The Lost Prince (The Iron Fey: Call of the Forgotten 1)

We followed Annwyl across the dead amusement park, through the silent fairway, past the Ferris wheel, creaking softly in the wind, until we came to the House of Mirrors in the shadow of a wooden roller coaster. Walking past weird, distorted reflections of ourselves—fat, short, tall with gorillalike arms—we finally came to a narrow mirror in a shadowy corner, and Annwyl looked back at Keirran.

“It’s a bit…crowded,” she warned, her gaze flicking to me and Kenzie. “No one wants to be on this side of the Veil, not with those things out there.” She shuddered, and I saw Keirran wince, too. “Fair warning,” she continued, watching Keirran with undeniable affection. “The mistress is a little…cranky these days. She might not appreciate you showing up now, especially with two humans.”

“I’ll risk it,” Keirran said softly, holding her gaze. Annwyl smiled at him, then put her hand to the mirror in front of us. It shimmered, growing even more distorted, and the fey girl stepped through the glass, vanishing from sight.

Keirran looked at us and smiled. “After you.”

Taking Kenzie’s hand, I stepped through the shifting glass, and the real world faded behind us once more.

* * *

We stepped through the doorway into a dark, underground room, a basement maybe, or even a dungeon. The Summer girl beckoned us forward, down the shadowy halls. Torches flickered in brackets as we followed Annwyl down the damp corridors, and gargoyles watched us from stone columns, sneering as we went by.

Fey also walked these halls: boggarts and bogies and a couple of goblins, fey that preferred the dank and damp and shadows, avoiding the light. They eyed us with hungry curiosity, and Kenzie eyed them back, able to See again now that we were back in Faery. They kept their distance, though, and we walked up a flight of long wooden steps, where a pair of crimson doors perched at the top. Annwyl pushed them open.

Noise and light flooded the stairway. The doors opened into an enormous, red-walled foyer, and the foyer was filled with fey.

Faeries stood or sat on the carpeted floors, talking in low murmurs. Goblins muttered amongst themselves, clumped in small groups, glancing around warily. Brownies, satyrs and piskies hovered through the room, looking lost. A couple redcaps stood in a corner, baring their fangs at whoever got too close. One of them noticed me and nudged his companion, jerking his chin in our direction. The other grinned, running a pale tongue over his teeth, and I glared stonily back, daring it to try something. The redcap sneered, made a rude gesture, and went back to threatening the crowd.

More fey clustered along the walls, some of them standing guard over tables and boxes of weird stuff. In one corner, a faery in a white cloak straightened a stand of feather masks, while near the fireplace, a crooked hag plucked a skewer of mice from the flames and set it, still smoking, next to a plate of frogs and what looked like a cooked cat. The stench of burning fur drifted to me across the room, and Kenzie made a tiny gagging noise.

But even with all the weird, unearthly and dangerous faeries in the room, there was only one that really mattered.

In the center of all the chaos, a cigarette wand in one hand and a peeved look on her face, was the most striking faery I’d ever seen. Copper-gold hair floated around her like a mane, and a gown hugged her slender body, the long slit up the side showing impossibly graceful legs. She was tall, regal and obviously annoyed, for she kept pursing her lips and blowing blue smoke into snarling wolves that ripped each other to pieces as they thrashed through the air. A black-bearded dwarf stood beneath her glare, a wooden box sitting beside him. The box had been draped with a dark cloth, and growling, hissing noises came from within as it shook back and forth.

“I don’t care if the beast was already paid for, darling.” The faery’s high, clear voice rang out over the crowd. “You’re not keeping that thing here.” Her tone was hypnotic, exasperated as it was. “I will not have my human pets turned into stone because the Duchess of Thorns has an unnatural craving for cockatrice eggs.”

“Please.” The dwarf, held up his thick hands, pleading. “Leanansidhe, please, be reasonable.”

I sucked in a breath, and my blood turned to ice.

Leanansidhe? Leanansidhe, the freaking Exile Queen? I leveled a piercing glare at Keirran, who offered a weak grin. Everyone in Faery knew who Leanansidhe was, myself included. Meghan had mentioned her name a few times, but beyond that, you couldn’t meet an exiled fey who hadn’t heard of the dangerous Dark Muse and wasn’t terrified of her.

“Get it out of my house, Feddic.” The Exile Queen pointed to the door we’d come through. “I don’t care what you do with it, but I want it gone. Or would you like to be barred from my home permanently? Take your chances with the life-sucking monsters out in the real world?”

“No!” The dwarf shrank back, eyes wide. “I’ll…I’ll get rid of it, Leanansidhe,” he stammered. “Right now.”

“Be sure that you do, pet.” Leanansidhe pursed her lips, sucking on her cigarette flute. She sighed, and the smoke image of a rooster went scurrying away over our heads. “If I find one more creature in this house turned to stone…” She trailed off, but the terrifying look in her eyes spoke louder than words.

The dwarf grabbed the hissing, cloth-covered box and hurried away, muttering under his breath. We stepped aside as he passed and continued down the stairs without glancing at us, then disappeared into the shadows.

Leanansidhe pinched the bridge of her nose, then straightened and looked right at us. “Well, well,” she purred, smiling in a way I did not like at all, “Keirran, darling. Here you are again. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She gave me a cursory glance before turning back to Keirran. “And you brought a pair of humans with you, I see. More strays, darling?” She shook her head. “Your concern for hopeless waifs is very touching, but if you think you’re going to dump them here, dove, I’m afraid I just don’t have the room.”

Keirran bowed. “Leanansidhe.” He nodded, looking around at the crowd of fey. “Looks like you have a full house.”

“Noticed that, did you, pet?” The Exile Queen sighed and puffed out a cougar. “Yes, I have been reduced to running the Goblin Market from my own living room, which makes it very difficult to concentrate on other things. Not to mention it’s driving my human pets even more crazy than usual. They can barely strum a note or hold a tune with all the chaos around.” She touched two elegant fingers to her temple, as if she had a headache. Keirran looked unimpressed.

The Exile Queen sniffed. “Sadly, I’m very busy at the moment, darling, so if you want to make yourself useful, why don’t you be a good boy and take a message home? Tell the Iron Queen that something is going on in the real world, and she might want to know about it. If you’re here just to make googly-eyes at Annwyl, my darling prince, I’m afraid I don’t have time for you.”

Prince? Wait. “Wait.” I turned, very slowly, to stare at Keirran, ignoring the Exile Queen for the moment. Keirran grimaced and didn’t look at me. “Care to say that again?” I asked, disbelief making my stomach knot. My mouth was suddenly dry. “You’re a prince—of the Iron Realm? Then, you…you’re Meghan’s…” I couldn’t even finish the thought.

From the corner of my eye, Leanansidhe straightened. “Ethan Chase.” Her voice was low and dangerous, as if she’d just figured out who was standing in her living room. I couldn’t look at her now, though. My attention was riveted to Keirran.

He shot me a pained, embarrassed wince. “Yeah. I was going to tell you…sooner or later. There just wasn’t a good time.” He paused, his voice going very soft. “I’m sorry…Uncle.”

Razor let out a high-pitched, buzzing laugh. “Uncle!” he howled, oblivious to the looks of horror and disgust he was getting from every faery in the room. “Uncle, uncle! Uncle Ethan!”

Part III

Chapter Sixteen

Leanansidhe’s Price

I felt numb. And slightly sick.

Keirran—this faery before me—was Ash and Meghan’s son. How had I not figured it out before? Everything fit together: his human blood, his Iron glamour, even the familiar expressions on his face. They were familiar because I’d seen them before. On Meghan. I could see the resemblance now; his eyes, hair and facial features—they were all my sister’s. But Ash’s shadow hovered there as well, in his jaw, his stance, the way he moved.

For a second, I hated him.

Before either of us could say anything, the exiled fey in the room gasped and snarled, surging away from Keirran as if he had a disease. Murmurs of “the Iron prince,” spread through the crowd, and the circle of fey seemed to hover between bowing down or fleeing the room. Leanansidhe gave us both an extremely exasperated glare, as if we were the cause of her headaches, and snapped her fingers at us.

“Annwyl, darling.” The Exile Queen’s tone made the fey girl cringe, and Keirran moved to stand protectively beside her. “Wait here, would you, dove? Try to keep the masses in check while I deal with this little bump. You three.” She shifted that cold gaze to us, her tone brooking no argument. “Follow me, pets. And, Keirran, keep that wretched gremlin under control this time, or I’ll be forced to do something drastic.”

Kenzie, forgotten beside us all, shot me a worried glance, and I shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. We started to follow Leanansidhe, but Annwyl and Keirran lingered for a moment. Leanansidhe rolled her eyes. “Sometime today, pets.” She sighed, as Annwyl finally turned away and Keirran looked dejected. “While I’m still in a reasonable enough mood not to turn anyone into a cello.”

Turning in a swirl of blue smoke, the Exile Queen led us out of the room, down several long, red-carpeted hallways, and into a library. Huge shelves of books lined the walls, and a lively tune swam through the air, played by a human with a violin in the far corner.

“Out, Charles,” Leanansidhe announced as she swept into the room, and the human quickly packed up his instrument and fled through another door.

The Exile Queen spun on us. “Well!” she exclaimed, gazing down at me, her hair writhing around her. “Ethan Chase. This is a surprise. The son and the brother of the Iron Queen, come to visit at the same time, what an occasion. How is your darling older sister, pet?” she asked me. “I assume you’ve been to see her recently?”

“Meghan’s fine,” I muttered, feeling self-conscious with Keirran standing there. Now that I knew we were…related…it felt weird, talking about Meghan in front of him.

Screw that. You want weird? Weird is having a nephew the same age as you. Weird is your sister having a kid, and not telling your family about him. Weird is being an uncle to a freaking half-faery! Forget weird, you are so beyond weird that it’s not funny.

Leanansidhe tsked and looked at Keirran, and a slow smile crossed her lips. “And Keirran, you devious boy,” she purred. “You didn’t tell him, did you?” She laughed then, shaking her head. “Well, this is an unexpected family drama, isn’t it? I wonder what the Iron Queen would say if she could be here now?”