The Iron Traitor

* * *



It was still morning when we cruised past the New Orleans city limits and into the urban sprawl of one of the most heavily populated faery cities in the human world. New Orleans was a place of voodoo and magic, mystery and superstition, and it drew countless fey to its haunted corners and near-mythical streets. I’d never been to New Orleans before; it was in the top five of my Places to Avoid Due to Faeries list. Of course the irony that, not only was I here, I was here looking for the biggest goblin market in the country, a place where thousands of fey would converge to bargain and make deals, wasn’t lost on me.



The highway went right through City Park, and I had Annwyl read me the directions I’d copied from MapQuest, until we finally pulled into a near-empty lot at the edge of the lawn. It was quiet when I got out of the truck, the serene stillness of early morning, and almost no one else was out. As we entered the park, a woman and a frizzy terrier jogged past us down the sidewalk, and the dog took a moment to yap hysterically at Annwyl, much to the woman’s embarrassment. Apologizing to me and scolding the dog at the same time, she pulled it away around a bend, and then we were alone.



“I like it here,” Annwyl mused, gazing around the park in quiet awe. Since leaving the truck, she looked better, not quite as pale and insubstantial. “I can breathe more easily—my mind doesn’t feel like it’s in a fog. Magic is still strong here.”



“Yeah.” I couldn’t feel the magic and glamour in the air, not like she could, but I could certainly See the evidence all around us. A piskie buzzed by my head like a mutant wasp, leaving high-pitched laughter in its wake. An undine, pale blue and piranha-toothed, glanced up from the edge of a pond before sliding noiselessly into the water. A huge black dog glided through a patch of mist between trees, looking like someone’s pet that had slipped its collar—until you saw its eyes glowing with blue fire and noticed that it walked on top of the grass instead of crushing the blades beneath its paws. It blinked solemnly and trotted into the mist again, leaving behind no evidence that it had been there at all.



I suddenly wished I hadn’t left my kali blades under the seat of my truck, hidden and locked away. Wandering around a public park with a pair of swords was risky and could get me into real trouble, but if we were jumped by a redcap motley or a hungry Nevernever beast, I would almost rather take the chance.



Thankfully, the park fey seemed indifferent to us as we made our way toward a cluster of massive oak trees in the center of the lawn. Huge and gnarled and draped in Spanish moss, the ancient trees were home to several dryads who inhabited the park. At one point, the park had also been home to the Elder Dryad, a very old tree spirit who had helped Meghan defeat the Iron King more than thirteen years ago. Over the years, I’d heard enough snippets of this very popular legend among the fey to piece together what had happened. When I was kidnapped by the Iron fey and taken into the Nevernever, Meghan had come here to ask for help in defeating the supposedly invincible Iron King. The Elder Dryad had given my sister something called a Witchwood arrow, a splinter of pure Summer magic that was like kryptonite to the Iron fey. But the Witchwood was also the heart of the Elder Dryad’s oak, and giving it to Meghan essentially killed the tree and the dryad it was attached to.



I sobered, thinking of Meghan as we stepped into the shade beneath the enormous boughs. She had risked so much for me, all those years ago. Left home, gone into the Nevernever, made bargains with faeries and endangered her life, all to rescue me. Why couldn’t she be here, right now, when I needed her most? Why was she keeping secrets when so much was at stake?



“Ethan?” Annwyl’s quiet voice broke me out of my dark thoughts. The Summer faery cocked her head at me, green eyes inquiring. “Are you all right? Has something upset you?”



Only the same person for the past thirteen years. “No.” I shrugged. “Why?”



“Your glamour aura changed just then,” Annwyl said solemnly. “It became very dark and...sad. Confused.” She blinked, and I suddenly felt exposed, like all my secrets had been dragged into the open. I’d forgotten that the fey could sense strong emotion. Fear, anger, grief—they could read it like a rain cloud over someone’s head. Some theorized that was what made humans so fascinating to the Good Neighbors, that the fey had no true emotions, so they experienced them through human contact. I didn’t know if that was true, but Annwyl didn’t need to know my family problems and, being fey, wouldn’t understand them if she did.



“It’s nothing,” I said, waving it off. “I was just...thinking of someone, that’s all.” She blinked, puzzled, and I turned away. “It’s a human thing—you wouldn’t understand.”



“You were thinking about your sister,” Annwyl said and offered a faint smile when I turned on her, frowning.“I have been around a long time, Ethan Chase,” she said, and her voice wasn’t smug or proud or unkind; it was just a statement. “I may not be human, but I have observed them throughout the years. I have seen them born, and I have watched them live, and love, and die. It does not matter the age or the time or the season—human emotions have remained ever the same. And in the past, your particular glamour aura only shifts that way when you have spoken about the Iron Queen.” She blinked again, tilting her head, looking genuinely puzzled now. “You...miss her, then?”



I wanted to snap that it was none of her business but caught myself. It wasn’t Annwyl’s fault that I was so transparent, though she had surprised me again with how insightful she really was. It was hard to see slight, beautiful Annwyl as some ancient, all-knowing sidhe, though with the fey, looks were forever deceiving. For all I knew, she could be as old as Titania.



She was still watching me, her head cocked like she was trying to understand. “Don’t worry about it, Annwyl,” I said, not wanting to talk about Meghan, especially not with a faery. “We’re not here for me.”



She nodded and let the subject drop, which surprised me a bit. Maybe I’d been around Kenzie too long; I was used to her not letting anything go. But we’d reached the center of a cluster of huge oak trees, swathes of Spanish moss dangling from the branches like lace, and I could suddenly feel eyes on me. A blanket of mist hung in the air and pooled between tree roots, and the air beneath the canopy was damp and still.



Movement caught my attention. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a face, young and solemn, watching me from the center of one of the gnarled trunks, but when I turned my head, it was gone.



“Annwyl,” I whispered, knowing we were being watched from every angle. “Dryads are part of the Summer Court, right? How do you get them to talk to you?”



Annwyl gave me a puzzled look, as if the question was ridiculous. “It isn’t difficult,” she replied, perfectly at ease in the center of the tree stand. “You just ask.”



“Politely, if possible,” said a new voice, as a slender, bark-covered figure melted halfway out of the trunk, regarding me with dark, beady eyes. “We’re usually very reasonable, Ethan Chase.”



“Oh, great,” I remarked as two more dryads slipped from the oaks to stare at me. They were very tall, their limbs long and graceful, with hair like the ribbons of Spanish moss hanging from the trees. “You already know who I am.”



“The wind told us you were coming, mortal,” said the dryad who had first spoken. “Years ago, your sister came to the Elder Dryad for help. To rescue you and to save the Nevernever from the Iron King. We will do the same for any of her kin, and we will ask for no price in return.”



“Oh,” I said, surprised. First time for everything, I guess. “That’s...good, then.”



The dyrads continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We have heard whispers of your plight against the Fading Ones,” the second dryad said. “Rumors circling the wind. Of you, and the Iron Prince, and the shadows creeping ever closer. The wind is full of dark tidings these days.”



I gave a start at the mention of the Iron Prince, and Annwyl gasped.



“Keirran?” I asked, stepping forward. “Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?”



“No.” The dryad shook her head, and a large green beetle buzzed out of her hair, landing on the trunk. “There have been...snatches of where he is, where he’s been,” the faery continued. “Brief glimpses. Then he is simply not there anymore. And not even the wind knows where he has gone.”



Annwyl’s shoulders drooped, and I gave her a reassuring glance. “But he’s out there,” I told her. “He’s still out there, Annwyl. We’ll catch up to him eventually.” She nodded, and I turned back to the dryad. “Speaking of Keirran,” I went on, “we think he might show up at this month’s goblin market. Do you know where it’s being held?”



The dryad inclined her head. “I do,” she replied, and I stifled a sigh of relief. “The goblin market will be where it has always been, on Bourbon Street.”



“Really?” I raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Bourbon Street. The most famous street in New Orleans. I find that a little hard to picture, what with all the tourists and cars and drunk people wandering around. Are you sure that’s where it is?”



“Yes.” The dryad’s expression didn’t change. “The entrance to the market is hidden to mortals, but the Summer girl will be able to get you through. After midnight, go to a place called Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. Enter the building through the door on the left, close your eyes and turn thrice widdershins. Exit through the door on the right, and you will find yourself in the goblin market. Where you go from there is up to you.”



“Sounds easy enough.” I glanced at Annwyl. “You’ll be able to get us through, right?”



She nodded. “Yes. If you can remember how to enter the market for me, I’ll do the rest.”



A sudden wind rattled the branches of the oaks, making the dryads jerk their heads up. Glaring around, I noticed the mist had thickened and was coiling like a blanket of white around the trunks, muffling the rest of the world. The space between the oaks and the faint light filtering through the branches dimmed rapidly, plunging the grove into shadow. I tensed, and the dryads drew back, melting into their trees.