The Iron Traitor

“It’s time.”



* * *



We trailed Guro out to his SUV, and though Keirran didn’t look happy at the thought of riding in a car again with Annwyl, he climbed in without question. Guro was right; the drive wasn’t far, just a few blocks down the street until it the road dead-ended at the edge of an overgrown lot. A small dirt path cut through the weeds toward a clump of trees in the distance.



Guro pulled a five-gallon bucket from the back and handed it to me. It was full of lighter fluid, firewood, charcoal briquettes and a rolled-up blanket. Taking out a portable stereo and a small cooler, Guro motioned for us to follow.



We walked single file down a narrow trail that cut through trees and swampland, beneath huge oaks dripping with Spanish moss, until we reached a small clearing at the water’s edge. Trees surrounded us, branches dangling close together, lacy curtains of moss waving in the breeze. Guro walked to the perimeter of the glen and laid the quilt over the dusty ground.



“Put your friend right here,” he said, indicating the blanket. “She will need to be well out of the way for what we must do tonight.”



Keirran obeyed, kneeling and gently depositing the Summer fey on the blanket. For a moment, he stayed there, holding her hand, the Summer faery limp and transparent. His face was anguished as he bent down, gently kissing her. “Hold on, Annwyl,” I heard him whisper, pulling away. “Please, hold on, just a little longer.”



Kenzie moved to the blanket, putting a hand on Keirran’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” she told him, and he smiled at her gratefully. Sitting cross-legged at the edge, she took Annwyl’s slender, transparent hand in her own, and Keirran walked slowly over to me and Guro.



Guro had already built a stone fire pit and was filling it with coal, wood and kindling. Beside it, the bucket of lighter fluid, a box of matches and...



I swallowed. An amulet. The kind Guro had given me and I’d passed on to Kenzie. A small metal disk on a leather cord, sitting there so innocently on the ground. My apprehension grew. It seemed too small and ordinary for what it was supposed to do: stop a faery from Fading into nothingness.



But I trusted that Guro knew what he was doing.



“Ethan, Keirran.” Guro turned to us. “I warn you both again, this could get very dark before it is done. You might discover things about each other, and yourselves, that you did not know and do not like. I issue this one final warning before we begin—this is black magic that we are dealing with, and it must not be taken lightly. Do you understand?”



“Yes, Guro,” I said, and Keirran nodded gravely.



“Very well.” He knelt in front of the bowl and began pouring in liberal amounts of lighter fluid. “This is what I need you to do,” he went on, not looking up from his task. “You both know how to fight, yes? When I give the signal, I want you to shadow spar each other around the fire using your blades. Look at your opponent and what they are doing—block, counter and attack them in the air, but do not touch each other. Understood?”



“Yes,” I replied, recognizing this exercise from my kali class. We would stand several feet from each other and spar without touching our opponent or their weapon, trying to block and counter their moves in the air. Though we usually used wooden rattan sticks, not live blades.



Keirran frowned slightly, probably having never done this before, but nodded. “I’ll follow your lead,” he told me. “Just tell me when.”



“One more thing.” Guro stood and beckoned to Keirran, who stepped forward instantly. I jumped when Guro pulled out a knife, but Keirran didn’t move as the weapon was held up.



“Your blood,” Guro said, staring at the faery prince. “You need to spill a few drops onto the amulet so it starts to hunger for you.”



My heart pounded. I didn’t like where this was going at all, but Keirran took the knife without hesitation. Guro held the amulet faceup, and the fey prince immediately sliced the blade across his palm. Thick red blood pooled from Keirran’s hand and dripped onto the polished bronze surface. When the amulet’s face was covered in red, Guro turned away and set it on the ground again.



“Ethan, stand over there,” Guro said, pointing to one side of the pit. I did, and Keirran took his place on the opposite side. Guro turned and clicked on the stereo behind him, turning up the volume. Dark, eerie drumming began to play, making my skin prickle, and Guro lit the kindling in the fire pit. The flames sprang up, tongues of orange and red, bathing the glade in a ghostly light. They flickered and snapped, clawing at the air, throwing weird dancing shadows over the trees and Guro’s face.



“Go,” Guro ordered, his voice low and intense, and started chanting.



I met Keirran’s gaze over the fire and began to move.



At first, I kept my eyes on my “opponent,” my movements smooth and deliberate, so he could see what I was doing. I would swing, he would block. He would counterattack, I would defend. At first, I thought I’d have an advantage with my two swords to his one, but I was wrong. Keirran not only kept up with me, I had to work not to let any of his “imaginary” blows get through. As our sparring got faster and the dance more serious, Keirran began to disappear, until I was only aware of our swords, flashing in the orange light, and my opponent’s next move.



Around us, the drums beat a frantic rhythm, primal and dark, and someone’s voice rose above it all, chanting words I didn’t understand. They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except my swords and the darting blade across from me. Anger flared as all my strikes were blocked, all my blows were deflected. The drums swirled around me, goading and furious. I would not lose to him. I would not—



The clang of metal and the jolt up my arm shocked me back to reality. Somehow, Keirran and I had moved closer to the fire and were now just a few feet apart, glaring at each other over the flames. I blinked and shook myself, ready to draw back.



The cold, icy stranger met my gaze over the fire and swung his blade at my head.



I blocked, stepping to the side and meeting the sword with my own. The metal screeched, raising the hair on my neck, and shock shifted into fury.



I responded in kind, whipping my second blade at his face. He dodged, the edge barely missing him, and slashed up with his own weapon. The clang and screech of metal filled the air, mixing with the roar of drums and the frenzied chanting.



As I slashed at my opponent’s chest, a sudden stab of pain went up my arm. It flared red-hot for a moment, surprising me more than anything, and I staggered back. A quick glance revealed what I already knew; I’d been hit, and blood was starting to ooze down my forearm.



My vision went red. The drums, the chanting, they screamed at me, filling my senses. Fury bubbled up from a deep, dark well, consuming me, making me sick with hate. I knew him. I saw what he was now. He was the reason I’d lost my sister, the reason she never visited anymore. She had wanted to keep Keirran and me apart, make sure we never met, and in doing so had isolated herself, as well.



I snarled at my enemy, hating him, and lunged forward with a yell.



He met me in the center of the glade, sword flashing, his face frozen in an icy mask. It reminded me of that night in the Lady’s throne room, the night he betrayed me, and my rage soared higher. I lashed out viciously, knocking his sword away and stabbing forward with my second blade. The tip pierced his side, right below his rib cage, and his lips tightened with pain.



Setting his jaw, he raised his hand. I realized what was coming a second later and dived aside, as a blast of icicle-laced air tore into the trees behind me, the lethal ice darts shredding leaves and sticking into trunks. Snarling, I whipped around as the prince came at me, his weapon scything down, and brought both blades stabbing toward his heart.



“Ethan! Keirran!”



Kenzie’s voice slammed into me, piercing the maelstrom of drums, chanting, fury and hate. I blinked and pulled up just as Keirran did the same, coming to a halt maybe a foot away. I could suddenly feel the cool edge of his sword against my throat, the tips of my own weapons resting on his chest, right over his heart.



I was shaking, anger and violence still singing through my veins. I glared at the opponent across from me, still feeling his betrayal, all the anger I normally kept locked away still raging below the surface. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel the pain he had caused just by existing, tearing our family apart. Thirteen years of abandonment, of missing my sister, of living in hell, all because he’d been born.



Then Keirran took a deep, shaky breath, and the terrible light went out of his eyes. “Ethan,” he whispered, and the blade at my throat trembled. “What...are we doing?”



Horror sliced through me. Dropping my swords, I lurched away, staring at him. What was I doing? What was wrong with me? Keirran lowered his blade, too, looking dazed and just as horrified. And at that moment, the chanting, the drums, the fire, everything, flared up with a roar.



I staggered, my stomach turning inside out. I could feel the dark energy around us now, the anger, rage and hate generated by Keirran and I, swirling around the glade. The fire blazed and snapped in the pit, and I saw Guro on his feet with the knife in hand, still chanting at the bloody disk on the ground.



The amulet was glowing, pulsing red and black, almost like it was panting and alive. Guro shouted something at it, pointing at Keirran with the knife, and I swear I saw the thing try to leap off the ground toward the prince.



Keirran gasped, his sword dropping from his hand and hitting the dirt with a thump. Clutching his chest, his legs buckled, and he fell to his hands and knees, bowing his head. The darkness around us swirled, then, as if it was being forced down a drain, flowed toward the small metal disk on the ground and was sucked into it.



The wind tossing the branches died. The fire flickered and burned low. Keirran still knelt on the ground, panting, eyes closed. On the blanket, Kenzie met my gaze with a look that clearly said Go help him. Still fighting the last vestiges of anger and the now-overwhelming sense of guilt, I sheathed my swords and hurried over to him.



“Keirran.”



“I’m...okay,” the prince gasped. Shuddering, he sat back on his heels, and I noticed the dark, wet stain marring one side of his shirt. Shit, that was me. I did that. Why? I was angry, I guessed. Angry enough to actually land a blow, to deliberately hurt him. Why had I been so furious? I couldn’t remember now.