I’d expected to die that day. I was ready. Being ordered by my True Name to walk away, leaving Meghan to die alone in the Iron Kingdom, nearly shattered me a second time. If it wasn’t for my oath to be with her again, I might’ve done something suicidal, like challenge Oberon to a battle before the entire Summer Court. But now that I’ve made my promise, there is no turning back. Abandoning my vow will unravel me, bit by bit, until there is nothing left. Even if I wasn’t determined to find a way to survive in the Iron Realm, I’d have no choice but to continue.

I will be with her again, or I will die. There aren’t any other options.

Praise for Julie Kagawa and The Iron Fey

“Meghan is a likable heroine and her quest is fraught with danger

and adventure … Expect it to be popular with teens

who liked Melissa Marr’s Wicked Lovely.” —School Library Journal on The Iron King

“The Iron King surpasses the greater majority of dark fantasies, leaving a lot for readers to look forward to … The romance is well done and adds to the mood of fantasy.” —teenreads.com

“The Iron King has it all, a lot of action and a little romance.”—MonsterLibrarian.com “A full five stars to Julie Kagawa’s The Iron Daughter. If you love action, romance and watching how characters mature through heart-wrenching trials, you will love this story.” —Mundie Moms blog

“I picked it up and just could not put it down.”—The Story Siren on The Iron Daughter “This third installment in the series is just as compelling and complex as its predecessors, and wholly satisfying.” —Realms of Fantasy on The Iron Queen

“The characters of the series are really what have driven this book

from fantasy to fantastical.”

—nyjournalofbooks.com on The Iron Queen

Also available from JULIE KAGAWA and HQ

The Iron Fey series in reading sequence:

The Iron King Winter’s Passage (ebook) The Iron Daughter The Iron Queen Summer’s Crossing (ebook) The Iron Knight

The

Iron Knight

Julie Kagawa

Team Ash, this one is for you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Ah, the Acknowledgments page. Once more, we come to the end of a novel, and once more, I have many, many people to thank. My parents, for without them, I wouldn’t be the stubborn, idealistic daydreamer I am today. My agent, Laurie McLean, who is always there to field questions and calm authorly panic attacks, sometimes well after business hours. My wonderful editors, Natashya Wilson and Adam Wilson, and the talented, amazing staff at HQ. This year especially has been a wild and crazy ride, and I could not have been in better company.

To all the awesome bloggers of the YA world, and the fans of Team Ash, this book is especially for you. It is partially because of you that a certain Unseelie prince got his own story, that his journey ended as it did. Thank you.

And, of course, my deepest gratitude goes to my first editor, sounding board, proofreader, problem solver and amazing husband, Nick. You are my knight in shining armor.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE
THE HOUSE OF THE BONE WITCH

“Oy, ice-boy! You sure you know where you’re going?”

I ignored Robin Goodfellow as we wove through the gray murk of the wyldwood, pushing farther into the soggy swamp known as the Bone Marsh. Mud sucked at my footsteps, and water dripped from twisted green trees so covered in moss they appeared sheathed in slime. Mist coiled around the exposed roots or pooled in sunken areas, hiding what lay beneath, and every so often there was a splash in the still waters farther out, reminding us that we were not alone. As its name suggested, bones were scattered throughout the marsh, jutting out of the mud, half-hidden in tangles of weeds or shimmering beneath the surface of the water, bleached and white. This was a dangerous part of the wyldwood, more so than most—not because of the catoblepas and the jabberwocks and other monsters that called the dark swamp their home, but because of the resident who lived somewhere deep within the marsh. The one we were going to see.

Something flew past my head from behind, barely missing me, and spattered against a trunk a few feet away. Stopping beneath the tree, I turned and glared at my companion, silently daring him to do that again.

“Oh, hey, it lives!” Robin Goodfellow threw up his muddy hands in mock celebration. “I was afraid it had become a zombie or something.” He crossed his arms and smirked at me, mud streaking his red hair and speckling his pointed face. “Did you hear me, ice-boy? I’ve been yelling at you for some time now.”

“Yes,” I said, repressing a sigh. “I heard you. I think the jabberwocks on the other side of the swamp heard you.”

“Oh, good! Maybe if we fight a couple you’ll start paying attention to me!” Puck matched my glare before gesturing around at the swamp. “This is crazy,” he exclaimed. “How do we even know he’s here? The Bone Marsh isn’t exactly on my list of favorite vacation getaways, prince. You sure your contact knew what he was talking about? If this turns out to be another false lead I might turn that phouka into a pair of gloves.”

“I thought you wanted an adventure,” I said, just to annoy him. Puck snorted.

“Oh sure, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for tromping to all five corners of the Nevernever, getting chased by angry Summer Queens, sneaking into an ogre’s basement, fighting giant spiders, playing hide-and-seek with a cranky dragon—good times.” He shook his head, and his eyes gleamed, reliving fond memories. “But this is like the sixth place we’ve come to look for that wretched cat, and if he isn’t here I’m almost afraid of where we’re going next.”

“You don’t have to be here,” I told him. “Leave if you want. I’m not stopping you.”

“Nice try, prince.” Puck crossed his arms and smiled. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Then let’s keep moving.” It was getting dark, and his constant chattering was getting on my nerves. Joking aside, I did not want to attract the attention of a hungry jabberwock and have to fight it in the middle of the swamp.

“Oh, fine,” Puck sighed, tromping along behind me. “But if he’s not here, I refuse to go to the Spider Queen’s palace with you, ice-boy. That’s where I draw the line.”

MY NAME, MY FULL, True Name, is Ashallayn’darkmyr Tallyn, and I am the last son of the Unseelie Court.

There were three of us at one time, all princes of Winter, myself and my brothers, Sage and Rowan. I never knew my sire, never cared to know him, nor did my siblings ever speak of him. I wasn’t even positive we shared the same sire, but it didn’t matter. In the Unseelie Court, Mab was the sole ruler, the one and only queen. Handsome fey and even wayward mortals she might take to her bed, but Mab shared her throne with no one.

We were never close, my brothers and I. As princes of Winter, we grew up in a world of violence and dark politics. Our queen encouraged this, favoring the son who earned her good graces while punishing the others. We used each other, played vicious games against one another, but we were all loyal to our court and our queen. Or so I’d thought.

There is a reason the Winter Court freezes out their emotions, why feelings are considered a weakness and a folly among the Unseelie fey. Emotion corrupts the senses, makes them weak, makes them disloyal to kith and court. Jealousy was a dark, dangerous passion that ate at my brother Rowan until he did the unthinkable and turned on his court, betraying us to our enemies. Sage, my eldest sibling, fell to Rowan’s treachery, and he was only the first. In a bid for power, Rowan sided with our greatest enemies, the Iron fey, helping their king nearly destroy the Nevernever. I killed Rowan in the end, avenging Sage and the rest of my kin, but retribution cannot bring either of them back. It’s only me now. I am the last, the only remaining son of Mab, Queen of the Unseelie Court.

And I’m already dead to her.

Rowan was not the only one to succumb to emotion and passion. My fall began, as many stories do, with a girl. A girl named Meghan Chase, the half-human daughter of our ancient rival, the Summer King. Fate brought us together, and despite everything I did to shield my emotions, despite the laws of our people and the war with the Iron fey and the threat of eternal banishment from my home, I still found myself falling for her. Our paths were woven together, our fates intertwined, and before the last battle I swore I would follow her to the end of the world, to protect her from all threats, including my own kin, and to die for her if called to do so. I became her knight, and would have gladly served this girl, this mortal who had captured my heart, until the last breath left my body.

But Fate is a cruel mistress, and in the end, our paths were forced apart, as I’d feared they would be. Meghan became the Iron Queen, as was her destiny, and took the throne in the kingdom of the Iron fey. A place I could not follow, not as I am—a faery creature whose essence weakens and burns at the touch of iron. Meghan herself exiled me from the lands of the Iron fey, knowing that staying would kill me, knowing I would try anyway. But before I left, I swore an oath that I would find a way to return, that someday we would be together, and nothing would separate us again. Mab tried to convince me to return to the Winter Court—I was her only prince now, and it was my duty to come home—but I bluntly stated that I was no longer part of the Unseelie Court, that my service to her and Winter was at an end.

There is nothing more terrible than a spurned faery queen, particularly if you defy her a second time. I escaped the Winter Court with my life intact, but just barely, and I won’t be returning anytime soon. Regardless, I feel little regret at turning my back on my queen, my kith and my home. That part of my life is done. My loyalty—and my heart—belongs to another queen now.

I promised I’d find a way for us to be together. I intend to keep that promise. Even if it means trekking through a sprawling, deadly marsh in search of a rumor. Even if it means putting up with my fiercest and most annoying rival, Robin Goodfellow, who—despite all his attempts to hide it—is in love with my queen as well. I don’t know why I haven’t killed him yet. Maybe because Puck is Meghan’s closest friend, and she would mourn him terribly if he were gone (though I can’t understand why). Or, maybe, deep down, I’m tired of being alone.

In any case, it matters little. With every ruin we search, every dragon we slay, or every rumor we unearth, I’m one step closer to my goal. Even if it takes a hundred years, I will be with her in the end. Another piece of the puzzle lurks somewhere in this dreary swampland. The only difficulty lies in finding it.

THANKFULLY, DESPITE PUCK’S constant griping and complaining, the jabberwocks decided not to see what the racket was about and come stalking through the marsh to find us. That was just as well, because it took nearly the whole night to find what we were looking for.

At the edge of a scummy pond stood a house, faded and gray like everything else. A picket fence made of bleached white bones surrounded it, naked skulls topping the posts, and a few scraggly chickens milled about in what passed as a yard. The hut was old and wooden, creaking faintly though there was no wind. The most unusual thing, however, wasn’t the house itself, but what held it up. It stood on a pair of massive bird legs, gnarled and yellow, blunt talons digging into the mud. The legs were crouched low, as if sleeping, but every so often they shifted restlessly, causing the whole house to shudder and groan.

“We’re heeeeere,” Puck sang softly. “And can I say that the old gal hasn’t gotten any less creepy than when I saw her last.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Just shut up and let me do the talking this time. It was bad enough when you insulted the centaur chief.”

“All I suggested was that we could’ve used a ride out of the meadow. I didn’t mean from him.”

Sighing, I opened the bone gate and crossed the weed-choked yard, scattering chickens in front of me. Before we reached the steps, however, the door creaked open and an old woman emerged from the darkened interior. Tangled white hair framed a lined, wrinkled face, and sharp black eyes peered out at us, bright and gleaming. In one gnarled hand she held a basket, in the other a butcher knife, stained with the blood of many victims.

I stopped at the foot of the stairs, wary and alert. Old as she appeared, the witch of this house was powerful and unpredictable. If Puck said something stupid or accidentally insulted her, it would be vastly annoying if we had to fight our way out.

“Well,” the witch said, curling bloodless lips to smile at us. Crooked yellow teeth flashed in the light like jagged bits of bone. “What do we have here? Two handsome faery boys, come to visit a poor old woman. And if my eyes don’t deceive me, that’s Robin Goodfellow I see before me. The last I saw of you, you stole my broom and tied my house’s legs so it fell over when we tried to catch you!”

I repressed another sigh. This wasn’t starting well. I should’ve known Puck had already done something to earn her wrath. But at the same time, I had to fight the urge to smile, to laugh at such a ridiculous thought, the house falling on its face in the mud because the Great Prankster had tied its feet together.

I kept my expression neutral, as it was obvious the witch was not amused in the slightest. “What do you have to say for yourself, villain?” she continued, shaking her butcher knife at Puck, who ducked behind me in a pathetic attempt to hide, though I could hear him trying to muffle his laughter. “Do you know how long it took me to repair my home? And then you have the gall, the absolute gall, to leave my broom at the edge of the forest, just to prove you could take it. I’ve half a mind to stick you in the pot and feed you to my chickens!”

“I apologize for him,” I said quickly, and those sharp black eyes suddenly turned on me. I held myself tall, unafraid but still polite, lest she lump me together with the buffoon at my back. “Excuse this intrusion, old mother,” I continued formally. “I am Ash of the Unseelie Court. And I need your help, if you would hear me.”

The witch blinked. “Such manners. You were not raised in a barn like that one, I see.” She stabbed her knife in Puck’s direction, wrinkling her long nose. “And I know who you are, son of Mab. What would you have of me? Be quick about it.”

“We’re looking for someone,” I said. “He was rumored to be traveling through here, through the Bone Marsh. We thought you might know where he is.”

“Oh?” The witch cocked her head, giving me a scrutinizing look. “And what makes you think I know where this person is?”

“Not a person,” I corrected. “A cat. A cait sith. In some tales he’s known as Grimalkin. And in some tales he’s been rumored to keep company with a powerful witch out in the swamps, whose house stands on chicken legs in a fence made of bones.”

“I see,” said the witch, though her face and voice remained expressionless. “Well, I admire your tenacity, young prince. Grimalkin is not easy to find in the best of times. You must have come very far to seek him out.” She peered closely at me, narrowing her eyes. “And this is not the first place you have searched. I can see it on your face. Why, I wonder? Why does he come so far? What is it that he desires so badly, to risk the ire of the Bone Witch? What is it you want, Ash of the Winter Court?”

“Would you believe the cat owes him money?” Puck’s voice came from behind my shoulder, making me wince. The witch scowled at him.

“I did not ask you, Robin Goodfellow,” she snapped, jabbing a clawlike finger at him. “And you had best watch your tongue, lest you find yourself neck-deep in a pot of boiling snake venom. Right now your friend’s civility is the only thing keeping me from skinning you alive, and you will be silent on my land or you will leave. My question was for the prince.”

“I am a prince no longer,” I said softly, interrupting her rant. “My service to the Winter Queen is done, and Mab has cast me from her circle. I am dead to her.”

“Regardless,” the witch said, turning back to me with her piercing black eyes, “that does not answer my question. Why are you here, Ash-who-is-no-longer-a-prince? And do not attempt to mislead me with faery riddles and half truths, for I will know, and I will not be happy about it. If you wish to see this Grimalkin, you must answer my question first. What is it you seek?”

“I …” For a moment, I hesitated, and not because Puck nudged me sharply in the ribs. He knew the reason we were here, why I wanted to find Grimalkin, but I’d never voiced my intentions out loud. Maybe the witch knew this, maybe she was just curious, but saying it aloud suddenly made it all the more real. “I want to become … mortal,” I said in a low voice. My stomach recoiled, hearing those words for the first time. “I promised someone … I swore I would find a way to survive the Iron Realm, and I can’t go there as I am.” The witch raised an eyebrow, and I drew myself up, fixing her with a cold stare. “I want to become human. And I need Grimalkin to help me find a way.”

“Well,” said a familiar voice behind us, “that is an interesting request.”

We whirled around. Grimalkin sat on an overturned bucket, a bushy gray cat with his tail curled around himself, watching us lazily.

“Oh, of course!” Puck exclaimed. “There you are. Do you know what we’ve been through to find you, cat? Have you been there the whole time?”

“Do not make me state the obvious, Goodfellow.” Grimalkin twitched his whiskers at him, then turned to me. “Greetings, prince. I have heard that you were looking for me.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you come to us?”

The cait sith yawned, curling a pink tongue over sharp white teeth. “I have grown rather bored of court politics,” he continued, blinking gold eyes. “Nothing ever changes between Summer and Winter, and I did not want to become embroiled in the endless bickering of the courts. Or the games of certain Dark Muses.”

Puck winced. “You heard about that, huh? Word travels fast.” He shook his head at me and grinned. “I wonder if Titania has calmed down yet, after that trick we played in the Summer Court.”

Grimalkin ignored him. “I wanted to know why you were looking for me, to see if I wished to make myself known. Or not.” He sniffed, cocking his head at me. “But this request was definitely not what I was expecting of you, prince. How very … interesting.”

“Foolish, if you ask me,” the witch stated, waggling her knife in my direction. “Does a crow become a salmon simply because it wishes to? You do not know the first thing about mortality, prince-who-is-not. Why would you want to become like them?”

“Because,” Grimalkin answered before I could say anything, “he is in love.”

“Ahhh.” The witch looked at me and shook her head. “I see. Poor creature. Then you will not hear a word I have to say.” I gazed at her coolly, but she only smiled. “Fare ye well, then, prince-who-is-not. And Goodfellow, if I see you again, it will be to hang your skin over my door. Now, excuse me.” She gathered herself up and tromped down the steps, taking a swipe at Puck as she passed, which he deftly avoided.

I didn’t like the way Grimalkin continued to stare at me, a hint of laughter in his slitted eyes, and I crossed my arms. “Do you know a way for a faery to become mortal, or not?”

“I do not,” Grimalkin said simply, and for a moment my heart sank. “But, there are … rumors. Legends of those who wanted to become mortal.” He lifted a front paw and began washing it, scrubbing it over his ears. “There is … one … who might know the way to becoming human,” he continued, much too nonchalantly. “A seer, in the wildest regions of the Nevernever. But the way to the seer is twisted and tangled, and once you step off the path, you will never find it again.”

“Right, and you just happen to know the way, don’t you?” Puck interjected, but Grimalkin ignored him. “Come on, cat, we all know where this is going. Name your price, so we can agree and get on the road already.”

“Price?” Grimalkin looked up, and his eyes gleamed. “How well you seem to know me,” he mused in a voice I didn’t like at all. “You think this is some simple request, that I guide you to the seer and that will be all. You have no idea what you are asking, what lies ahead, for all of us.” The cat stood, waving his tail, regarding me with a solemn gold gaze. “I will name no price, not today. But the time will come, prince, when I arrive to collect this debt. And when that day comes, you will pay it in full.”

The words hung in the air between us, shimmering with power. A contract, and a particularly nasty one at that. Grimalkin, for whatever reason, was playing for keeps. A part of me recoiled, hating being bound in such a way. If I agreed to this, the cat could ask anything of me, take anything, and I would be forced to comply.

But, if it meant being human, being with her in the end …

“You sure about this, ice-boy?” Puck caught my gaze, worried as well. “This is your quest, but there’s no backing out if you agree to do this. You can’t just promise him a nice squeaky mouse and be done with it?”

I sighed and faced the cait sith, who waited calmly for my answer. “I will not deliberately harm anyone,” I told him firmly. “You will not use me as a weapon, nor will I work evil against those I consider allies or friends. This contract will involve no one else. Just me.”

“As you wish,” Grimalkin purred.

“Then you have a deal.” I felt a tingle in the air as the bargain was sealed, and clenched my fists. There was no backing out of it now, not that I had any intention to do so, but it seemed that I’d made more deals, accepted more contracts, in a single year than I had in my entire life as a prince of Winter.

I had the feeling I’d sacrifice more before the trip was over, but there was nothing for it now. I’d made my promise, and I would see it through.

“Then it is done.” Grimalkin nodded and leaped off the bucket, landing in a patch of weeds surrounded by mud. “Let us go. We waste time dallying here.”

Puck blinked. “What, just like that? You’re not going to tell the old chicken plucker you’re leaving?”

“She already knows,” Grimalkin said, picking his way across the yard. “And incidentally, ‘the old chicken plucker’ can hear every word you say, so I suggest we hurry. After she is done with the fowl, she intends to come after you as well.” He reached the fence and leaped up on it, somehow balancing himself on a crooked skull, peering back with glowing yellow eyes. “You did not think she would let you go so easily, did you?” he asked. “We have until nightfall to be clear of the marsh, before she comes riding after us with all of hell close behind her. So let us pick up the pace, hmm?”

Puck shot me a sideways look, grinning feebly. “Er. Never a dull moment, huh, ice-boy?”

“I’m going to kill you one day,” I told him as we hurried after Grimalkin, back into the swampy marshland. It was not an idle threat.

Puck just laughed. “Yeah. You and everyone else, prince. Join the club.”

CHAPTER TWO
OLD NIGHTMARES

Our exit from the Bone Marsh was far more harrowing than our journey to find the witch. True to Grimalkin’s prediction, as the sun sank beneath the western horizon, a mad howl arose, seeming to echo from the swamp itself. A shudder passed through the land, and a sudden wind stole the late afternoon warmth.

“Perhaps we should move faster,” Grimalkin said, and bounded into the undergrowth, but I stopped and turned to face the howling wind, drawing my sword. The breeze, smelling of rot, stagnant water and blood, whipped at my face, but I held my blade loosely at my side and waited.

“Oy, prince.” Puck circled back, frowning. “What are you doing? If you didn’t know already, the old chicken plucker is on her way, and she’s gunning for Winter and Summer stew.”

“Let her come.” I was Ashallayn’darkmyr Tallyn, son of Mab, former prince of the Unseelie Court, and I was not afraid of a witch on a broom.

“I would advise against that,” Grimalkin said, somewhere in the bushes. “These are her lands, after all, and she will be a formidable opponent should you insist on fighting her here. The wiser course of action is to flee to the edge of the swamp. She will not follow us there. That is where I will be, should you decide to come to your senses. I will not waste time watching you fight a completely useless battle based on ridiculous pride.”

“Come on, Ash,” Puck said, edging away. “We can play with extremely powerful witches some other time. Furball might disappear, and I do not want to tromp all over the Nevernever looking for him again.”

I glared at Puck, who shot me an arrogant grin and hurried after the cat. Sheathing my weapon, I sprinted after them, and soon the Bone Marsh was a blur of malachite moss and bleached bone. A cackling scream rang out somewhere behind us, and I leaned forward, adding speed and cursing all Summer fey under my breath.

We ran for an hour or more, the cackle of our pursuer never seeming to gain, but never falling behind. Then the ground began to firm under my feet, the trees slowly gaining breadth and height. The air changed as well, losing the acrid odor of the bog and turning to something sweeter, though mixed with the faintest hint of decay.

I caught sight of a gray stillness in one of the trees and skidded to a halt, so suddenly that Puck slammed into me. I turned with the impact and gave a little push. “Oy!” Puck yelped as he careened off and landed in an ungraceful sprawl. I smirked and stepped around him, dodging easily as he tried to trip me.

“Now is not the time for playing,” Grimalkin said from his perch, watching us disdainfully. “The witch will not follow us here. Now is the time for resting.” Turning his back on us, he leaped higher into the branches and disappeared from sight.

Settling against a trunk, I pulled my sword and laid it across my knees, leaning back with a sigh. Step one, complete. We’d found Grimalkin, a task harder than I’d thought it could be. The next task would be to find this seer, and then …

I sighed. Then everything became fuzzy. There was no clear path after finding the seer. I didn’t know what would be required of me, what I would have to do to become mortal. Perhaps it would be painful. Perhaps I would have to offer something, sacrifice something, though I didn’t know what I could offer anymore, beyond my own existence.

Narrowing my eyes, I shut those thoughts away. It didn’t matter. I would do whatever it took.

Memory trickled in, seeking to slip beneath my defenses, the icy wall I showed the world. I had once thought my armor invincible, that nothing could touch me … until Meghan Chase had entered my life and turned it upside down. Reckless, loyal, possessing the unyielding stubbornness of a granite cliff, she’d smashed through all the barriers I’d erected to keep her out, refusing to give up on me, until I finally had to admit defeat. It was official.

I was in love. With a human.

I smiled bitterly at the thought. The old Ash, if faced with such a suggestion, would’ve either laughed scornfully or removed the offender’s head from his neck. I’d known love before, and it had brought me so much pain that I had retreated behind an impenetrable wall of indifference, freezing out everything, everyone. So it had been shocking and unexpected and a little terrifying to discover I could still feel anything, and I’d been reluctant to accept it. If I dropped my guard, I was vulnerable, and such weakness was deadly in the Unseelie Court. But more important, I hadn’t wanted to go through the same hurt a second time, lowering my defenses only to have my heart torn away once more.

Deep down, I’d known the odds were stacked against us. I knew a Winter prince and the half-human daughter of the Summer King didn’t have much of a chance to be together in the end. But I had been willing to try. I’d given it my all, and I didn’t regret any of it, even when Meghan had severed our bond and exiled me from the Iron Realm.

I’d expected to die that day. I had been ready. Being ordered by my True Name to walk away, leaving Meghan to die alone in the Iron Kingdom, had nearly shattered me a second time. If it hadn’t been for my oath to be with her again, I might’ve done something suicidal, like challenge Oberon to battle before the entire Summer Court. But now that I’ve made my promise, there is no turning back. Abandoning my vow will unravel me, bit by bit, until there is nothing left. Even if I wasn’t determined to find a way to survive in the Iron Realm, I’d have no choice but to continue.

I will be with her again, or I will die. There aren’t any other options.

“Hey, ice-boy, you okay? You’ve got your brooding face on again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re so full of crap.” Puck lounged in the cradle of a tree, hands behind his head, one foot dangling in the air. “Lighten up already. We finally found the cat—which we should get a freaking medal for, the search for the Golden Fleece wasn’t this hard—and you look like you’re going to engage Mab in single combat first thing in the morning.”

“I’m thinking. You should try it sometime.”

“Ooh, witty.” Puck snorted, pulled an apple out of his pocket, and bit into it. “Suit yourself, ice-boy. But you really should try to smile sometimes, or your face will freeze like that forever. Or so I’ve been told.” He grinned and crunched his apple. “So, whose turn is it for first watch, yours or mine?”

“Yours.”

“Really? I thought it was your turn. Didn’t I take first watch at the edge of the Bone Marsh?”

“Yes.” I glared at him. “And it was interrupted when you followed that nymph away from the camp, and that goblin tried to steal my sword.”

“Oh, yeah.” Puck snickered, though I didn’t think it was very amusing. This sword was made for me by the Ice Archons of Dragons’ Peak; my blood, glamour and a tiny piece of my essence had gone into its creation, and no one touches it but me.

“In my defense,” Puck said, still grinning faintly, “she did try to rob me as well. I’ve never heard of a nymph being in league with a goblin. Too bad for them that you’re a light sleeper, huh, ice-boy?”

I rolled my eyes, tuned out his incessant chattering, and let myself drift.

I ALMOST NEVER DREAM. Dreams are for mortals, humans whose emotions are so strong, so consuming, they spill over into their subconscious minds. The fey do not usually dream; our sleep is untroubled by thoughts of the past or future, or anything except the now. While humans can be tormented by feelings of guilt, longing, worry and regret, most fey do not experience these things. We are, in many ways, emptier than mortals, lacking the deeper emotions that make them so … human. Perhaps that is why they are so fascinating to us. In the past, the only time I had dreamed was right after Ariella’s death, horrific, gut-wrenching nightmares about that day I let her die, the day I couldn’t save her. It was always the same: I, Puck and Ariella chasing the golden fox, the shadows closing around us, the monstrous wyvern rearing up out of nowhere. Each time, I knew Ariella would be hit. Each time, I tried to get to her before the wyvern’s deadly stinger found its mark. I failed every single time, and she would look at me with those clear blue eyes and whisper my name, right before she went limp in my arms and I jerked myself awake.

I learned to freeze out my emotions then, to destroy everything that made me weak, to become as cold inside as I was outside. The nightmares stopped, and I never dreamed again.

Until now.

I knew I stood at the center of Tir Na Nog, the seat of the Unseelie Queen, my old home. These were my lands, once. I recognized distinct landmarks, as familiar to me as my own face, and yet all was not well. The jagged mountains, rising up until they vanished into the clouds, were the same. The snow and ice that covered every square inch of the land and never really melted, that was the same.

Everything else was destroyed. The great sweeping forests of Tir Na Nog were gone, now barren, wasted fields. A few trees stood here and there, but they were corrupt, twisted versions of themselves, metallic and gleaming. Barbed-wire fences slashed the landscape, and hulks of rusted metal vehicles lay half-buried in the snow. Where an icy city once stood, its pristine crystal towers glittering in the sun, now black smokestacks pumped billowing darkness into the overcast sky. Skyscrapers of twisted metal towered over everything; glittering, skeletal silhouettes that vanished into the clouds.

Faeries roamed across the darkened landscape, swarms of them, but they were not my Unseelie brethren. They were of the poisoned realm, the Iron fey; gremlins and bugs, wiremen and Iron knights, the faeries of mankind’s technology. I gazed around at my homeland and shuddered. No normal fey could live here. We would all die, the very air we breathed burning us from the inside out, from the Iron corruption that hung thick on the air like a fog. I could feel it searing my throat, spreading like fire to my lungs. Coughing, I put my sleeve to my nose and mouth and staggered away, but where could I go if all of Tir Na Nog was like this?

“Do you see?” whispered a voice behind me, and I whirled around. No one stood there, but from the corner of my eye I caught a shimmer, a presence, though it slid away whenever I tried to focus on it. “Look around you. This is what would have happened had Meghan not become the Iron Queen. Everything, everyone you knew, destroyed. The Iron fey would have corrupted the entire Nevernever, were it not for Meghan Chase. And she could not have succeeded had you not been there.”

“Who are you?” I searched for the owner of the voice, but the presence slipped away, keeping to the very edge of my vision. “Why are you showing me this?” This was nothing new. I was fully aware of what would’ve happened had the Iron fey been victorious. Though, even in my worst imaginings, I had not pictured quite this much destruction.

“Because, you need to see, really see, the second outcome for yourself.” I felt the presence move closer, though it still kept infuriatingly out of sight. “And your judgment was impaired, Ash of the Winter Court. You loved the girl. You would have done anything for her, regardless of the circumstances.” It slid away, behind me, though I’d given up trying to search for it. “I want you to look around carefully, son of Mab, and understand the significance of your decision. Had Meghan Chase not survived to become the Iron Queen, this would be your world today.”

The burning inside was growing unbearable. Each breath stabbed like a knife, and my skin was starting to blister as well. It reminded me of the time I’d been captured by Virus, one of the Iron King’s lieutenants, and had a sentient metal bug implanted in me. The bug had taken over my body, turning me into Virus’s slave, making me fight for her. And though I’d been fully aware of everything I did, I was powerless to stop it. I had felt the metal invader, like a hot coal in my mind, burning and searing, making me nearly blind with pain, though I couldn’t show it. This was worse.

I sank to my knees, fighting to stay upright, as my skin blackened and peeled from my bones. The pain was excruciating, and I wondered, through my delirium, why I hadn’t woken yet. This was a dream; I realized that much. Why couldn’t I shake myself free?

I knew with a sudden, grim clarity. Because the voice wasn’t letting me. It was keeping me here, tied to this nightmare world, despite my efforts to wake. I wondered if it was possible to die in a dream.

“I’m sorry,” the voice murmured, seeming to come from far away now. “I know it’s painful, but I want you to remember this when we meet again. I want you to understand the sacrifice that had to be made. I know you don’t understand now, but you will. Soon.”

And, just like that, it was gone, and the ties holding me to the vision were released. With a silent gasp, I wrenched myself out of the dream, back into the waking world.

It was very dark now, though the skeletal trees glowed with a soft white luminance that left them hazy and ethereal. Several yards away, Puck still sat in the branches, hands behind his head, chewing the ends of a grass stalk. One foot swung idly in the air and he wasn’t looking at me; I’d learned long ago how to mask my pain and remain silent, even in sleep. You don’t show weakness in the Unseelie Court. Puck didn’t know I was awake, but Grimalkin crouched in the branches of a nearby tree, and his glowing yellow eyes were fixed in my direction.

“Bad dreams?”

The tone of his voice wasn’t exactly a question. I shrugged. “A nightmare. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I would not be so sure of that, were I you.”

I glanced up sharply, narrowing my eyes. “You know something,” I accused, and Grimalkin yawned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“More than you want to know, prince.” Grimalkin sat up, curling his tail around himself. “And I am not a fool. You know better than to ask such questions.” The cat sniffed, regarding me with that unblinking gold gaze. “I told you before, this is no simple task. You will have to discover the answers for yourself.”

I already knew that, but the way Grimalkin said it sounded ominous, and it irritated me that the cait sith knew more than he was letting on. Ignoring the cat, I turned away, staring into the trees. A stray sod emerged from the darkness, a tiny green faery with a clump of weeds growing from its back. It blinked at me, bobbed its mushroom hat, and quickly slipped back into the undergrowth.

“This seer,” I asked Grimalkin, carefully marking the place the sod had vanished so as to not tread on it when we left. “Where is it located?”

But Grimalkin had disappeared.

TIME HAS NO MEANING in the wyldwood. Day and night don’t really exist here, just light and darkness, and they can be just as fickle and moody as everything else. A “night” can pass in the space of a blink, or go on forever. Light and darkness will chase each other through the sky, play hide-and-seek or tag or catch-me-if-you-can. Sometimes, one or the other will become offended over an imagined slight and refuse to come out for an indefinite amount of time. Once, light became so angry, a hundred years passed in the mortal realm before it deigned to come out again. And though the sun continued to rise and set in the human world, it was a rather turbulent period for the world of men, as all the creatures who lurked in darkness and shadow got to roam freely under the lightless Nevernever skies.

So it was still full dark when Puck and I started out again, following the cait sith into the endless tangle of the wyldwood. Grimalkin slipped through the trees like mist flowing over the ground, gray and nearly invisible in the colorless landscape around him. He moved swiftly and silently, not looking back, and it took all my hunter’s skills to keep up with him, to not lose him in the tangled undergrowth. I suspected he was testing us, or perhaps playing some annoying feline game, subtly trying to lose us without completely going invisible. But, with Puck hurrying after me, I kept pace with the elusive cait sith and didn’t lose him once as we ventured deeper into the wyldwood.

The light had finally decided to make an appearance when, without warning, Grimalkin stopped. Leaping onto an overhanging branch, he stood motionless for a moment, ears pricked to the wind and whiskers trembling. Around us, huge gnarled trees blocked out the sky, gray trunks and branches seeming to hem us in, like an enormous net or cage. I realized I didn’t recognize this part of the wyldwood, though that wasn’t unusual. The wyldwood was huge, eternal and constantly changing. There were many places I’d never seen, never set foot in, even in the long years of hunting beneath its canopy.

“Hey, we’re stopping,” Puck said, coming up behind me. Peering over my shoulder, he snorted under his breath. “What’s the matter, cat? Did you finally get lost?”

“Be quiet, Goodfellow.” Grimalkin flattened his ears but didn’t look back. “Something is out there,” he stated, twitching his tail. “The trees are angry. Something does not belong.” His eyes narrowed, and he crouched to leap off the branch.

Right before he vanished.

I glanced at Puck and frowned. “I guess we’d better find out what’s going on.”

Goodfellow snickered. “Wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t run into some sort of catastrophe.” Pulling his dagger, he waved me on. “After you, your highness.”

We proceeded cautiously through the trees, scanning the undergrowth for anything suspicious. At my silent gesture, Puck stepped away and slid into the trees to the right of me. If something was lying in ambush, it would be better if we weren’t together when it pounced.

It wasn’t long before we started seeing evidence that something was decidedly out of place here. Plants were brown and dying, trees had spots where they had been burned, and the air began to smell of rust and copper, tickling my throat and making me want to gag. I was suddenly reminded of my dream, the nightmare world of the Iron fey, and gripped my sword hilt even tighter.

“You think there’s an Iron faery here?” Puck muttered, poking a burned, dead leaf with the point of his knife. It disintegrated at his touch.

“If there is,” I muttered, “it won’t be here much longer.”

Puck shot me a glance, looking faintly unsure. “I don’t know, ice-boy. We’re supposed to be at peace now. What would Meghan say if we killed one of her subjects?”

“Meghan is a queen.” I stepped beneath a rotting branch, pushing it away with my sword. “She understands the rules, just like everyone else. By law, no Iron fey can set foot in the wyldwood without permission from Summer or Winter. It would be a breach of the treaty if the courts found out, and at worst it would be seen as an act of war.” I raised my sword and hacked through a cluster of yellowed, dying vines that smelled of rot. “If there is an Iron faery here, better we find it than scouts of Summer or Winter.”

“Yeah? And what happens then? We politely ask it to go home? What if it doesn’t listen to us?”

I gave him a blank stare.

He winced. “Right.” He sighed. “Forgot who I was talking to. Well then, lead on, ice-boy.”

We pushed deeper into the forest, following the trail of dying plants, until the trees thinned and the ground abruptly dropped away into a rocky gorge. The trees in this area were blackened and dead, and the air smelled poisonous and foul. After a moment, I realized why.

Sitting against a tree, his armor glinting in the sun, was an Iron knight.

I paused, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my sword. I had to remind myself that the knights were not our enemies anymore, that they served the Iron Queen and followed the same peace treaty as the rest of the courts. Besides, this one was clearly no threat to us. His breastplate had been staved in, and dark, oily blood pooled beneath him. His chin rested limply on his chest, but as we got closer, he opened his eyes and looked up. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth.

“Prince … Ash?” He blinked several times, as if doubting his own eyes. “What … what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” I didn’t approach the fallen warrior, standing several feet away with my sword at my side. “It’s forbidden for your kind to be here. Why aren’t you in the Iron Realm protecting the queen?”

“The queen.” The knight’s eyes widened, and he held a hand out. “You … you have to warn the queen—”

I took two long steps forward and faced the knight, looming over him. “What’s happened to Meghan?” I demanded. “Warn her of what?”

“There was … an attempt on her life,” the knight whispered, and my heart went cold in fear and rage. “Assassins … snuck into the castle … tried to get to the queen. We managed to drive them off and followed them here, but there were more than … we first thought. Killed the rest of my squad …” He paused for breath, gasping. It was clear he wouldn’t last much longer, and I knelt to hear him better, ignoring the nausea that came from being this close to an Iron faery. “You have to … warn her …” he pleaded again.

“Where are they now?” I asked in a low voice.

The knight made a gesture over the rise, back into the forest. “Their camp … on the edge of a lake,” he whispered. “Near a tower …”

“I know that spot,” Puck said, standing several feet back from the Iron knight. “A woman with crazy long hair used to live on the top floor, but it’s empty now.”

“Please …” The knight raised dying eyes to me, fighting to get his last words out. “Go to our queen. Tell her … we … failed….” Then his eyes rolled up in his skull, and he slumped forward.

I stood, taking a step back from the dead Iron knight. Puck sheathed his dagger as he stepped up beside me, giving the Iron faery a dubious look. “What now, prince? Should we head to the Iron Court?”

“I can’t.” Frustration battled cold rage, and I gripped my sword hard enough to feel the edges bite into my palm. “I’m forbidden to set foot in the Iron Realm. That’s why we’re here, remember? Or did you forget?”

“Don’t freak out, ice-boy.” Puck crossed his arms with a smirk. “All is not lost. I can turn into a raven and fly back to warn—”

“Do not be foolish, Goodfellow,” Grimalkin interrupted, coming out of nowhere, hopping onto a stone. “You have no amulet and no protection from the corruption of the realm. You would perish long before you reached the Iron Queen.”

Puck snorted. “Give me some credit, Furball. It’s me. Did you forget who you were talking to?”

“If only I could.”

“Enough!” I stared coldly at both of them. Grimalkin yawned, but at least Puck looked faintly guilty. Frustration and anger boiled; I hated that I couldn’t be with Meghan, that I was forced to keep my distance. But I would not sit back and do nothing. “Meghan is still in danger,” I continued, gazing up the hill. “And the assassins are close. If I can’t go back to warn her, then I’ll take care of the threat right here.”

Puck blinked, but he didn’t seem terribly surprised. “Yeah, I thought you might say that.” He sighed. “And I can’t let you have all the fun, of course. But, uh, you do know they took out a whole squad of Iron knights, right, ice-boy?” He glanced at the dead faery and wrinkled his nose. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do it, of course, but what if we’re charging into an army?”

I gave him a brittle smile. “Then there will be a lot of fallen soldiers before the day is done,” I said quietly, and walked out of the gorge.

ON THE BANKS OF A LAKE, the slim, crooked tower with its mossy gargoyles and faded blue roof stood tall and proud, easily visible through the trees. At the base, sheltered among broken rocks and crumbling stones, several sidhe knights milled around a smoldering campfire, unaware of Puck and me, crouched in the shadows at the edge of the trees. The knights wore suits of familiar black armor, long spines bristling from the shoulders like giant thorns. Though once sharp and proud, the faces beneath the helmets were now ravaged as though diseased; charred, melted flesh, open sores and naked bone gleamed in the flickering campfire. Some of their noses had fallen off, others had only one good eye. The breeze shifted, and the stench of burned, rotting flesh assaulted our senses, washing over us. Puck stifled a cough.

“Thornguards,” he muttered, putting a hand to his nose. “What the heck are they doing here? I thought they were all killed in the last war.”

“Apparently, we missed a few.” I gazed over the camp dispassionately. The Thornguards once belonged to my brother Rowan, his elite personal guard. When Rowan joined the Iron fey, the Thornguards followed him, believing his claims that they could become immune to iron. They thought the Iron fey would destroy the Nevernever, and the only way to survive was to become like them. To prove their loyalty, they wore a ring of iron beneath their gauntlets, enduring the agony and the destruction it wreaked on their bodies, believing if they could survive the pain, they would be reborn.

The Thornguards had been misled, deceived, but they had still chosen to side with the Iron fey and Rowan in the recent war, which made them traitors to the courts of Faery. These few had gone even further, threatening Meghan and attempting to end her life. That made them my personal enemies, a very dangerous position, indeed.

“So,” Puck continued, watching the camp, “I’m counting at least a half dozen bad boys near the fire, maybe a few more guarding the perimeter. How do you want to do this, prince? I could lure them away, one at a time. Or we could sneak around and go at them from different positions—”

“There are only seven of them.” Drawing my sword, I stepped out of the trees and started toward the camp. Puck sighed.

“Or we could do the old kick-in-the-door approach,” he muttered, falling into step beside me. “Silly me, thinking there was another way.”

Shouts of surprise and alarm echoed through the camp, but I wasn’t trying to be stealthy. Together, Puck and I walked down the bank to the tower, wrapped in a grim, killing silence. One sentry came at us, howling, but I blocked his sword, plunged my blade through his armor and stepped around him, leaving the guard to crumple in the dirt.

By the time we reached the center of camp, six Thornguards were waiting for us, standing in formation with their weapons drawn. Puck and I approached calmly and stopped at the edge of the firelight. For a moment, nobody moved.

“Prince Ash.” The lead Thornguard smiled faintly—difficult to see because he had no lips, just a thin, ragged slash where his mouth would be—and stepped forward. His eyes, a glazed, glassy blue, flicked back and forth between us. “And Robin Goodfellow. What a surprise to find you here. We’re honored, aren’t we, boys?” Though his voice turned mocking, it was still hopeful, as he gestured toward the forest behind us. “News of our deeds must have spread far and wide, for the mighty Winter prince and the Summer Court jester to track us down.”

“Not really.” Puck smirked at him. “We were just in the area.”

His smile faltered, but I stepped forward before he could say anything more. “You attacked the Iron Kingdom,” I said as his attention snapped to me. “You led an assault on the Iron Queen, attempting to end her life. Before I kill you, I want to know why. The war is over. The Iron Realm is no longer a threat, and the courts are at peace. Why would you jeopardize that?”

For a moment, the Thornguard stared at me, his eyes and face completely blank. Then, the thin mouth twisted into a sneer. “Why not?” He shrugged, and motioned to the surrounding camp. “Look at us, prince,” he spat bitterly. “We have nothing to live for. Rowan is dead. The Iron King is dead. We can’t return to Winter, and we can’t survive in the Iron Realm. Where do we go now? There’s nowhere that would take us back.”

His tale sounded eerily familiar, much like my own; banished from my own court, yet unable to set foot in the Iron Realm.

“The only thing left was revenge,” the Thornguard went on, gesturing angrily to his own face. “Kill every Iron bastard that did this to us, starting with their half-breed queen. We gave it our best shot, even made it as far as the throne room, but the little bitch was stronger than we realized. We were driven back at the last minute.” His chin rose in a defiant gesture. “Though we did manage to kill several of her knights, even the ones that came after us.”

“You missed one,” I said quietly, and his eyebrows rose. “The one you left alive told us where you were and what you had done. You should’ve made sure all your opponents were dead before moving on. A beginner’s mistake, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? Well, I’ll be sure to remember that, next time.” He smirked at me then, twisted and bitter. “So, tell me, Ash,” he went on, “did you two have a nice little heart-to-heart before he died? Since you’re both so smitten with the new Iron Queen, so very eager to be with her. Did he tell you the secret of becoming like them?”

I regarded the Thornguard coldly. His sneer widened. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Ash. We’ve all heard the story, haven’t we, boys? The mighty Winter prince, pining for his lost queen, promises he’ll find a way to be with her in Iron Realm. How very touching.” He snorted and leaned forward so that the firelight washed over his burned, ruined face. In the dim light, it was like gazing at a corpse.

“Take a good look, your highness,” he hissed, baring rotten, yellow teeth. His stench washed over me, and I fought the urge to step back. “Take a good look around, at all of us. This is what happens to our people in the Iron Realm. We thought we could be like them. We thought we’d found a way to live with iron, to not fade away when humans stopped believing. Now look at us.” His dead, ravaged face twisted in a snarl. “We’re monsters, just like them. The Iron fey are a blight and a plague on the Nevernever, and we’re going to kill as many as we can in the time we have left. Including their queen, and any sympathizers to the Iron Realm. If we can start another war with the Iron fey, and their kingdom is destroyed for good, everything we endured will be worth it.”

I narrowed my gaze, imagining another war with the Iron fey, another season of killing and blood and death, with Meghan caught in the center. “You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to let that happen.”

The Thornguard shook his head, moving back a pace and drawing his sword. “You should’ve joined us, Ash,” he said regretfully, as the others shifted and raised their weapons. “You could’ve fought your way to the throne room and put your blade through the Iron Queen’s heart. Destroyed your weakness, as a Winter prince should have done. But you had to fall in love with her, didn’t you? And now you’re lost to the Iron Realm, same as us.” He gave me an appraising look. “We’re not really that different, after all.”

Puck sighed very loudly. “So, are you guys going to talk us to death?” he wondered, and the Thornguard glared at him. “Or are we actually going to get on with this?”

The leader flourished his weapon, the black, serrated blade glinting in the flames. Around him, the rest of the Thornguards did the same. “Expect no mercy from us, your highness,” he warned as the squad began to close in. “You’re no longer our prince, and we’re no longer part of the Winter Court. Everything we believed in is dead.”

Puck grinned viciously and turned so that we stood back-to-back against the approaching guards. I raised my sword and drew glamour from the air, letting the cold power of Winter swirl within. And I smiled.

“Mercy is for the weak,” I told the Thornguards, seeing them for what they really were: abominations to be cut down, destroyed. “Let me show you how much of an Unseelie I still am.”

The Thornguards attacked with howling battle cries, coming from all directions. I parried one slash and swiped at another, leaping back to avoid a third. Behind me, Puck whooped in unrestrained glee, the clash of his daggers ringing in my ears as he danced around his opponents. They followed, savage and unrelenting. Rowan’s elite guards were dangerous and well trained, but I had been part of the Winter Court for a very long time, observing their strengths and weaknesses, and knew their fatal flaws.

The Thornguards were formidable as a unit, using group tactics to threaten and harry, much like a pack of wolves. But that was their greatest failing as well. Single them out, and they fell apart. Surrounded by a trio of Thornguards, I leaped back and flung a hail of stinging ice shards into their midst, catching two guards in the deadly arc. They flinched for a brief second, and the third leaped forward, alone, meeting my sword as it cut across his neck. The warrior frayed apart, black armor splitting open as dark brambles erupted from the spot where he died. As with all fey, death returned him to the Nevernever, and he simply ceased to exist.

“Duck, ice-boy!” Puck yelped behind me, and I did, feeling a Thornguard blade hiss overhead. I turned and stabbed the warrior through the chest as Puck hurled a dagger into another rushing me from behind. More brambles spread across the stones.

Now there were only three Thornguards left. Puck and I still stood back-to-back, guarding each other’s flanks, moving in perfect unison. “You know,” Puck said, panting slightly, “this reminds me of the time we were underground and stumbled into that Duergar city. Remember that, ice-boy?”

I parried a blow to my ribs and returned with a swipe to my opponent’s head, forcing him back a step. “Stop talking and keep fighting, Goodfellow.”

“Yeah, I think you said that to me then, too.”

I blocked a stab, lunged forward and ripped my blade across the guard’s throat, just as Puck danced within reach of his opponent and jabbed his knife between his ribs. Both warriors split apart, their weapons clanging against the rocks as they died. As they fell, the last Thornguard, the leader who’d taunted me before the battle, turned to flee.

I raised my arm, glamour swirling around me, and flung a trio of ice daggers at the warrior’s retreating back. They struck with muffled thunks, and the Thornguard gasped, pitching forward. Staggering to his knees, he looked up as I stepped around to face him, his glassy blue eyes filled with pain and hate.

“Guess I was wrong,” he panted, his ruined mouth twisted in a last defiant sneer. “You are still Unseelie, through and through.” He laughed, but it came out as a choked cough. “Well, what are you waiting for, your highness? Get on with it.”

“You know I won’t spare you.” I let the emptiness of the Winter Court spread through me, freezing any emotion, stifling any thoughts of kindness or mercy. “You tried to kill Meghan, and if I let you go, you will continue to bring harm to her realm. I can’t allow that. Unless you swear to me, on this spot, that you will abandon your quest to harm the Iron Queen, her subjects and her kingdom. Give me that vow, and I’ll let you live.”

The Thornguard gazed at me a moment, then choked another laugh. “And where would I go?” He sneered, as Puck walked up behind him, watching solemnly. “Who would take me back, looking like this? Mab? Oberon? Your little half-breed queen?” He coughed and spat on the stones between us, the spittle a dark red. “No, your highness. If you let me go, I will find my way back to the Iron Queen, and I will put a sword in her heart and laugh as they cut me down for it. And if I somehow survive, I will destroy every Iron faery I come across, tear them limb from limb, until the land is stained with their tainted blood, and I won’t stop until every one of them lies de—”

He got no further, as my blade slashed across his neck and severed his head from his body.

Puck sighed as brambles erupted from the dead Thornguard, crooked fingers clawing at the sky. “Yeah, that went about as well as I expected.” He wiped his daggers on his pants and looked back at the tower, at the new brambles growing around the base. “You think any more are hanging around?”

“No.” I sheathed my sword and turned from my former Unseelie brethren. “They knew they were dying. They had no reason to hide.”

“Can’t reason with madmen, I guess.” Wrinkling his nose, Puck sheathed his weapons, shaking his head. “Nice to know they were just as delusional as before, just with a different flavor of crazy.”

Delusional? I blinked as the leader’s words came back to me, mocking and ominous. You’re lost to the Iron Realm, same as us. We’re not really that different, after all.

Were the Thornguards that delusional? They had only wanted what I did: a way to overcome the effects of iron. They’d bargained their lives away, endured torment no normal faery could withstand, hoping to conquer our eternal weakness. Hoping to live in the Iron Realm.

Wasn’t I doing the same now, wishing for the impossible?

“You’ve got your brooding face on again, ice-boy.” Puck squinted at me. “And I can see your brain going a mile a minute. What are you thinking of?”

I shook my head. “Nothing important.” Spinning on a heel, I turned and walked away, back toward the edge of the trees. Puck started to protest, but I hurried on, unwilling to think about it any longer. “We’ve wasted enough time here, and this isn’t getting us any closer to the seer. Let’s go.”

He jogged after me. I hoped he would be quiet, leave me in peace, but of course I had only a few moments of silence before he opened his mouth. “Hey, you never answered my question, prince,” he said, kicking a pebble over the stones, watching it bounce toward the forest. “What were we looking for in that underground city, anyway? A necklace? A mirror?”

“A dagger,” I muttered.

“Aha! So you do remember, after all!”

I glared at him. He grinned cheekily. “Just checking, ice-boy. Wouldn’t want you to forget all the good times we had. Hey, whatever happened to that thing, anyway? I seem to recall it was a really nice piece of work.”

A numbness spread through my chest, and my voice went very, very soft. “I gave it to Ariella.”

“… oh,” Puck murmured.

And said nothing after that.

Grimalkin was waiting for us atop a broken limb at the edge of the tree line, washing his paw with exaggerated nonchalance. “That took longer than I expected.” He yawned as we came up. “I was wondering if I should take a nap, waiting for you.” Giving his paw a final lick, he looked down at us, narrowing his golden eyes. “Anyway, if you two are quite finished, we can move on.”

“Did you know about the Thornguards?” I asked. “And their attack on the Iron Kingdom?”

Grimalkin snorted. Flicking his tail, the cat rose and sauntered along the splintered branch with no explanation. Hopping lightly to an overhead limb, he vanished into the leaves without looking back, leaving Puck and me hurrying to catch up.

CHAPTER THREE
ARIELLA TULARYN

The wyldwood stretched on, dark, tangled and endless. I didn’t count the times the light rose and fell, because the farther we went into the untamed wilderness, the wilder and more unpredictable it became. Grimalkin took us through a glen where the trees slowly followed us until we looked back, freezing them in place, only to have them creep forward again when our backs were turned. We hiked up an enormous, moss-covered hill, only to discover that the “hill” was actually the body of a sleeping giant as it raised a massive hand to scratch the itch on its cheek. We crossed a rolling, windy plain where herds of wild horses stared at us with cold intelligence, their furtive conversations blown away in the wind. During this time, Puck and I didn’t talk, or if we did, it was just useless banter, threats, insults and the like. Fighting with Robin Goodfellow, side by side against the Thornguards, had brought up memories I did not wish to deal with now, ones that were frozen deep inside, memories I couldn’t thaw out for fear of the pain. I didn’t want to remember the hunts, the challenges, the times we got ourselves neck-deep in trouble and had to fight our way out. I didn’t want to remember the laughter, the easy camaraderie, between myself and my once-closest friend. Because remembering Puck as something more than a rival only reminded me of my vow, the one spoken in a flash of despair and rage, the one that had turned us into bitter enemies for years to come.

And, of course, I couldn’t think of Puck that way without remembering … her.

ARIELLA. THE ONLY DAUGHTER of the Ice Baron of Glassbarrow, Ariella first came to the Unseelie Court during winter equinox, when Mab was hosting that year’s Elysium. As tradition dictated, twice a mortal year, the courts of Summer and Winter would meet to discuss politics, sign new treaties, and basically agree to play nice for another season. Or at least to refrain from declaring all-out war on the other court. It bored me to tears, but as a Winter prince and the son of Queen Mab, my presence was required, and I had learned to dance the dance and be a good little court monkey.

It was not yet twilight, and as such the Summer Court had not yet arrived. As Mab disapproved of my locking myself in my room until Elysium began, I was in a dark corner of the courtyard, rereading a book from my collection of mortal authors and poets. If anyone asked, I was overseeing the arrival of the last of the guests, but mostly I was avoiding Rowan and the current flock of nobles who would surround me with coy, flattering, razor-sharp smiles. Their voices would be the softest purr, the sweetest song, as they offered me favors covered in honey and nectar but with a core of vilest poison. I was a prince, after all, the youngest and most favored of Mab, at least according to some. I suppose the common belief was that I was more naive, easier to trap, perhaps. I didn’t know the dance as well as Rowan or Sage, who were at court far more frequently. But I was a true son of Winter, and knew the twisted steps of court better than most. And those who sought to entrap me in a web of honey and favors soon found themselves tangled in their own dark promises.

I knew the dance. I just didn’t revel in it.

Which was why I was leaning against an ice-covered wall with Musashi’s The Five Rings, only half-aware of the bustle of carriages pulling up to the gates and the Winter gentry stepping out into the snow. Most of them I knew, or had seen before. The Lady Snowfire, dressed in a gown of sparkling icicles that chimed musically as she walked. The new duke of Frostfell—having disposed of the old duke by getting him exiled to the mortal realm—glided through the snow trailed by his goblin slaves. The Baroness of the Icebound Heart gave me a chilly nod as she strode past, her two snow leopards hissing and snarling at the ends of their silver chains.

And then, she walked in.

I didn’t know her, and that in itself piqued my curiosity. None could argue her beauty: long silver hair, pale skin, a willowy body that was delicate and strong at the same time. But, all of our kind are, if not very attractive, at least striking in some way. Being surrounded by beauty tends to dull your appreciation of it, especially if the beauty only hides the cruelty beneath. It wasn’t her looks that caught my eye that day, but the way she gazed at the Winter palace, awe written plainly on her lovely features. It was an emotion that didn’t belong; most would see it as a weakness, something to be exploited. The nobles could sense emotion like a shark smelled blood; they would devour her before the day was out.

A part of me told me not to care, that it was everyone for themselves in the Winter Court, and that was how it always had been. That this girl, new and untried, would take the attention off me for once. Despite that voice, I found myself intrigued.

Snapping shut the book, I started toward her.

She was turning in slow circles when I walked up, and jumped when we came face-to-face. “Oh, pardon me!” Her voice was clear and light, like tiny bells. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Are you lost?” It wasn’t so much a question, rather I was testing her, probing her defenses. Admitting you were lost was a grave mistake in the Winter Court; you never wanted to be caught unaware by anyone. It annoyed me a bit that the first thing I fell back on was checking for weakness, poking at chinks in her armor. But in the Unseelie Court, you could never be too careful.

She blinked at the question and took a step back, seeming to see me for the first time. Clear, blue-green eyes rose to meet my gaze, and I made the mistake of looking right at her.

Her gaze captured mine, drawing me in, and I was suddenly drowning. Flecks of silver dotted her irises like tiny stars, as if I was staring at a whole universe in her eyes. Brilliant emotion gazed out at me, pure and clean and untainted by the darkness of the Unseelie Court.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, neither willing to look away.

Until I realized what I was doing and turned, pretending to watch another carriage pull up to the gates, furious with myself for dropping my guard. For a brief moment, I wondered if that had been her ploy all along—pretend to be naive and innocent, and lure unsuspecting princes right into her clutches. Unorthodox, but effective.

Fortunately, it seemed the girl was just as shaken as I was. “No, I’m not lost,” she said a little breathlessly. Another mistake, but I wasn’t keeping track anymore. “It’s just … I mean … I’ve never been here, is all.” She cleared her throat and straightened, seeming to regain her composure. “I am Ariella Tularyn of Glassbarrow,” she announced regally, “and I am here on behalf of my father, the Duke of Glassbarrow. He is indisposed at the moment and sends his apologies for not being able to attend.”

I’d heard about that. Apparently, the duke had run into some trouble while hunting ice wyrms in the mountains of his territory. The court had been abuzz with who would come to represent him, as he was rumored to have only one daughter, who never left the estate.

So, this was she.

Ariella smiled again, nervously brushing her hair back, and instantly lost her regal bearing. “I said that correctly, didn’t I?” she asked without a trace of guile. “That was the proper greeting, wasn’t it? I’m so new at this. I’ve never been to court before, and I don’t want to upset the queen.”

Right then, I decided. This girl needed an escort, someone to show her the ways of Winter, otherwise the nobles were going to chew her up and spit her out. The thought of this girl, broken and bitter, her eyes frozen in wary contempt, filled me with a strange protectiveness I couldn’t explain. If anyone wanted to toy with Ariella Tularyn, they would have to go through me first. And I was no wide-eyed newcomer when it came to the Unseelie Court.

“Come on, then,” I said, offering her my arm, which seemed to surprise her, but she took it nonetheless. “I’ll introduce you.”

Her brilliant smile was all the thanks I needed.

FROM THAT MOMENT ON, I continued to find excuses to be around the Duke of Glassbarrow’s daughter. I took secret hunting trips to the Glassbarrow Mountains, enticing her away. I made sure Mab requested both the duke and Ariella’s presence at Elysium. I stole every spare moment I could to be with her, until the day came when I finally convinced her to leave the duke’s estate completely and live at the palace. Duke Glassbarrow was livid, but I was the Winter prince, and he eventually buckled under the threat of banishment or death.

Rumors flew, of course. As part of the royal family, my life was under constant scrutiny, even when there was nothing interesting about it. When it came to my spending so much time with a young duchess-to-be … well, you’d think Mab and Oberon had decided to marry, there was so much speculation. Prince Ash was obsessed, Prince Ash had found a new plaything and, worst of all, Prince Ash was in love. I didn’t care. When I was with Ariella, I could forget the court, my responsibilities, everything. When I was with her, I didn’t have to worry about keeping my guard up, constantly watching my back or my words. Ariella didn’t care about the games of the Winter Court, something that fascinated me. Was I in love? I didn’t know. Love was such an unknown concept, something that everyone cautioned against. Love was for mortals and weak Summer fey, it had no place in the life of an Unseelie prince. None of this swayed me. All I knew was, when we were together, I could leave behind the intrigues and pitfalls of court and just be.

It was high summer when the last person I wanted to find out about us did so anyway.

Ariella and I hunted often. It was a chance to get away from the court and be alone together, without the whispers and the stares and the snide, pitying looks. She was an excellent huntress, and our outings usually turned into friendly competitions, seeing whose arrow could drop our quarry first. I lost as often as I won, which filled me with an odd sort of pride. I knew my skill was considerable; that Ariella could match it brought some excitement back into the hunt and forced me to concentrate.

We were in the wyldwood that day, resting after a successful hunt and just enjoying each other’s company. We stood on the banks of a clear green pond, my arms around her waist and her head leaning against my chest, watching two piskies tease an enormous carp by darting close to the surface, then zipping away as the fish lunged for them. It was getting late, but we were loath to go back to court; Winter fey tended to be restless and irritable during the summer months, which led to a great amount of squabbling and backbiting. Here in the wyldwood, it was still and quiet, and only the most desperate or savage of wild fey would consider taking on two powerful Unseelie.

Abruptly, the peaceful silence was interrupted.

“There you are! Jeez, ice-boy, I’ve been looking for you forever. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

I winced. Or him, of course. Nothing was sacred to him.

Ariella jerked in surprise. “Who—” She tried looking back, only to find I wasn’t moving or letting go. Groaning, I buried my face in her hair. “Don’t turn around,” I muttered. “Don’t answer him, and maybe he’ll go away.”

“Hah, as if that ever works.” The speaker moved closer, until I could see him from the corner of my eye, arms crossed over a bare chest, perpetual smirk stretching his face. “You know, if you keep ignoring me, ice-boy, I’m just going to push you into the pond.”

I released Ariella and stepped back from the edge, glaring at Puck as he retreated with a cheerful grin. “What do you want, Goodfellow?”

“So nice to see you as well, prince.” Puck stuck his tongue out, unfazed by my glare. “Guess the next time I find a juicy rumor, I’ll just keep it to myself. I thought you might want to check out these coatl sightings in Mexico City, but I see you’re otherwise occupied.”

“Goodfellow?” Ariella repeated, staring at Puck with unabashed curiosity. “Robin Goodfellow? It is you, isn’t it? The Puck?”

Puck grinned widely and bowed. “The one and only,” he stated grandly as I felt the situation sliding further from my control. “And who might you be, lady who has stolen all of ice-boy’s attention?” Before Ariella could answer, he sniffed and turned to me, pouting. “Prince, I’m hurt. After all we’ve been through, you could at least introduce me to your new lady friend.”

“This is Ariella Tularyn,” I introduced, refusing to rise to Puck’s goading. “Ariella, this is Robin Goodfellow, who despite my best efforts, insists on hanging around when he isn’t wanted.”

“You wound me, prince.” Puck looked anything but hurt, and I crossed my arms. “Um, I guess you’re still mad about that whole harpy fiasco. I swear, I thought those caves were empty.”

“How did you overlook a hundred harpies nesting in that cave? Did the giant carpet of bones not tip you off?”

“Oh, sure, complain now. But we found the trod to Athens, didn’t we?”

Ariella blinked, looking back and forth between us. “Wait, wait,” she said, holding up her hands. “You two know each other? Traveled together?” She frowned and looked at us both. “Are you friends?”

I snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh, best friends, lady,” Puck said at the same time, giving her a wink. “Ice-boy will deny it until the mountains crumble, but you know how hard it is for him to admit his feelings, right?”

“But, you’re Summer.” Ariella glanced back at me, confused. “Robin Goodfellow is part of the Seelie Court, right? Isn’t it against the law to conspire with Summer fey?”

“Conspire?” Puck grinned, looking at me. “That’s a nasty word. We don’t conspire, do we, prince?”

“Puck.” I sighed. “Shut up.” Turning away from him, I drew Ariella close, ignoring the way Puck’s eyes lit up gleefully. “The answer to your question is yes,” I told her quietly. “It is against the law. And within the borders of Arcadia and Tir Na Nog, Robin Goodfellow and I are enemies. We will both readily admit that.” I shot Puck a look, and he nodded, still grinning.

“But,” I continued, “here in the wyldwood, the laws, though they’re not completely flexible, don’t extend quite as far. Puck and I have been known to … bend the rules a little. Not always, and not often. But, he’s the only one that can keep up with me, and the only one who doesn’t care that I’m part of the Winter Court.”

Ariella pulled back and looked at me, her sea-green eyes intense. “So, you’re telling me that you, a prince of the Unseelie Court, are admitting to breaking the law and conspiring with the Winter Court’s sworn enemy on a regular basis?”

I held my breath. Though I’d known this day would come, I’d been hoping to bring up my … association … with Puck on my own terms. That the Summer Court prankster had forced the issue wasn’t surprising, but what I feared most was being forced to choose where my loyalties lay. Ariella was still Unseelie, brought up to hate Summer and everything in it. If she decided Puck was the enemy and that we had no business involving him in anything that wasn’t a fight to the death … what would I do then?

I sighed inwardly. I was a prince of the Unseelie Court. I would always side with my court and kith, there was no question in my mind. If it came down to that choice, I would turn my back on Puck, turn my back on our years of camaraderie, and choose Winter. But that’s not to say it wouldn’t be hard.

Ariella stared at us, and I waited to see what she would do, how she would react. Finally she broke into a teasing smile.

“Well, as I’ve seen how Ash treats his ‘associates’ at the Winter Court, I’d have to say you must be an exception to the rule, Robin Goodfellow. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.” She glanced at me and winked. “And here I was afraid that Ash didn’t have any friends.”

Puck roared with laughter. “I like her,” he announced as I crossed my arms and tried to look bored and annoyed. They both giggled at my expense, but I didn’t care. Ariella had accepted my “association” without reservation or judgment. I didn’t have to choose. I could keep the best of both worlds without sacrificing either.

I should’ve known it would never last.

“PRINCE,” SAID PUCK’s voice, drawing me out of my dark thoughts, back to the present. “Prince. Oy, ice-boy!”

I blinked and glared at him. “What?”

He smirked and nodded to the sky, where a massive wall of black clouds loomed overhead. “There’s a nasty storm coming. Furball suggests we look for shelter, since this area has a reputation for flash floods. According to him, we should reach the seer sometime tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

“Wow, aren’t we chatty today.” Puck shook his head as I strode past him, sliding down a washed-out gully to where Grimalkin waited at the bottom. Puck followed easily, continuing to talk. “That’s the most you’ve said to me in two days. What’s going on, ice-boy? You’ve been very broody lately, even for you.”

“Leave it alone, Puck.”

“And here I thought we were doing so well.” Puck sighed dramatically as he matched my pace down the slope. “Might as well tell me, prince. You should know by now that I can’t leave anything alone. I’ll pry it out of you somehow.”

Deep within, something dark stirred. A sleeping giant sensing change in the air, like a forgotten heartbeat, faint but still alive, beginning to resurface. It was something I hadn’t felt, hadn’t allowed myself to feel, in years. The part of me that was pure Unseelie, pure hate and darkness and bloodlust. I lost myself to it once, the day Ariella died. I became something consumed by rage, filled with a black hatred that turned me against my closest friend. I thought I’d buried it when I froze out my emotions, training myself to become numb, to feel nothing.

I could feel it in me now, an old madness, an ancient darkness rising to the surface, filling me with anger. And hate. Wounds that had never really closed, tearing open again, seeping poison into my heart. It disturbed me, and I shoved it down, back into the blackness it had come from. But I could still feel it, pulsing and bubbling just below the surface.

Directed solely at Puck, who was, of course, still talking.

“You know, it’s not healthy to keep things bottled up, prince. The whole brooding thing is really overrated. So, come on, out with it. What’s bothering—”

“I said—” Whirling abruptly, I came face-to-face with Puck, close enough to see my reflection in his startled green eyes. “Leave it alone, Puck.”

For all his buffoonery, Robin Goodfellow was no fool. We’d known each other a long time, both as friends and rivals, and he knew me better than anyone, sometimes better than I knew myself. The irreverent smirk vanished, and his eyes became hard as stone. We stared at each other, inches apart, while the wind picked up and howled around us, stirring up a cyclone of leaves and dust.

“Having second thoughts?” Puck’s voice was soft and dangerous, a far cry from his normal flippancy. “I thought we’d put this behind us for now.”

“Never,” I said, matching his stare. “I can’t ever take it back, Goodfellow. I’m still going to kill you. I swore to her I would.” Lightning flickered and thunder rumbled in the distance as we faced each other with narrowed eyes. “One day,” I said softly. “One day you’ll look up, and I’ll be there. That’s the only ending for us. Don’t ever forget.”

Puck slowly cocked his head, regarding me intently. “Is this Ash talking? Or the oath?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I stepped back, holding his gaze, unwilling to turn my back on him. “It can never be the same, Puck. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that it is.”

“I’ve never forgotten, prince.” Puck watched me with solemn eyes glowing green in the sudden darkness. Lightning flashed through the trees again, and thunder growled an answer. Puck’s next words were nearly lost in the wind. “You’re not the only one with regrets.”

I turned and walked away from him, feeling cold and empty, the darkness coiling around my heart. At the bottom of the slope, Grimalkin sat on a stump, tail curled over his feet, watching us with unblinking golden eyes.

WE FOUND A CAVE, or rather, an annoyed, impatient Grimalkin led us to a cave, seconds before the sky opened up and the rain poured down. As the light rapidly disappeared, I left Puck poking the fire and retreated to a dark corner. Sitting with my back against the wall, I pulled one knee to my chest and glowered into the distant flames.

“And so it begins.”

Grimalkin appeared beside me, seated on a rock, watching Puck tend the campfire. The flames cast a burning orange halo around the cat. I gave him a sideways glance, but he didn’t return it. “What do you mean?”

“I warned you this was no simple quest. I told you before, you and Goodfellow have no idea what lies ahead.” He twitched an ear and shifted on the rock, still watching the fire. “You feel it, do you not? The anger. The darkness.” I blinked in surprise, but Grimalkin paid no heed. “It will only get worse the farther we go.”

“Where are we going?” I asked softly. A sudden hiss from the campfire showed Puck hanging a skinned rabbit over the flames. Where he’d gotten it, I didn’t even want to guess, and I turned back to Grimalkin. “I know we’re going to the seer, but you still haven’t told us where.”

The cait sith pretended not to hear. Yawning, he stretched languidly, raking his claws over the stones, and trotted off to oversee dinner preparations.

Outside, the storm howled and raged, bending trees and blowing rain at a sharp angle across the mouth of the cave. The fire crackled cheerfully, licking at the rabbit carcass, and the smell of roasted meat began to fill the chamber.

And yet, something wasn’t right.

I rose and wandered to the cave mouth, gazing out at the storm. Wind tugged at me, spattering my face with raindrops. Beyond the lip of the cavern, rain skittered over the ground in waves, like silver curtains tossed by the wind.

Something was out there. Watching us.

“Hey, ice-boy.” Puck appeared at my side, peering into the rain with me. He acted perfectly normal, as if the words between us earlier that day had never happened. “Whatcha looking at?”

“I don’t know.” I searched the trees, the shadows, my gaze cutting through the storm, peeling back the darkness, but could see nothing unusual. “It feels like we’re being watched.”

“Huh.” Puck scratched the side of his face. “I don’t feel anything like that. And Furball is still here, so that’s something. You know if there was anything dangerous coming he’d be gone faster than you could say poof. Sure you’re not being paranoid?”

The rain continued to fall, and nothing moved beyond in the darkness and shadow. “I don’t know,” I said again. “Maybe.”

“Well, you can stand here and worry. I’m going to eat. If you see something big and hungry coming at us, just ye—”

“Goodfellow.”

My voice made him pause, then turn back, wary and guarded. We stared at each other by the mouth of the cave, the storm whipping at us and making the campfire flicker.

“Why are you here?”

He blinked, made a halfhearted attempt at humor. “Uh … because I don’t want to get wet?”

I just waited. Puck sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Do we really have to go through this, iceboy?” he said, and though the words were light, his tone was almost pleading. “I think we both know the reason I’m here.”

“What if I asked you to leave?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Puck grinned, but it quickly faded. “This is about what happened earlier, isn’t it?” he said. “What’s going on, Ash? Two days ago, you were fine. We were fine.”

I glanced over to where Grimalkin sat watching the spitted rabbit with something a bit stronger than curiosity. I could feel the darkness in me rising again, despite my attempts to freeze it out. “I’m going to kill you,” I said softly, and Puck’s eyebrows rose. “Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. Our past is catching up to us, Goodfellow, and this feud has gone on long enough.” I looked back at him, meeting his solemn gaze. “I’m giving you this chance now to leave. Run. Find Meghan, tell her what I’m trying to do. If I don’t come back, take care of her for me.” I felt my chest squeeze tight at the thought of Meghan, of never seeing her again. But at least Puck would be there for her if I failed. “Get out of here, Puck. It would be better for both of us if you were gone.”

“Huh. Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel wanted, prince.” Puck glared at me, not quite able to mask his anger. Pushing himself off the wall, he took a step forward, never looking away. “Here’s a heads-up, though—I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you threaten, bribe, coerce, or beg. Don’t get me wrong, I’m mostly here for her, not you, but I’m betting this isn’t something you can do alone. So you’re going to have to suck it up and get used to me, prince, ‘cause unless you want that duel right here, right now, I’m not leaving. And I can be just as stubborn as you.”

Outside, lightning flickered, turning everything white, and the gale tossed the branches of the trees. Puck and I glared at each other until we were interrupted by a loud pop from the campfire. Breaking eye contact at last, Puck glanced over his shoulder and let out a yelp.

“Hey!” Whirling around, he stalked back toward the fire, and its now-empty spit, waving his arms. “My rabbit! Grimalkin, you sneaky, gray … pig! I hope you enjoy that, ‘cause the next thing over the fire might be you!”

As expected, there was no answer. I smiled to myself and turned back to the rain. The violence of the storm had not abated, nor had my feeling of being watched, though continued searches of the trees and shadows yielded nothing.

“Where are you?” I mused under my breath. “I know you can see me. Why can’t I find you?”

The storm seemed to mock me. I stood, looking out, until the wind finally died down and the rain slowed to a drizzle. All through the night, I stood there, waiting. But whatever was watching me from its mysterious location never made itself known.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE HUNTED

The next day dawned dim and ominous, with a persistent fog that clung to the ground and wrapped everything in opaque silence. Sounds were absorbed into the surrounding white, and it was impossible to see more than ten feet ahead.

We left the cave, following a smug Grimalkin into the wall of mist. The world looked different from the night before, hidden and lurking, the trees dark, crooked skeletons in the mist. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no small creatures scurried through the undergrowth. Nothing moved or seemed to breathe. Even Puck was affected by the somber mood and offered little conversation as we glided through this still, muffled world.

The feeling of being watched had not dissipated even now, and was making me increasingly uncomfortable. Even more disturbing, I had the sense that something was following us, tracking us through the silent forest. I scanned the surrounding trees, the shadows and the undergrowth, watching, listening for something that seemed out of place. But I could see nothing.

The fog stubbornly refused to lift, and the farther we pushed into the quiet wood, the stronger the feeling became. Finally, I stopped, turning to gaze behind us. Mist crept over the ground and spilled onto the tiny forest path we were following, and through the blanket of white, I could sense something drawing closer.

“There’s something out there,” I muttered as Puck came to stand beside me, also peering into the fog.

“Of course there is,” Grimalkin replied matter-of-factly, leaping onto a fallen tree. “It has been following us since last night. The storm slowed it down a bit, but it is coming fast now. I suggest we hurry if we do not wish to meet it. And we do not, trust me.”

“Is it the witch?” Puck asked, frowning as he stared into the bushes and the trees. “Geez, tie a house’s feet together and you’re marked for life. The old gal can sure hold a grudge, can’t she?”

“It is not the witch,” Grimalkin said with a hint of annoyance. “It is something far worse, I am afraid. Now come, we are wasting time.” He leaped off the branch, vanishing into the mist, as Puck and I shared a glance.

“Worse than the old chicken plucker?” Puck made a face. “That’s hard to believe. Can you think of anyone you’d rather not meet in a spooky old forest, prince?”

“Actually, I can,” I said, and walked away, following Grimalkin through the trees.

“Hey!” Puck scrambled after us. “What’s that supposed to mean, ice-boy?”

The forest stretched on, and Grimalkin never slowed, weaving through trees and under gnarled roots without looking back. I resisted the urge to glance continuously over my shoulder, half expecting the mist to part as whatever was following us lunged onto the path. I hated being hunted, being tracked by some unseen, unknown monster, but Grimalkin seemed determined to outpace it, and if I paused I could lose the cat in the fog. Somewhere behind us, a flock of crows took to the air with frantic cries, piercingly loud in the silence.

“It’s close,” I muttered, my hand dropping to my sword. Grimalkin didn’t look back.

“Yes,” he stated calmly. “But we are almost there.”

“Almost where?” Puck chimed in, but at that moment the mist thinned and we found ourselves on the edge of a gray-green lake. Skeletal trees loomed out of the water, their expanding web of roots looking like pale snakes in the murk. Small, mossy islands rose from beneath the lake, and rope bridges spanned the gulf between them, some sagging low enough to nearly touch the surface.

“There is a colony of ballybogs living on the other side,” Grimalkin explained, hopping lightly to the first rope bridge. He paused to glance back at us, waving his tail. “They owe me a favor. Hurry up.”

Something went crashing through the bushes behind us—a pair of terrified deer, fleeing into the undergrowth. Grimalkin flattened his ears and started across the bridge. Puck and I followed.

The lake wasn’t large, and we reached the other side a few minutes later, facing Grimalkin’s annoyed glare as we stepped onto the muddy bank. Puck and I had systematically cut through each of the bridge ropes after every crossing, so whatever was following us would have to swim. Hopefully, that would slow it down a bit, but it also meant that we had burned our bridges, so to speak, if we wanted to return the same way.

“Uh-oh,” Puck murmured, and I turned around.

A tiny village lay in the mud at the edge of the river, thatch and peat roofs covering primitive huts built into an embankment, peeking out between the roots of enormous trees. Spears lay in the mud, some broken, and the roofs of several huts had been torn off. Silence hung thick over the village, the mist creeping up from the lake to smother what was left of the hamlet.

“Looks like something got here before us,” Puck observed, picking a shattered spear out of the mud. “Did a number on the village, too. No one’s here to welcome us, Grim. We’ll have to try something else.”

Grimalkin sniffed and jumped atop the bank, shaking mud from his paws. “How inconvenient.” He sighed, looking around in distaste. “Now I will never receive my favor.”

In the distance, somewhere beyond the mist coming off the water, there was a splash. Puck looked back and grimaced. “It’s still coming, persistent bastard.”

I drew my sword. “Then we make our stand here.”

Puck nodded, pulling his daggers. “Thought you might say that. I’ll find us some higher ground. Wrestling in the mud just isn’t my cup of tea, unless it involves scantily clad—” He stopped as I shot him a look. “Right,” he muttered. “That hill over there looks promising. I’ll check it out.”

Grimalkin followed my stare, blinking as Puck sloshed his way toward a lumpy mound of green moss and ferns. “That was not there the last time I was here,” he mused softly, narrowing his gaze. “In fact …” His eyes widened.

And he disappeared.

I whirled back, lunging forward as Puck hopped onto the hill, pulling himself up by a twisted root. “Puck!” I shouted, and he glanced back at me, frowning. “Get out of there now!”

The hill moved. With a yelp, Puck stumbled, flailing wildly as the grassy mound shifted and lurched and started to rise out of the mud. Puck dove forward, landing with a splat in the mud, and the hill stood up, unfolding long, claw-tipped arms and thick, stumpy legs. It turned, twenty feet of muddy green swamp troll, moss and vegetation growing from its broad back, blending perfectly with the landscape. Dank green hair hung from its scalp, and its beady red eyes scanned the ground in confusion.

“Oh,” Puck mused, gazing up at the enormous creature from the mud. “Well, that explains a few things.”

The swamp troll roared, spittle flying from its open jaws, and took a step toward Puck, who bounced to his feet. It swiped a talon at him and he ducked, running under its enormous bulk, darting between the tree-stump legs. The troll roared and started to turn, and I flung a hail of ice daggers at it, sticking it in the shoulder and face. It bellowed and lurched toward me, making the ground shake as it charged. I dodged, rolling out of the way as the troll hit the embankment and ripped a huge gash through the huts, tearing them open.

As the troll pulled back, I lunged at it, swiping at its thick arms, cutting a deep gash through the barklike skin. It howled, more in anger than pain, and whirled on me.

There was movement on its broad shoulders, and Puck appeared, clinging to its back, a huge grin splitting his face. “All right,” he announced grandly, as the troll jerked and spun around, trying in vain to reach him, “I claim this land for Spain.” And he planted his dagger in the base of the troll’s thick neck.

The creature roared, a shrill, painful wail, and clawed desperately at its back. Puck scooted away, avoiding the troll’s raking talons, and stuck his dagger on the other side of its neck. It screeched again, slapping and tearing, and Puck scrambled away. With all its attention on Puck, I leaped forward, vaulted off a stumpy leg, and plunged my sword into the troll’s chest.

It staggered, falling to its knees and with a deep groan, toppled into the mud as I ducked out of the way. Puck sprang off its shoulders as it collapsed, rolled as he hit the ground and came to his feet, grinning, though he looked like some kind of mud monster himself.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, shaking his head and flinging mud everywhere. “Man, that was fun. Better than playing Stay on the Wild Pegasus. Can we do it again?”

“Idiot.” I wiped a splash of mud from my cheek with the back of my hand. “We’re not done yet. Whatever is following us is still out there.”

“Also, may I remind you,” Grimalkin said, peering imperiously from the branches of a tall tree, “that swamp trolls, in particular, have two hearts and accelerated healing capabilities? You will have to do more than stick a sword in its chest if you wish to kill it for good.”

Puck blinked. “So, you’re saying that our mossy friend isn’t really—”

There was a wet, sloshing sound behind us, and Grimalkin vanished again. Puck winced.

“Right, then,” he muttered as we spun around. The swamp troll lumbered to its feet, its red eyes blazing and angry, fastened on us. “Round two.” Puck sighed and swept his hand down in a chopping motion. “Fight!”

The troll roared. Effortlessly, it reached out and wrapped one claw around the trunk of a pine tree, pulling it from the mud as easily as picking a dandelion. With blinding speed, it smashed the weapon toward us.

Puck and I leaped aside in opposite directions, and the tree struck the space between with an explosion of mud and water. Almost immediately, the troll swept the tree across the ground, as if it was whisking away dust with a broom, and this time Puck wasn’t quite able to dodge quickly enough. The trunk hit him and sent his body tumbling through the air, striking his head on another tree and slumping into the mud several yards away. Red-eyed, the troll turned back to me, stepping forward threateningly. I retreated until my back hit the wall of the embankment, and I tensed as the huge troll loomed over me, raising its club over its head and smashing it down like a battering ram.

Something big and dark lunged between us with a booming snarl, and a monstrous shaggy thing slammed into the troll, teeth flashing. The troll screeched and stumbled back, its arm clamped in the jaws of an enormous black wolf the size of a grizzly bear, who growled and shook his head, digging his fangs in farther. Howling, the troll flailed and yanked back, trying desperately to dislodge the monster clinging to its arm, but the wolf wasn’t letting go. I caught my breath, recognizing the creature, knowing who it was, but there was no time to wonder why he was here.

Dodging the wolf, I ducked beneath the troll’s legs and turned, slashing the thick tendons behind its knees. With a shriek, the troll’s legs buckled, and I leaped onto its back, much as Puck had done, as it went down. But this time, I raised my sword and drove it, point first, into the troll’s head, right between the horns, burying the weapon to the hilt.

A shudder wracked the troll’s body. It began to stiffen, its skin turning gray and hard. I yanked my sword free and vaulted off its back as the troll curled up on itself, much like a giant insect or spider, and turned to stone. In a few seconds, only a troll-shaped boulder sat in the mud at the edge of the village.

There was a deep chuckle beside me. “Not bad, little prince. Not bad.”

Slowly, I turned, gripping my weapon, ready to unleash my glamour in one violent, chaotic burst. A few yards away, the enormous wolf of legend stared at me, eyes glowing yellow-green in the gloom, fangs bared in a vicious smile.

“Hello, prince,” rumbled the Big Bad Wolf. “I told you before. The next time we meet, you won’t ever see me coming.”

I STARED AT THE WOLF, keeping him in my sights as he circled me, fangs bared in a savage grin, huge paws sinking into the mud. Around and inside me, glamour flared, cold and lethal, ready to be unleashed. I couldn’t hold anything back, not with him. This was possibly the most dangerous, ancient creature to ever walk the wilds of the Nevernever. His stories outnumbered all the myths and legends ever told, and his power grew with every telling, every dire warning and fable that whispered his name. His legends were all born of fear; he was the consummate villain, the creature that old wives warned their children about, a monster that consumed little girls and butchered entire herds for no reason. His brethren in the mortal world had suffered terribly for the fears that birthed him—they had been gunned down, trapped, and slaughtered wholesale—but each death reinforced those fears and made him more powerful than before.

The immortal Big Bad Wolf. Meghan and I had met him once before, and he’d almost succeeded in killing me.

That wouldn’t happen again.

“Put that stick away.” The Wolf’s voice, guttural and deep, held traces of amusement. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered saving your sorry carcass from the swamp troll. That’s not to say I won’t kill you later, but your silly little toy won’t stop me then, either, so you might as well be civil about it.”

I kept my sword out, which I could see annoyed the Wolf, but I was certainly not going down without a fight. “What do you want?” I asked, keeping my voice cautiously civil, but letting the Wolf know I would defend myself if needed. I was going to walk away from this. It didn’t matter that the Wolf was immortal. It didn’t matter that he’d almost killed me last time we’d met. If it came down to a fight, I was determined to win this time, by any means necessary. I would not die here, on the banks of a gloomy lake, torn apart by the Big Bad Wolf. I would survive this encounter and keep going. Meghan was waiting for me.

The Wolf smiled. “Mab sent me for you,” he said in a voice that was almost a purr.

I kept my expression neutral, though an icy fist grabbed my stomach and twisted. Not in surprise, or even fear, just the knowledge that, as she did with all her subjects, the Winter Queen had finally grown tired of me. Perhaps she was insulted by my refusal to return to court. Perhaps she’d decided that a former Winter prince running around free was too volatile, a threat to her throne. The whys didn’t matter. Mab had sent the most feared hunter and assassin in the entire Nevernever to kill me.

I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. “I suppose I should be honored,” I told him, and he cocked his enormous shaggy head, still grinning. Taking a furtive breath, I calmed my mind, the glamour settling into a low, throbbing pulse. “We won’t get anywhere standing around looking at each other,” I told him, raising my sword. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

The Wolf chuckled. “As much as I’d enjoy ripping your head off, little prince,” he said, and his eyes gleamed, “I am not here to end your life. Quite the opposite, in fact. Mab sent me here to help you.”

I stared at him, hardly able to believe what I’d just heard. “Why?”

The Wolf shrugged, his huge shoulders rippling with the movement. “I do not know,” he said, and yawned, flashing lethal fangs. “Nor do I care. The Winter Queen knows of your quest; she knows you will probably have to journey far to complete it. I am here to make sure you reach your destination with your guts on the inside. In return, she will owe me a favor.” He sniffed the air and sat down, watching me with half-lidded eyes. “Beyond that, I have no interest in you. Or the Summer prankster. Who, if he wants his head to remain on his shoulders, will think long and hard about jumping me from behind. Next time, try standing downwind, Goodfellow.”

“Damn.” Puck appeared from a clump of reeds, a chagrined smile on his face, glaring at the Wolf. “I knew I was forgetting something.” Blood caked one side of his face, but other than that, he seemed fine. Brandishing his daggers, he sauntered up beside me, facing the huge predator. “Working for Mab now, are you, Wolfman?” he smirked. “Like a good little attack dog? Will you also roll over and beg if she asks?”

The Wolf rose, looming over both of us, the hair on his spine bristling. I resisted the urge to hit Goodfellow, even though I knew what he was doing; taunting an opponent for more information. “I am not a dog,” the Wolf growled, his deep voice making the puddles ripple. “And I work for no one.” He curled his lips in a sneer. “The favor of the Winter Queen is a substantial reward, but do not think you can order me around like the weak creatures of men. I will see you to the end of your quest alive.” He growled again and bared his teeth. “The request said nothing about whole.”

“You’re not here for a favor,” I said, and he blinked, eyeing me suspiciously. “You don’t need one,” I continued, “not from Mab, not from anyone. You enjoy the hunt, and the challenge, but to agree to such a request without a kill at the end? That’s not like you.” The Wolf continued to stare at us, his face betraying nothing. “Why are you really here?” I asked. “What do you want?”

“The only thing he really cares about—” A disembodied voice came from overhead, and Grimalkin appeared in the branches of a tree, nearly twenty feet off the ground. “Power.”

The hair on the Wolf’s back and shoulders bristled, though he gazed at Grimalkin with a faint, evil smile on his long muzzle. “Hello, cat,” he said conversationally. “I thought I caught your stench creeping through the air. Why not come down here and talk about me?”

“Do not demean yourself by stating the ridiculous,” Grimalkin replied smoothly. “Just because my species is vastly superior does not mean you should flaunt your idiocy so freely. I know why you are here, dog.”

“Really,” Puck called, craning his head to look up at the cat. “Well then, would you like to share your theory, Furball?”

Grimalkin sniffed. “Do you people not know anything?” Standing up, he walked along the branch, the Wolf’s gaze following him hungrily. “He is here because he wishes to add his name to your tale. His power, his entire existence, comes from stories, from myths and legends and all the dark, frightening and amusing tales about him that humans have invented over the years. It is how the Big Bad Wolf has survived for so long. It is how you have survived for centuries, Goodfellow. Surely you know this.”

“Well, yeah, of course I knew that,” Puck scoffed, crossing his arms. “But that still doesn’t tell me why Wolfman is being so helpful all of a sudden.”

“You are on a quest,” the Wolf went on, finally tearing his gaze away from the cat to look at me. “The queen told me of this. That you, a soulless and immortal being, wish to become human for the mortal you love.” He paused and shook his head in grudging admiration, or perhaps pity. “That is a story. That is a tale that will endure for generations, if you can survive the trials, of course. But even if you don’t, even if this tale becomes a tragedy, my name will still be in it, adding to my strength.” He narrowed his eyes, staring me down. “Of course, it would be a better tale if you manage to reach your destination. I can help you in that respect. It will make the story longer anyway.”

“What makes you think we need, or want, your help?” Grimalkin asked loftily.

The Wolf gave me an eerie smile, all fangs, and his eyes glinted in the shadows. “I will be in this tale one way or another, little prince,” he warned. “Either as the great wolf that protects and guides you to your destination, or as the tireless evil that tracks you through the night, haunting your steps and your dreams. I have been both, and such roles are easy for me to slip into. I leave the choice to you.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, two hunters sizing each other up, checking strengths and weaknesses. Finally, I nodded and carefully sheathed my blade.

“All right,” I said as Puck blinked and Grimalkin snorted in disgust. “I’ll accept your help for now. But I make no promises about our continued alliance.”

“Neither do I, boy.” The Wolf regarded me the way a cat would observe a mouse. “So, now that we have an understanding, what should we do first?”

Overhead, Grimalkin sighed, very loudly. “Unbelievable,” he said, and the Wolf grinned at him and ran a pink tongue over his jaws. Grimalkin was not impressed. “May I remind you,” he continued in that same bored, annoyed tone, “that out of this entire party, only I know the way to the seer. And if a certain dog forgets its manners, you will all be up the river without a paddle, so to speak. Remember that, prince.”

“You heard him,” I told the Wolf, who curled a lip at me. “No chasing or attacking our guide. We still need him to reach the seer.”

“Please.” Grimalkin sniffed, and leaped to another branch. “As if I would ever allow that to happen. This way, and do try to keep up.”

CHAPTER FIVE
THE HOLLOW

After leaving the lake and the dead ballybog village, we followed Grimalkin through another tangled forest and across a rocky plateau, the great black Wolf trailing noiselessly behind us. The two animals didn’t speak to each other, but the Wolf kept his distance from the cat, even when traveling across the open plains, so it seemed that they had worked out some sort of truce. A basilisk stirred on a rocky shelf, eyeing us hungrily as we passed beneath, but the Wolf silently curled his lip, baring his fangs, and the monster appeared to lose interest.

After we crossed the plateau, the ground turned sharply downhill and thick, thorny brambles started appearing, choking out the trees. When we reached the bottom of the slope, the briars rose around us like a spiny maze, ragged wisps of fog caught between their branches. The ground was wet and spongy, saturated with water, mud and something else. Something dark had seeped into the earth, turning the ground black and poisoned. The air was still, silent as a grave; nothing moved in the shadows or between the thorns, not even insects.

“This is as far as I go.”

Startled, we both turned to Grimalkin, sitting tightly on a patch of dry ground, watching us. “From here,” he said, regarding each of us in turn, “you are on your own.”

“What?” Puck exclaimed. “You mean you’re not going to venture into the hollow of death with us? Shocking. What kind of monster do you think lives here, ice-boy? It has to be pretty nasty for Furball to flake out on us. Oh, wait …”

Grimalkin flattened his ears but otherwise ignored the Summer faery. The Wolf sniffed the air, growled low in his chest, and the hackles rose along his spine. “This place,” he muttered, curling a lip, “is not right.” He shook himself and took a step forward. “I’ll scout ahead, see if it’s—”

“No,” Grimalkin said, and the Wolf turned on him with a growl. The cait sith faced him seriously, his yellow eyes intense. “You must remain here. The valley will not tolerate intruders. This part of the journey is for them, and them alone.”

The Wolf and the cat locked eyes, staring each other down. Grimalkin did not blink, and something in the cat’s steady gaze must have convinced the much larger wolf. Reluctantly, he nodded and took a step back. “Very well,” he growled. “I will scout along the perimeter, then.” He shot a glare at me and Puck. “If you two need my help, just scream.”

He turned swiftly and trotted away, melting into the shadows and the trees. Grimalkin watched him go and turned to us.

“I have brought you as far as I can,” he said, rising gracefully to his feet, plumed tail waving. “The final few steps are up to you.” His gaze narrowed, watching us grimly. “Both of you.”

A coil of mist curled across the place where Grimalkin sat, and he was gone.

Puck crossed his arms, gazing past the edge of the valley into the darkness and thorns. “Yep.” He sighed. “A really, really nasty monster, indeed.”

I gazed into the hollow, watching the mist writhe through the thorns, creating shadows and dragons where there was nothing. Silence hung thick on the air; not a peaceful, serene silence, but the silence of a tomb, or the aftermath of a battle, where death and darkness thrived and the living had no place. I could hear the whispers of hate and fear that hissed through the brambles, ghosts on the wind. I could hear them call my name.

Something in me recoiled, reluctant to set foot in that dark valley. It was waiting for me, somewhere beyond the mist. Still watching.

Filled with a foreboding I couldn’t explain, I drew back, then stopped, angry with myself. Why this sudden fear? Fear meant nothing to me. Fear was the knowledge of pain, the awareness that you could be hurt, that you could die. That was all it came down to. I knew pain. Intimately. I’d welcomed it at times, because it meant I could still feel, that I wasn’t completely frozen. What more could anything do to my body that I hadn’t already lived through?

Nodding to Puck, I drew my sword and stepped into the hollow, feeling the mist coil around me as we slipped into the fog.

A gray shroud enveloped us instantly, lit by a flat, even glow that somehow managed to darken everything. Nothing moved in the hollow; all life had been swallowed by the thick black briars that sprang up everywhere, choking everything out. The ground beneath us was wet and spongy, though the writhing layer of mist made it impossible to see what we were stepping on.

As I moved through the brambles, my sword held up and ready, I began to sense the wrongness of the valley, right below my feet. The ground pulsed with hate and blood and despair; I could feel it clawing at me, the darkness of this place. I could feel my Unseelie nature rise up in response, cold, ruthless and angry.

“This place is cursed,” Puck muttered as I struggled to control myself, to stifle the darkness rising within. “We need to find this seer and get out of here, soon.”

“Ash,” something whispered through the brambles, raising the hair on my neck. I whirled, but no one was there.

“Ice-boy?” Puck stepped forward, eyes narrowed in concern. “Ash. You all right?”

And, for just a moment, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to take my sword and plunge it deep into his chest, to watch the light fade from his eyes right before he crumpled at my feet. Turning away, I struggled to compose myself, to stifle the cold rage ebbing through me. The demon inside was stirring, unwilling to hold back any longer, and the core of the rage was directed, like a spearhead, at Puck.

“Ash,” the voice whispered again, and I looked up.

Several yards away, barely visible through the mist, a ghostly, glowing figure walked through a space between the briars, catching my eye and then vanishing from sight. My breath caught in my throat.

Forgetting Puck, forgetting everything that had brought us here, I followed the figure into the mist. Voices hissed at me through the brambles, faint and incomprehensible, though every so often I heard them whisper my name. I caught glimpses of the lone figure through the branches, always walking away from me, just out of reach. Somewhere in the mist, I heard Puck call my name as he tried to follow, but I ignored him. Ahead of me, the thorns finally thinned, and the ghostly figure strode purposefully forward, never glancing back. It turned a corner, and I hurried to catch up ….

The brambles fell away, and I found myself in a small clearing, thick briars hemming me in on either side. Before me, rising out of the mist, a bleached-white skeleton lay sprawled in the mud and stagnant water of the clearing. The skeleton was huge, an enormous reptilian creature with thick hind legs and a long, powerful tail. Wingbones lay folded beneath it, snapped and broken, and the huge jaws were open in a last, silent roar.

I started to shake. Not with fear, but with complete, all-consuming fury, and despair burned my throat like bile. I knew this place. I recognized where we were at last. It was here, on this spot, that Puck, Ariella and I had fought and killed a monstrous wyvern, slaying it but losing one of our own in the process. This was the hollow where Ariella died. This was the place where I’d vowed to kill Puck. It had all started right here.

It would end here, as well.

“Ash!” Footsteps splashed behind me, as Puck came into the clearing and stumbled to a halt, panting. “Dammit, iceboy, what’s gotten into you? Next time, give me a heads-up that you’re taking off. Don’t leave a guy standing in a creepy, mist-filled hollow of death all by himself.”

“Do you know where we are?” I asked softly, not turning around. I felt his puzzlement, then heard his sudden intake of breath as he realized. I gripped my sword and spun slowly to face him, feeling darkness spread through me like a rush of ink. The Unseelie demon was fully awake now, the icy barrier that held it at bay shattered. Memories rose up, fresh and painful: the hunt, the chase into the hollow at Puck’s insistence, the roar of the monster as it charged with lethal speed. Rage and despair swirled around me; whether mine or the memories of this dark place, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. Meeting Puck’s eyes, I started forward.

“Ash,” Puck said, backing away, his eyes wary and hooded, “wait. What are you doing?”

“I told you.” I advanced steadily, calmly, the sword heavy in my hand. “I warned you that it would be soon. It’s time, Puck. Today.”

“Not now.” He paled, and drew his daggers. I didn’t stop, and he circled with me, his weapons held up and ready. “Ash, get a hold of yourself,” he said, almost pleading. “We can’t do this now. You’re not here for her.”

“Look at where we are!” I roared, sweeping my blade toward the bleached skeleton in the mud. “If not now, when? This is the place, Puck! This is the place she died. I lost Ariella right here. Because of you!” My voice broke, and I sucked in a breath as Puck stared at me with wide eyes. I’d never said those words to him; it was always an unspoken feud that drove us to fight each other. We both knew the reason, but I’d never accused Puck out loud, until now.

“You know I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Puck’s voice shook as we continued to circle each other, blades bare and glittering in the faint light. “I loved her, too, prince.”

“Not like me.” I couldn’t stop myself now. The rage was a cold, all-consuming fire, fed from the darkness of the earth, from the grief and hate and painful memories that had seeped into this spot. “And that doesn’t change the fact that her death is on your head. If I’d killed you when we first met, like I was supposed to, she would still be alive!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Puck was shouting now, green eyes feverish. “You don’t think I regret what I did, every single day? You lost Ariella, but I lost you both! Believe it or not, I was kind of a mess, too, Ash. It got to a point where I actually looked forward to our random duels, because that was the only time I could talk to you. When you were freaking trying to kill me!”

“Don’t compare your loss to mine,” I snarled. “You have no idea what I went through, what you caused.”

“You think I don’t know pain?” Puck shook his head at me. “Or loss? I’ve been around a lot longer than you, prince! I know what love is, and I’ve lost my fair share, too. Just because we have a different way of handling it, doesn’t mean I don’t have scars of my own.”

“Name one,” I scoffed. “Give me one instance where you haven’t—”

“Meghan Chase!” Puck roared, startling me into silence. I blinked, and he sneered at me. “Yeah, your highness. I know what loss is. I’ve loved that girl since before she knew me. But I waited. I waited because I didn’t want to lie about who I was. I wanted her to know the truth before anything else. So I waited, and I did my job. For years, I protected her, biding my time, until the day she went into the Nevernever after her brother. And then you came along. And I saw how she looked at you. And for the first time, I wanted to kill you as much as you wanted to kill me.

“So, here, prince!” he said, and without warning, flipped his daggers at me. They struck the ground at my feet, hilts up, glinting in the dim light. “I’m tired of fighting. You want your revenge?” He straightened and flung his arms wide, glaring at me. “Come and take it! This is the place where she died, where it all started. Here I am, Ash—strike me down already. I won’t even fight you. Let’s end this, once and for all!”

The rage in me boiled. Raising my sword, I went for him, sweeping the blade down at his neck, a blow that would slice through his collarbone and out the other side. I would end this, right here. Puck didn’t move, nor did his gaze stray from mine as I lunged forward. He didn’t flinch as the weapon sliced down in a blur of icy blue—

—and stopped.

My hands shook, and the sword trembled against Puck’s collarbone, the edge drawing the faintest line of red against his skin. I was panting, breathing hard, but he still watched me, his face blank, and I could see my tortured ref lection in his eyes. Do it, the rage whispered as I struggled to make my arms move, to finish what I’d started. Strike him down. This is what you’ve always wanted. End the feud, and keep your promise.

Puck took a deep, careful breath and spoke softly, almost a whisper. “If you’re going to do it, prince, do it now. The anticipation is killing me.”

I straightened, bracing myself for the deed. Robin Goodfellow would die today. It had to end like this. It didn’t matter that Puck had lost just as much as I had, that his pain was just as great, that he loved Meghan enough to step aside, to bow out gracefully. Never mind that he loved her so much he would join his sworn enemy on a search for the impossible, just to ensure her happiness. He was here, not because of me, but because of her. None of that mattered. I had sworn an oath, here, on this very spot, and I had to see it through.

I gripped the sword handle, steeling myself. Puck stood rock-still, waiting. I raised the sword again … and whirled away with a roar of frustration, flinging my weapon into the nearest bramble patch.

Puck couldn’t quite conceal his sigh of relief as I stalked away, retreating into the mist and out of sight before I fell apart. Dropping to my knees, I slammed my fist into the mud and bowed my head, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I shook with anger, with grief and self-loathing and regret. Regret of what transpired here. That I had failed. That I had ever made that vow to kill my closest friend.

I’m sorry, Ariella. Forgive me. I’m weak. I wasn’t able to keep my promise.

How long I knelt there, I didn’t know. Perhaps only minutes, but before I could really compose myself, I had the sudden knowledge that I wasn’t alone. Wondering if Puck was really foolish enough to bother me now, I raised my head.

It wasn’t Puck.

A robed figure stood at the edge of the mist, pale and indistinct, blending into the surrounding fog. Its cowl was raised, showing nothing but darkness beneath the hood, but I could feel its eyes on me, watching.

I rose slowly, muscles tensed to leap away should the stranger make any move to attack. I wished I had my sword, but there was no time to regret that now.

Watching the stranger, I felt a glimmer of recognition. We’d met before, recently in fact. This was the same presence I had felt in my nightmare of the Iron Realm, the one keeping just out of sight, holding me to the dreamworld. And as my memory returned with the shattered pieces of my composure, I finally recalled why we were here, who we had come to find.

“You are … the seer?” I asked softly. My voice came out shaky and was swallowed by the coiling fog, but the robed figure nodded. “Then … you know why I’ve come.”

Another nod. “Yes,” the seer whispered, its voice softer than the mist around us. “I know why you are here, Ash of the Winter Court. The real question is … do you?”

I took a breath to answer, but the seer stepped forward and pushed back its hood.

The world fell out from under me. I stared, staggered and frozen in a way that had nothing to do with winter.

“Hello, Ash,” Ariella whispered. “It’s been a long time.”

PART TWO

CHAPTER SIX
THE SEER

I stared at the figure before me, hardly able to wrap my mind around it. It looked like Ariella, sounded like her. Even after all these years, I knew the exact lilt of her voice, the subtlest tilt of her head. But … it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. This was a trick, or perhaps a memory, brought to life by the depth of emotion around us. Ariella was dead. She had been for a long time.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, trying desperately to regain my scattered wits. “This … this isn’t real. You’re not real. Ariella is … gone.” My voice broke, and I shook my head angrily. “This isn’t real,” I repeated, willing my heart to believe it. “Whatever you are, leave this place. Don’t torment me further.”

The robed figure glided forward, coils of mist parting for her as she came toward me. I wanted to move, to draw back, but my body wasn’t working right anymore. I might as well have been frozen, helpless, as the thing that looked like Ariella drew very close, so close I could see the flecks of silver in her eyes, smell the faint scent of cloves that had always surrounded her.

Ariella gazed at me a moment, then raised one pale, slender hand and laid it—cool and solid—against my cheek.

“Does this feel like a memory, Ash?” she whispered as my breath hitched and my knees nearly buckled. I closed my eyes, unwilling to hope, to have it ripped from me once more. Taking my limp hand, Ariella guided it to her chest and trapped it there, so I could feel the heartbeat under my fingers. “Does this?”

Disbelief crumbled. “You’re alive,” I choked out, and she smiled at me, a sad, painful smile that held all the years of loss and despair I knew so well. Her grief had been just as fierce, just as consuming, as mine. “You’re alive,” I whispered again, and pulled her to me.

Her arms slid around my waist, drawing us even closer, and she breathed my name. I held her fiercely, half-afraid she would dissolve into mist in my arms. I felt her heartbeat, thudding against mine, listened to her breath on my cheek, and felt the centuries-old grief dissolving, melting like frost in the sunlight. I could barely believe it; I didn’t know how it could be, but Ariella was alive. She was alive. The nightmare was finally over.

It seemed like an eternity before we finally pulled back, but my shock was no less severe. And when she looked at me with those star-flecked eyes, my mind still had trouble accepting what was right in front of me. “How?” I asked, unwilling to let her go just yet. Wanting—needing—to feel her, solid and real and alive, pressed against me. “I watched you die.”

Ariella nodded. “Yes, it wasn’t a very pleasant experience,” she said, and smiled at my bewildered expression. “There are … a lot of things that need explaining,” she continued, and a shadow darkened her face. “I have so much to tell you, Ash. But not here.” She slid back, out of my arms. “I have a place not far from here. Go collect Robin Goodfellow, and then I can tell you both.”

A strangled noise interrupted us. I turned to see Puck standing several yards away, staring at Ariella with an open mouth. His green eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them.

“I’m … seeing things,” he stammered, and his gaze flickered to me. For just a moment, I saw hope flare in their depths. “Ash? Tell me you see her, too.”

Incredibly, Ariella smiled at him. “Hello, Puck. It’s good to see you again. And, no … you’re not seeing things. It’s really me.” She held up her hand as Puck took a breath. “I know you both have many, many questions, but this is not the place to ask them. Follow me, and then I will try to explain everything.”

NUMBLY, I COLLECTED MY SWORD from where I’d flung it discourteously into the briars, and we followed Ariella through the mist and brambles, her spectral form gliding through the fog like a ghost. Each time the mist coiled around her pale figure, my heart twisted in fear, certain that when the tendrils pulled away she would be gone. Behind me, Puck was silent; I knew he was just as dazed, trying to come to terms with what we had just seen and heard. I was still reeling from the shock, from questions that swirled maddeningly in my head, and Puck was the last person I wanted to talk to.

We trailed Ariella through a thick hedge, where the mist cleared away and the briars formed a protective wall around a snowy glen. Glamour filled the tiny space, creating the illusion of gently falling snow, of icicles that hung on branches and a chill in the air, but not everything was fantasy. A clear pool glimmered in the center of the clearing, and a lone elder tree stood beside it, its branches heavy with purple berries. Shelves full of jars, dried plants and simple bone tools had been worked into the bramble, and a narrow bed stood beneath an overhang of woven thatch and ice.

Ariella walked over to a shelf and brushed imaginary dust from between two jars, seeming to collect her thoughts. I gazed around the clearing in wonder. “Is … is this where you live?” I asked. “All this time, you’ve been here?”

“Yes.” Ariella took a deep breath and turned around, smoothing back her hair. She’d always done that when she was nervous. “Sit, if you want.” She gestured to an old log, rubbed smooth and shiny with use, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit. Neither could Puck, apparently.

“So, how long have you been here, Ari?” he asked, and I instantly bristled at the casual use of his old nickname for her. He had no right to speak to her as if nothing had happened. As if everything was all right now. “Have you been here since … that day? All alone?”

She nodded, smiling tiredly. “It’s not the Winter palace by any means, but I make do.”

Irritation boiled over into real anger now. I tried to stifle it, but it rose up anyway as the blackest years of my existence seemed to descend on me all at once. She had been here all along, and never thought to see me, to let us know she was still alive. All those years of fighting, killing, all for nothing. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, and she winced as though she’d been expecting that question.

“Ash, believe me, I wanted to—”

“But you didn’t.” I stalked over to the elder tree, because I couldn’t remain motionless any longer. Her gaze followed me as I whirled back, gesturing to the glade. “You’ve been here for years, Ari, and you never came back, never made any attempt to see me again. You let me think you were dead! Why?” I was near shouting now, my composure shattered, but I couldn’t help it. “You could’ve sent word, let me know you were all right! All those years of thinking you were gone, that you were dead. Did you know what I was going through? What we both were going through?”

Puck blinked, startled that I would include him as well. I ignored him, however, still facing Ariella, who watched me sadly but offered no argument. I let my arms drop, and my anger vanished as quickly as it had come. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered.

“Because, had I returned, you would have never met Meghan Chase.”

I froze at the sound of her name.

Ariella sighed, a gesture that seemed to age her a hundred years, and smoothed back her hair once more. “I’m not explaining it well at all,” she mused, almost to herself. “Let me start again, from the beginning. The day … I died.”

“I’VE ALWAYS BEEN A LITTLE BIT of a seer,” Ariella began, gazing not at me, but at the pool in the center of the glade, as if she could glimpse the future within. “Even before the … accident … I could sometimes predict things. Small things, never important. Never enough to threaten or compete with the factions at court. My father tried to use my gift to rise to power, but he soon gave up when he realized my visions never showed me anything useful.

“That day in the hollow,” she continued, her voice growing even softer, “when the wyvern struck me, something happened. I felt myself die, my essence fade, becoming part of the Nevernever. There was darkness, and then I had a dream … a vision … of the Iron fey, the chaos that would come. And then … I don’t know. I found myself waking up, alone, in the place where I died. And I knew what was coming. The Iron fey. They would destroy us, except for her.

“One girl. The half daughter of Oberon, Meghan Chase. When the time came, when the Iron King set his plans into motion at last, she would save us—if she could survive to face the challenges ahead.”

Ariella paused, smoothing back her hair, her eyes on something I could not see. “I had many visions of Meghan Chase,” she went on in a distant voice. “I saw her struggles as clearly as if they were happening to me. The future is always changing—never is there a clear path to the end, and some of the visions were terrible. I saw her die many, many times. And each time she perished, the Iron fey would overcome Faery. The Iron King triumphed in the end, darkness overtook the Nevernever, and everything we knew was destroyed.”

“But she didn’t fail,” Puck broke in. “She won. She led an army of Iron fey to the false king’s fortress, kicked down the door, turned the old geezer into a tree, and became the new queen. Because of her, the Iron fey aren’t poisoning the Nevernever anymore, as long as they stay within their territory. Definitely not the Armageddon you predicted, Ari.”

Ariella nodded. “Yes, and I saw those futures as well, Robin Goodfellow. But she was never alone. You were always there with her, you and Ash both. You kept her safe, helped her succeed. In the end, she defeated the final evil and claimed her destiny, but you were the ones who enabled her to do it. She would have died without your help.”

Ariella sighed, fiddling with the branches of the tree, her gaze distant again. “I had my own part to play, of course,” she continued hesitantly, as if the things she’d done were somehow distasteful. “I was the puppet master, pulling the strings, making sure all the pieces were in place before her arrival. I watched for the signs of her coming. I began the whispers that Leanansidhe was planning to overthrow the courts, leading to her exile. I suggested the girl have a guardian to watch over her in the mortal world. And I made sure that a certain cat would be on the lookout for the half-human daughter of the Summer King, should she happen to fall into his tree one day.”

I felt breathless, stunned. All the while I’d been venting my anger and grief against Puck, the cause of my suffering had been preparing for something far greater. And she hadn’t even been able to tell me about it.

Ariella paused then, closing her eyes, her mouth tightening. “I knew you would fall in love with her, Ash,” she whispered. “The visions showed me, years before you would see her for the first time. I wanted to go to you, to let you know that I was alive. I knew what you were going through, I heard of your oath against Puck. I wanted to tell you so badly.” Her voice wavered, making my gut twist. “But I couldn’t. I had to let you meet her, fall in love with her, become her knight. Because she needed you. And because we all needed her to succeed. I believe Faery itself brought me back to ensure the success of Meghan Chase. I couldn’t let my feelings for you stand in the way. I … I had to let you go.” She took a deep breath, and her voice hardened. “I chose to let you go.

“I knew you would come here.” Ariella faced me, the stars glittering in her turquoise eyes. “Eventually, I knew you would come. I know your quest, Ash. And I know why you’re here. You want to become human, to be mortal, so you can go back to her. But things aren’t so black-and-white now, are they? And so I will ask a question of you. I know what you must do to become mortal. But the road will be hard, and some of us might not survive it. So, this is my question. Do you still want to become human? Do you still want to be with Meghan Chase?”

I took a slow breath to calm my churning mind. I couldn’t answer, not when the love decades dead was standing not five yards away staring at me. Without a word, I turned and left the glade, back into the mist-shrouded hollow and the silence of my own thoughts. I felt Ariella’s eyes on me as I left, but she did not follow.

Alone, I stood in the place where Ariella died, the great wyvern skeleton curled around the edge, and tried to process all that had happened. She was alive. All this time, she had been alive, knowing I was out there, watching, yet unable to contact me. She had been alone for so long. It must have been horrible for her. If the situation had been reversed, and I was the one watching, knowing she would fall for another, it would have driven me insane. I wondered if she had waited for this day, the day I finally returned to this spot, hoping that we could be together again.

But there was someone else now. Someone who waited for me, who knew my True Name and commanded my loyalty. Someone I’d made a promise to.

I felt Puck’s presence at my back but didn’t turn around. “This is crazy, isn’t it?” he muttered, coming to stand beside me. “Who would’ve thought she was here all this time? If I had known …” He sighed, crossing his arms to his chest, letting his voice trail off. “Things sure would’ve turned out differently, wouldn’t they?”

“How did you know?” I asked without turning around, and felt his confused frown at my back. “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t,” Puck said with forced cheerfulness. “I was really, really hoping you wouldn’t. That would’ve sucked a lot, I think.” He stepped closer, joining me in staring at the dead wyvern. His next words, when they came, were very soft. “So, is this thing between us finally over?”

I didn’t look at him. “Ariella’s alive,” I murmured. “I think that dissolves the oath—I no longer have to avenge her death. So, if that’s true, then … yes.” I paused, waiting to see if the words felt right, if I could say what I’d wanted to say for decades. If the words were a lie, I would not be able to speak them. “It’s over.”

It’s over.

Puck let out a sigh and let his head fall back, running his hands through his hair, a relieved grin crossing his face. I shot him a sideways glance. “That doesn’t mean we’re all right,” I warned, mostly out of habit. “Just because I’m not sworn to kill you anymore doesn’t mean I won’t.”

But it was an empty threat, and we both knew it. The relief of not having to kill Puck, being free from an oath I never wanted, was too great. I wasn’t failing anyone by letting him live. For now, the Unseelie demon inside me had been sated.

Though I’d spoken the truth when I’d said we weren’t all right. There was still too much fighting, too much anger and hate and bad blood between us. We both had years of words and actions we regretted, old wounds that went too deep. “Puck,” I said without moving, “this changes nothing between us. Don’t get too comfortable, thinking I won’t put a sword through your heart. We’re still enemies. It can’t ever be the way it was.”

“If you say so, prince.” Puck smirked, then surprised me by turning completely serious. “But right now, I think you have larger issues to deal with.” He glanced back at the glade, frowning. “Meghan and Ariella—that’s a choice I’d never want to make. What are you going to do?”

Meghan and Ariella. Both alive. Both waiting for me. The whole situation was completely surreal. Meghan was the Iron Queen, far beyond my reach. Ariella—alive, unchanged and whole—waited just a few yards away. Possibilities and what-ifs swam through my head. For just a moment, I wondered what would happen if I just stayed here, with Ariella, forever.

The pain was swift and immediate. It wasn’t stabbing, or fiery, or unbearable. More like a fraying of my inner self, a few threads tearing away, vanishing into the ether. I winced and stifled a gasp, instantly abandoning that train of thought. My vow, my promise to Meghan, was woven into my very essence, and breaking it would unravel me, as well.

“My promise still stands,” I said quietly, and the glimmering threads of pain vanished as swiftly as they’d come. “It doesn’t matter what I want, I can’t give up now. I have to keep going.”

“Promises aside, then.” Puck’s voice was harder now, disapproving. “If there was no promise, Ash, no oath that bound you, would you keep going? What would you do right now, if you were free?”

“I …” I hesitated, thinking about the paths that had brought me here, the impossible choices, and the two lives that meant everything to me. “I … don’t know. I can’t answer that right now.”

“Well, you’d better figure it out quick, prince.” Puck narrowed his eyes, his voice firm. “We’ve screwed both their lives up pretty bad. At least you can make it right for one of them. But you can’t have it both ways, you know. Pretty soon, you’re gonna have to make a choice.”

“I know.” I sighed, glancing back at the glade, knowing she watched me, even now. “I know.”

ARIELLA WAS WAITING FOR US when we returned, standing under the elder tree, talking to the empty branches. At least, it was empty until two golden eyes appeared through the leaves, blinking lazily as we came in. Grimalkin yawned as he sat up, curling his tail around his feet, and regarded us solemnly. “Made your decision, have you?” he purred, digging his claws into the branch holding him up. “Good. All this agonizing was getting rather trite. Why does it take so long for humans and gentry to choose one path or the other?”

Puck blinked at him. “Oh, let me guess. You knew Ariella was here all along.”

“Your kind does have a flair for stating the obvious.”

Ariella was watching me, her expression unreadable. “What is your decision, Ash of the Winter Court?”

I drew close enough to see her face, realizing it hadn’t changed in all the years she’d been gone. She was still beautiful, her face lovely and perfect, though there were shadows in her gaze that hadn’t been before. “You told me you knew the way to becoming mortal,” I said softly, watching for her reaction. Her eyes tightened a bit, but her expression remained neutral otherwise. “I made a promise,” I said softly. “I swore to Meghan that I’d find a way to return. I can’t walk away from that, even if I want to. I need to know how to become mortal.”

“Then it is decided.” Ariella closed her eyes for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was low and distant, and it raised the hair on the back of my neck. “There is a place,” she murmured, “that resides at the end of the Nevernever. Beyond the Briars that surround Faery, beyond the very edge of our world, the ancient Testing Grounds have stood since the beginning of time. Here, the Guardian awaits those who would escape Faery forever, who wish to leave the world of dreams and enter the human realm. But to do so, they must endure the gauntlet. None who accepted this challenge returned sane, if they returned at all. But legend states that if you can survive the trials, the Guardian will offer the key to becoming mortal. The gauntlet will be your test, and the prize will be … your soul.”

“My … soul?”

Ariella regarded me solemnly. “Yes. A soul is the essence of humanity. It is what we lack to become mortal, and as such, we cannot truly understand humans. We were born from their dreams, their fears and imaginations. We are the product of their hearts and minds. Without a soul we are immortal, yet empty. Remembered, we exist. Forgotten, we die. And when we die, we simply fade away, as if we never existed at all. To become human is to have a soul. It is that simple.”

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