A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Twenty-Three

Despite my urge to flee to the forest and lose myself in the familiar shadows of ancient trees, I stay within the walls of the city. I know if I leave now, I'll never come back. Maybe that would be for the best. Behind my closed eyelids I see images of my mother's bed consumed in flames. In my nightmares she is awake and thrashing as she burns. Sleeping in short, fitful bursts, I wake up with real fire licking its way up my arms. My mouth is dry, tongue thick with the taste of ashes.

I make a nest for myself on a rooftop near the eastern edge of the city, where two buildings come together into a V shape, with a massive stone chimney on one side, a warm place to rest my back, and cover to help me hide from sight. During the day, I perch there and watch patrolling Ironborn scour the air. They round up people on the streets and press blades to their exposed skin. Those who pass the test are given thick bands of iron to wear around their necks. The ones who fail are dragged away.

What are they doing? Balsevor asks.

I don't bother to answer. It's obvious they're faerie hunting. Though I've never seen it happening so aggressively, this is what the Ironborn soldiers are trained to do. This is how they protect. The champions of humankind. But if I'm the one they're searching for, it's others who will suffer in my place. Those methods will do nothing to find me.

Once night falls again I check my glamour, then let my hunger pull me towards the smell of dinner. It's a damp, misty sort of night. The air feels heavy, and lantern-light hugs tight to the buildings, the gloom difficult to penetrate. There aren't many people out on the streets, and those who are seem unusually quiet, even the sound of their footsteps dull, muffled echoes of what you'd expect to hear. Weather like this makes spectres of any lone traveler.

I don't have any Ylvemoran coin, but I did bring a pouch of shiny baubles for trading, various things I collected in my years living in the Wood: reflective sidhe glass and glowing sprite-salt, mysterious rings found at the bottoms of forest pools, smooth river stones with perfectly circular holes. I had no issue buying a few drinks and a meal with such trinkets yesterday, as wizardry is a sign of status in this city and I have that air of magic regular folk aren't apt to question. But today is different. Things have changed quickly and drastically. Soldiers are marching the streets looking for suspicious magical things, and I worry about buying myself a bowl of stew with faerie jewelry.

We could just roast some rats, Balsevor says, with a hint of humor. Smoke them out of their little holes and crunch their little bones. He growls to finish off that lovely imagery.

I make a face, muttering "You're disgusting" under my breath.

The dragon chuckles.

Instead of following Balsevor's suggestion, I head closer to the University. Part of me tenses with anxiety at the idea of walking straight into the territory of the Ironborn, but it makes the most sense. There, I will have a much better chance of blending in. Students will be about in groups, and another young man with peculiar treasure in his pockets won't draw much suspicion. Plus, part of me wants to confront Rogemere's soldiers head-on. Like Balsevor, I tire of sneaking about. I'm fairly certain they have no spells or weapons that can prove my identity or involvement with the incident at the palace. If I'm wrong, I'd rather find out now than let myself be caught unawares.

You'd better not be turning us in, Balsevor says, picking up some of my train of thought.

I smirk. No matter how guilt-ridden I may be about my failure to save my mother, there's no way I'd let the Ironborn take me captive without a fight. Not again.

I still think we should burn down the whole place, personally, Balsevor says, sighing.

The closer to the University I get, the brighter the streets become. The fog dissipates and a warm breeze whisks gently through the air. The gloomy chill of nearly autumn has no place in this section of the capital. Not when a bunch of wizards can keep the weather perpetually mild. What a boring choice of spell.

At least it's not as dark, Balsevor notes. Harder for creatures to skulk around.

I roll my eyes at him. As I make my way towards the loudest, brightest tavern on the street, I notice a slink of movement in the diminishing shadows behind me. Someone, or something, darts out of sight just as I turn to look, but I catch a flash of silver, a sort of pale glow, quickly snuffed out. Like a will-o'-wisp drifting through the Wood. As soon as I catch a glimpse, I know: someone is following me. They've been following me for quite some time. How had I not noticed until now? Or had I known, but then forgotten? A tingle runs up my spine. I stop in the middle of the street.

What are you doing? We just talked about this! Balsevor says.

"What?" I say, shaking my head as though to dislodge something loose inside.

The girl tailing us, Balsevor says, slowly, as if I'm incredibly dense. You said you wanted to wait, see what she'd do. She's been there for a while.

I spin around. All of my hair is standing on end. "Why can't I remember that?" I ask.

Because you're- Balsevor seems like he's about to insult me, but he cuts himself off. Oh! It's that glamour of hers. Ugh, stupid faerie stuff. I should have noticed ages ago.

There's a flicker of white at the edge of an alleyway a few feet away. It seems to hover in place, as if waiting. I see… something. Except I don't. She's too fast, or hiding too well. I try to focus on the strange shift of light, but all I can make out is a dark, empty alley.

What do you mean? She's right there. Balsevor says. HEY. YOU! What do you want?

And there she is, at the mouth of the alley, one hand placed delicately on the rough stone corner of the building, staring straight at me and gaping. She glows like a slice of the moon, her skin so white it's almost blue, her silver hair falling like a shimmering cascade of water. How could I have possibly not seen her?

"Who said that?" she demands.