The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

The shade presses closer to me, skimming its claws over the body. Liath shies and I struggle to keep him under control. “I want you three to remain on the outer edges of the village. You’ll be close enough to help if I need it, but you won’t get in my way.”

Keiran frowns. “Get in your way?”

“This is something I have to do alone,” I tell him. “I’ve seen it.”

The men do a poor job of hiding their doubt at my lie. I can’t waste time convincing them to believe me though. With an aggressive shade at our backs, and the promise of more shades before us, I need to dump our unwanted burden and get out of here. So I leave it at that and meet Keiran’s gaze. He gives me a wary inspection. Just when I think he’s going to ask me to explain, he looks away and nudges Dubh into movement.

“As you command, seidhr,” he says. It’s a victory, a formal acknowledgment of my place in our small group’s hierarchy and a reminder to the men to obey me. So why does it hurt to hear my title, without the usual affection, fall from his lips?

We fan out as we work our way down the hill, listening for any warnings Drest may call out. None come. Liath huffs his displeasure when we hit the mud and the others’ mounts don’t look very happy either. At least it isn’t deep enough to force us to dismount. The horses pick their way cautiously along the wrecked road. The village’s main gate lies in ruins, planks broken and scattered across the ground. We’re forced together for a brief moment as we pass through the threshold, but soon enough I’m alone, surrounded by a loose defensive circle as we make our way toward the village’s center.

We don’t reach it. A huge thorned thicket blocks our path, erupted from the earth without any sign of purpose or reason. It’s a twisted sculpture of Seelie magick, with verdant leaves and glittering needlepoints of thorns. Blossoms dot its surface, though their perfume is more sickly than sweet. Keiran reaches out with his axe and pushes against the wall of roses. He grimaces when he pulls it back and inspects the weapon. “I don’t think these were originally red,” he says.

“No?” Cybel asks.

Keiran extends the head of the axe toward him. A thick red-brown smear remains on the wood and metal. “Blood,” he answers.

“I wonder if that’s where the bodies went,” I mumble.

Keiran shrugs, but the set of his jaw gives away his discomfort. “We should hurry,” he suggests.

“Give me some space then,” I order, sliding off Liath’s back and reaching up to drag off the wrapped body.

They obey me, albeit slowly. Keiran waits the longest, watching as I settle the body firmly over my shoulder. I don’t want to have to worry about losing my grip, not when such a distraction might give the shade an opportunity to slip inside my mind. I’ve seen its power. If I let it in, I may not be strong enough to force it out again. And I can feel its approach, its predatory slide toward me and my dearest friend, who’s already weakened from its first assault.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell Keiran. I’ve got to get him away from here. “Go.”

He makes a face, but takes Liath’s reins from me. He wheels Dubh around and rides back to his watch point. Once he’s out of earshot, I give in and heave a sigh of relief. “Thank the Goddess,” I mumble. The body shifts on my shoulder, so I adjust and try not to look at the shade directly. “Time for you to rest, eh?”

It hounds my steps into the thicket, darting away now and then as I kick my way past ferns and other newly born plants. The air in here feels different. Fresh. Full of a hopeful power I haven’t experienced before. Despite the carnage of the village around us, I’m tempted to stay for a while and see if I can figure out what made this unnatural oasis in the middle of a battlefield. But if I stay, Keiran will demand to stay too. I won’t risk that.

Near the center of the thicket, I heave the body to the ground. It lands with a soft thud. The shade comes to a rest beside me. Now that it’s distracted, I steal a moment to examine it fully. This one is different from the others I’ve seen. Its shape is distorted, as if it has too many bones to fit into what used to be its body. Its eyes are gone, replaced with the same mottled expanse of flesh covering the rest of its face. Its mouth can’t close fully; one side of the jaw hangs broken, and it gurgles pained sounds as it hovers over its corpse.

“There,” I announce. “You’re home. Now, fuck off and leave Keiran alone.”

The cold emanating from the shade’s form makes the air around us tighten. It reaches its claws toward me. I draw my seax and keep it at the ready. I doubt such a weapon will have an effect on a shade, but I refuse to be bullied any longer. The moment the blade catches the sunlight, the shade hesitates. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

“I upheld my end of the bargain,” I say. “I retrieved your body. I brought it home. I owe you nothing else.”

The shade’s hand wavers. Drops to its side. It turns back to its body and gives one final, low keen before fading into nothingness. I keep my knife up, listening intently and waiting for it to reappear.

I stand there until my heart’s frantic pace slows. No sign of the shade. I sheathe my knife with immense caution. There’s no promise it isn’t waiting until it thinks I’m weak. Yet even after I wait, unarmed, it doesn’t return. This new development isn’t heartening. I’ve never been able to exert any kind of influence over the shades haunting me. I’ve never been able to order them to obey me. But I’ve never felt them crawling underneath my skin while they share their memories, either.

New rules are being written without my knowledge, and my instinct tells me it ties to the man preying on inhabitants of the Wylds. He’s forcing them to reach out to me, so choosing to listen to them may be the only way to find peace. But at what cost?

“Lugh?” Keiran calls.

“All’s well.”

“Then get your ass out here,” he snaps back. Too bad he can’t hide the warmth or relief in the words. “We need to go.”

The entrance into the rose thicket lies before me. Daylight glows at the end of a verdant tunnel like a welcoming beacon. It’s broken by another shade crossing in front of the opening. For a moment, I question whether he’s still alive; he’s hardly faded at all, his features still visible despite the washed-out, pale colors. He’s clearly a Seelie, dressed in armor and decorated with an assortment of badges. His eyes are glued to the ground as he walks, his mouth pursed in apparent confusion, his movements clean and easy. He pauses in front of the thicket and turns toward me, exposing the cause of his death.

Even seeing the deep cavernous hole in his skull, I don’t feel a hint of danger, which is why I don’t try to escape when he moves toward me. Instead, when he reaches out his hand, I steel myself and let his incorporeal fingers brush against my arm.

Show, he whispers in my mind. His memories are strong and vivid, so recent, and there, on the farthest edges, the imprint of a familiar shadowy figure. Show, he repeats.

I swallow and try to reach back to him, to fall face-first into the memory. “Okay,” I whisper. “Show me.”