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The pair nod, and choose a room. Ruskin and I do the same, and start to gently comb through this memorial of Cebba’s life. It was certainly a comfortable one—I’ve never seen so many clothes, so many dressing tables loaded with perfumes and scarves.
“There’s a lot here,” I say.
“Not exactly the austere type, my sister.”
“Did you ever get on?” I ask, lifting up a jewelry box that looks promising.
He considers this. “We did, when we were very young, before Ilberon filled her head with all the entitlement. My Unseelie half didn’t bother her before then.”
I drag my fingers through the jewelry box and snag them on a gold ring. I hold it up hopefully to Ruskin, but he shakes his head.
A scream echoes down the hallway.
We both bolt for the door at the same time. He’s quicker of course, and I jog up behind where he and Halima both stand over Destan in the next room. One of Destan’s hands is on a jewelry box almost indistinguishable from the one I was just examining, the other flutters above the six shards of metal sticking out of his chest.
I fling myself to my knees beside him, feeling hot and cold at the same time as I watch blood bloom across the violet fabric of his beautiful coat.
“Destan…” I whisper. Helplessness threatens to overwhelm me.
His eyes are still bright, focusing on me as he writhes in pain, another scream streaming from his mouth. An awful burning smell hits my nose, and a tendril of smoke rises from Destan’s wounds.
“Cold iron,” Ruskin spits, his face contorted in rage and horror. I don’t know exactly what this means, but I assume this is what he’d described as fae’s ultimate weakness—the thing the human king used against Evanthe.
“It must be a trap laid by Cebba before she left.” Halima says. “It’ll kill him if we leave it much longer.”
She reaches forward and I realize what stupid bravery she’s about to attempt—pulling the burning material from Destan with her bare hands.
“Wait,” I nearly shout. My mind is clearing now, the horror giving way to rationality. How often had I seen people come to my mother with wounds like this? She tried to keep me from the worst of it, but I was always too curious, and it’s easy for farmers and fisherman to get injured in nasty ways.
“He’s burning from the inside out!” she snaps.
“And if you try to yank it out, you’ll risk snapping bits off inside him. There are probably already dozens of tiny fragments embedded deep in his chest tissue.”
“We have to do something, Ella,” Ruskin says. His voice is strained like he, himself, is holding back a scream. “This is iron we’re dealing with. The healers’ magic can’t help him.”
“Magic can’t,” I say. “But I might be able to. Get him to my workshop, quickly.”
My heart drums a frantic rhythm as they carry Destan out of Cebba’s quarters.
What if I can’t save him? One of the few friends I’ve made in this place, dead, because I suggested we go sticking our noses in things?
I don’t let myself contemplate it for long. Mom always said there was a time when you had to forget it was a life in your hands and just focus on the problem in front of you—you’d drive yourself crazy otherwise, second-guessing every decision you make.
When we get to my workshop, I push everything off my bench, letting it clatter the floor.
“Here,” I say, pointing at it. “I need him positioned right.”
Ruskin and Halima’s eyes brim with questions, but they lay Destan down. I paw through my equipment, willing my hands not to shake as I search for the specific item I need. This was one of the harder things to find from my list when we went shopping in the Low Fae district. I was this close to just asking Ruskin to get it from Styrland instead, but then we found a goblin selling novelties and other oddities and there it was—a lodestone, containing ore struck by lightning. The goblin didn’t know what he had, was only selling it because he thought the pattern the lightning had made on the surface looked pretty, but I’m hoping it will save Destan’s life.
I hold it up in triumph, still scrambling around for pliers and a strong length of twine.
“What is that?” Ruskin asks as I tie the twine around the stone and sterilize the pliers in the fire.
“This has been magnetized by lightning. And iron is magnetic.”
The both look at me like I’m speaking a foreign tongue.
“Magnets?” I repeat. “They attract metal and can move it without touching it.”
