announce them to the queen before going in.”
Nyx bowed, formal and graceful, even in her condition. “I am called Nyx,” she said, as the packrat turned his beady gaze on her. “I am here as a messenger from His Majesty Keirran, King of the Forgotten.”
Fix sobered immediately at the name. “Keirran,” he repeated, almost a whisper. For a moment, he looked wistful, almost sad, before shaking himself and glancing up at Nyx again. “Well met, Nyx of the Forgotten,” he said formally. “Tell me, how is our former prince these days?”
“Keirran is a fair and just king,” Nyx replied, and she was being completely honest. “He puts the safety of the Forgotten before anything else. He misses the Nevernever, but he doesn’t let that stand in the way of his duty.”
“I see,” the packrat murmured. “Well, I am sure the queen will be happy to hear it. And what of you?” he went on, gazing up, and up, at the hulking Coaleater behind me. “You are one of the Iron herd, am I correct? From the Obsidian Plains. You have come far... Do you also wish an audience with the queen?”
“I do,” the huge Iron faery replied, and put a fist over his heart with a clank. “I am Coaleater, second in command of the Iron herd. I am here at the request of our leader, Spikerail. There is something the Iron Queen must be made aware of.”
Fix bobbed his head. “Of course. Any of the Iron herd is welcome here. Well, then...” He stepped back, beaming placidly at us all. “If you would follow me. The Iron Queen is waiting for you.”
* * *
Th
e Iron Palace had always amazed me. It was like taking a medieval castle from King Arthur days, dropping it into a blender with an H. G. Wells novel, and hitting Puree. The ancient and the modern intertwined seamlessly throughout the halls and corridors of the palace, with more than a few hints of Victorian steampunk scattered throughout, just like the city. Gears, cogs, and wires were common decorations, and the corridors were filled with a soft but constant ticking. Sometimes gothic stone passages gave way to giant arched windows where the sun streamed through the glass, but then we would turn a corner to see a pair of ivy-covered statues sitting under a streetlamp.
Bizarre was a good word for the Iron Palace, and that was coming from yours truly; I practically invented the word. Iron fey roamed the halls and corridors of the queen’s castle, seeming perfectly at home here, more than any other place in the Nevernever: Iron knights, clockwork hounds, hacker elves, cog dwarves, and the ever-present gremlins, trailing us down the hallways like cackling, bat-eared spiders. Even the massive Coaleater looked almost normal against the backdrop of the palace, blending into the surroundings like he’d been born here.
Nyx and I definitely stood out.
I had been to the palace a few times before, so for the most part, the Iron fey knew me. Still, the amount of stares I was receiving was disquieting. Maybe it was the horns. Or maybe it was the cloaked Forgotten walking beside me and making no more noise than a shadow. In any case, it was a little unnerving. When a faery with the body of a metallic centipede stares at you in abject fear and then goes scurrying around a corner, that’s kind of a hard pill to swallow.
“Here we are,” Fix announced at last, coming to a stop before a pair of double doors. Not the throne room, I noted, which would be full of Iron fey all demanding the queen’s attention. This was probably a private meeting room, as indicated by the pair of Iron knights standing guard at the entrance. They nodded to Fix, then reached out and opened each of the doors, granting us access to whatever lay beyond.
Fix smiled at us and waddled through the doors. We followed him into a bright, well-lit room with glass doors that led to a marble balcony and a stunning view of the courtyard below. The doors were open, and a figure could be seen at the railing with her back to us, gazing out over the palace grounds.
Her long, silver-blond hair rippled behind her, held back by the thin iron circlet atop her skull. Per usual she was dressed in modern, human clothes, though over the years I’d noticed she had abandoned the faded jeans and T-shirt look for something a bit less casual and more businesslike. At least in public. You’d never catch her in a gown outside of Elysium, but the scruffy, awkward teenager who’d claimed she would rather be comfortable than popular had vanished, and the Iron Queen was all that remained.
“Your Majesty,” Fix announced as we stepped through the frame, the guards pulling the doors shut behind us. “Robin Goodfellow and his companions, Nyx of the Forgotten and Coaleater of the Iron herd, have arrived.”
The figure on the balcony turned, and my stupid traitor heart still gave a weird little flutter whenever I saw my former princess.
Meghan Chase, the Iron Queen, met my gaze through the balcony doors and broke into a relieved, genuine smile. Without hesitation, she strode forward, stepped into the room, and threw her arms around me in a hug.
Standard greeting, really. And one that had made my heart soar whenever it happened. But this time, something sour flared to life at her touch. I remembered, suddenly, the image of her turning away, of following another through the portal to the human world and leaving me behind. A kiss, shared in a secret bedroom, that meant the world to me and nothing to her. The agonized confession that she did love me, just not as much as him.
All those memories flickered through my head like a strobe light, and in the next blink, they were gone. It happened so quickly, I didn’t know what to think. Or feel. Though I could sense the stunned gazes of both Nyx and Coaleater at my back, their eyes wide and staring. A queen hugging a jester was definitely something they did not see every day.
“Hey, princess,” I whispered, as I always did. “Did you miss me?”
“Puck.” Meghan pulled back, gripping my upper arms. Her sapphire-blue gaze was intense, which made my instincts bristle a warning. This definitely wasn’t normal. “Keirran,” she asked, her voice threaded with worry. “What happened? Is he all right?”
I relaxed, though at the same time, that strange bitterness trickled through my thoughts. Of course, Meghan would want to know about Keirran; he was her kid, after all, and just like she had been. Stubborn, defiant, with no concept of self-preservation.
I smirked. “He’s fine, Meghan. Last I saw, he was blasting a big bad with enough glamour to shred a cement truck.”
Meghan relaxed. She seemed about to say something else, when her gaze suddenly went to my forehead, and her eyes widened. “Puck,” she whispered, as her hand rose to my hair. “What...?”
“Ah, right.” I took a step back, wincing a little. “These things. Well, that’s part of what we came to discuss. Well, this and the big ugly that caused it. So, did Glitch already tell you we were coming?” I went on, changing the subject as Meghan’s worried gaze lingered on my forehead. “Keirran sent us here with a message to warn you about this nasty new threat that’s popped up, but you already seem in the loop.”
“My doing,” sighed a familiar voice, as a large gray cat sauntered in from the balcony, his tail held up behind him. “You certainly took your sweet time getting here,” Grimalkin said, hopping lightly onto a table and regarding us with disdainful cat eyes. “I had already been to Arcadia to warn Oberon before making my way to the Iron Realm. I thought you would be here already and have warned the queen, but apparently, my expectations were too high, again.”
“Grimalkin was telling me about the creature you saw in the Between,” Meghan went on, as the cat gave a yawn and began washing a front paw. I wondered what he would do if his fur suddenly burst into flame. “He said that it seemed immune to glamour, and that it could change faeries into monsters just by touching them. Do you know anything more about that, Puck?”
“If I may, Your Majesty.” Nyx stepped forward, bowing deeply as Meghan turned to her. “Keirran and I have hunted this creature before. We first encountered it in the Between, though later it moved into Phaed and eventually fled to the Nevernever itself. I believe it came here for a specific reason. When we were battling the creature, none of us could really hurt it. It might have killed us had we kept fighting, but as soon as the way into the Nevernever opened, it abandoned the fight to cross the River of Dreams into Faery. As to why it’s here...” Nyx offered an apologetic shrug. “That I cannot tell you.”
“You are Forgotten,” Meghan said, and Nyx gave a single nod. “How is it you look different from the rest of them?”
“I was not present during the last war, Your Majesty,” Nyx replied. “I did not partake in the method used to change them into what they are today. I have been returned to the Nevernever only recently. As I once served the Lady, I now serve the Forgotten King. He is the one who sent me to warn you about this creature.”
“Grimalkin has told me a little,” the Iron Queen said, sounding thoughtful. “But even he cannot say what it is, or why it’s here in the Nevernever. But you all seem to agree on one thing—it’s a threat to everyone it comes across.” She looked up at me, that worried look going through her eyes once more. “Puck, are you sure you’re all right? This curse or condition or whatever it is... It’s not hurting you, is it?”
Only my sanity a little. “What, this?” I pointed to my forehead and smirked. “Don’t worry about me, princess. I’m just a little horny.”
She frowned, unamused, and Nyx rolled her eyes. I knew the situation was serious, but I suddenly felt very immature.
“Oh, and check this out,” I announced, pulling up my pant leg, where a cloven hoof could be seen beneath the cuff. “Horny and shag
gy. Like your favorite taxidermy.”
“Let’s hope you don’t end up on someone’s wall,” said a deep voice behind us. Like the echo of a dream, one that was eerily familiar. I knew that voice instantly.
And something inside me snapped.
Rage flooded me, like a smoldering geyser or volcano that finally burst into eruption. Images flashed through my head, memories and emotions long buried, springing to life again. I remembered a dream with his voice, cold and full of hate, saying Meghan never loved me, that it was my fault that Ariella had died, that the world would be better if I was gone. I remembered the endless fighting, those years when we almost killed each other, the anger and resentment that cut deeper than any sword. All of that came bubbling to the surface, hot and volatile, spilling poison into my veins.
And suddenly, I wanted to hurt him. Not just hurt him—stabbing him with my daggers would be too quick. Besides, Ash had been poked, speared, impaled, slashed, kicked, clawed, and cut open enough times that such injuries were almost commonplace now. No, I wanted to make him suffer, as only Robin Goodfellow could. To devise a prank so devious and hilarious, ice-boy would feel it for years, and all the Nevernever would never let him forget.
In that moment, I felt Puck truly die, as Robin Goodfellow of the woods rose up and took his place.
I smiled broadly as I turned to face the owner of the voice. Ash. Ice-boy. Son of Mab. Former prince of the Unseelie Court. Lots of names, but they all belonged to my greatest friend, and greatest rival, in all of Faery. He swept through the doorway in his long black coat, icy blade glittering blue at his side. Like his broody kid, he was dressed in stark black, from his shirt to his pants to his boots, but his dark hair and silver eyes gave him a dangerous edge that even Keirran could not match. I saw Coaleater take a step back and Nyx staring at him with a mix of curiosity and wary awe. I snorted under my breath. Ice-boy did have that effect on pretty much everyone. After the kings and queens, he was one of the strongest faeries in the entire Nevernever, and he had that presence that turned people into slack-jawed zombies for a moment or two.
