Julie Kagawa - The Iron Knight

“You think I don’t know pain?” Puck shook his head at me. “Or loss? I’ve been around a lot longer than you, prince! I know what love is, and I’ve lost my fair share, too. Just because we have a different way of handling it, doesn’t mean I don’t have scars of my own.”

“Name one,” I scoffed. “Give me one instance where you haven’t—”

“Meghan Chase!” Puck roared, startling me into silence. I blinked, and he sneered at me. “Yeah, your highness. I know what loss is. I’ve loved that girl since before she knew me. But I waited. I waited because I didn’t want to lie about who I was. I wanted her to know the truth before anything else. So I waited, and I did my job. For years, I protected her, biding my time, until the day she went into the Nevernever after her brother. And then you came along. And I saw how she looked at you. And for the first time, I wanted to kill you as much as you wanted to kill me.

“So, here, prince!” he said, and without warning, flipped his daggers at me. They struck the ground at my feet, hilts up, glinting in the dim light. “I’m tired of fighting. You want your revenge?” He straightened and flung his arms wide, glaring at me. “Come and take it! This is the place where she died, where it all started. Here I am, Ash—strike me down already. I won’t even fight you. Let’s end this, once and for all!”

The rage in me boiled. Raising my sword, I went for him, sweeping the blade down at his neck, a blow that would slice through his collarbone and out the other side. I would end this, right here. Puck didn’t move, nor did his gaze stray from mine as I lunged forward. He didn’t flinch as the weapon sliced down in a blur of icy blue—

—and stopped.

My hands shook, and the sword trembled against Puck’s collarbone, the edge drawing the faintest line of red against his skin. I was panting, breathing hard, but he still watched me, his face blank, and I could see my tortured ref lection in his eyes. Do it, the rage whispered as I struggled to make my arms move, to finish what I’d started. Strike him down. This is what you’ve always wanted. End the feud, and keep your promise.

Puck took a deep, careful breath and spoke softly, almost a whisper. “If you’re going to do it, prince, do it now. The anticipation is killing me.”

I straightened, bracing myself for the deed. Robin Goodfellow would die today. It had to end like this. It didn’t matter that Puck had lost just as much as I had, that his pain was just as great, that he loved Meghan enough to step aside, to bow out gracefully. Never mind that he loved her so much he would join his sworn enemy on a search for the impossible, just to ensure her happiness. He was here, not because of me, but because of her. None of that mattered. I had sworn an oath, here, on this very spot, and I had to see it through.

I gripped the sword handle, steeling myself. Puck stood rock-still, waiting. I raised the sword again … and whirled away with a roar of frustration, flinging my weapon into the nearest bramble patch.

Puck couldn’t quite conceal his sigh of relief as I stalked away, retreating into the mist and out of sight before I fell apart. Dropping to my knees, I slammed my fist into the mud and bowed my head, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. I shook with anger, with grief and self-loathing and regret. Regret of what transpired here. That I had failed. That I had ever made that vow to kill my closest friend.

I’m sorry, Ariella. Forgive me. I’m weak. I wasn’t able to keep my promise.

How long I knelt there, I didn’t know. Perhaps only minutes, but before I could really compose myself, I had the sudden knowledge that I wasn’t alone. Wondering if Puck was really foolish enough to bother me now, I raised my head.

It wasn’t Puck.

A robed figure stood at the edge of the mist, pale and indistinct, blending into the surrounding fog. Its cowl was raised, showing nothing but darkness beneath the hood, but I could feel its eyes on me, watching.

I rose slowly, muscles tensed to leap away should the stranger make any move to attack. I wished I had my sword, but there was no time to regret that now.

Watching the stranger, I felt a glimmer of recognition. We’d met before, recently in fact. This was the same presence I had felt in my nightmare of the Iron Realm, the one keeping just out of sight, holding me to the dreamworld. And as my memory returned with the shattered pieces of my composure, I finally recalled why we were here, who we had come to find.

“You are … the seer?” I asked softly. My voice came out shaky and was swallowed by the coiling fog, but the robed figure nodded. “Then … you know why I’ve come.”

Another nod. “Yes,” the seer whispered, its voice softer than the mist around us. “I know why you are here, Ash of the Winter Court. The real question is … do you?”

I took a breath to answer, but the seer stepped forward and pushed back its hood.

The world fell out from under me. I stared, staggered and frozen in a way that had nothing to do with winter.

“Hello, Ash,” Ariella whispered. “It’s been a long time.”

I stared at the figure before me, hardly able to wrap my mind around it. It looked like Ariella, sounded like her. Even after all these years, I knew the exact lilt of her voice, the subtlest tilt of her head. But … it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. This was a trick, or perhaps a memory, brought to life by the depth of emotion around us. Ariella was dead. She had been for a long time.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, trying desperately to regain my scattered wits. “This … this isn’t real. You’re not real. Ariella is … gone.” My voice broke, and I shook my head angrily. “This isn’t real,” I repeated, willing my heart to believe it. “Whatever you are, leave this place. Don’t torment me further.”

The robed figure glided forward, coils of mist parting for her as she came toward me. I wanted to move, to draw back, but my body wasn’t working right anymore. I might as well have been frozen, helpless, as the thing that looked like Ariella drew very close, so close I could see the flecks of silver in her eyes, smell the faint scent of cloves that had always surrounded her.

Ariella gazed at me a moment, then raised one pale, slender hand and laid it—cool and solid—against my cheek.

“Does this feel like a memory, Ash?” she whispered as my breath hitched and my knees nearly buckled. I closed my eyes, unwilling to hope, to have it ripped from me once more. Taking my limp hand, Ariella guided it to her chest and trapped it there, so I could feel the heartbeat under my fingers. “Does this?”

Disbelief crumbled. “You’re alive,” I choked out, and she smiled at me, a sad, painful smile that held all the years of loss and despair I knew so well. Her grief had been just as fierce, just as consuming, as mine. “You’re alive,” I whispered again, and pulled her to me.

Her arms slid around my waist, drawing us even closer, and she breathed my name. I held her fiercely, half-afraid she would dissolve into mist in my arms. I felt her heartbeat, thudding against mine, listened to her breath on my cheek, and felt the centuries-old grief dissolving, melting like frost in the sunlight. I could barely believe it; I didn’t know how it could be, but Ariella was alive. She was alive. The nightmare was finally over.

It seemed like an eternity before we finally pulled back, but my shock was no less severe. And when she looked at me with those star-flecked eyes, my mind still had trouble accepting what was right in front of me. “How?” I asked, unwilling to let her go just yet. Wanting—needing—to feel her, solid and real and alive, pressed against me. “I watched you die.”