The Lonely Ones

Chapter Forty-Two: An Iron Sword

Artemis laughs. Buckles over in laughter like they've told the best joke of the century. But they don't join in the mirth, although Ignit grins much like Wren. He's starting to wonder if that's a fae trait.

"You're serious?" Artemis whispers, revealing honest shock and slight concern for the two buffoons.

"We are," Ignit replies, making Artemis chuckle again. Could it be the king and this fae queen are literal idiots?

Artemis' stares and stares, expecting the punchline or even to wake up. Neither happens.

"I can't kill the High King," he states, which he never expected he'd have to say. It should be a given.

"Why not?" Ignit asks, although it doesn't sound honest. She's toying with him, as fae normally do.

"He's the High King. He's an ancient power we don't comprehend. He's unstoppable."

"Is he?" Ignit's eyes shimmer. She sets her hands atop the table, clasped elegantly, although her wicked grin is far from it. "No one is unstoppable. Not even Emrys."

Artemis never heard anyone call the High King by another name. He isn't sure what he expected, but he would have been surprised regardless.

"If that's true, why don't either of you kill him?" Artemis gestures between the two. He nods at Renier. "You've got one of the largest militaries in the world." Then he nods at Ignit. "And you're a fae queen. If anyone can stand against him, it's you two. Not me."

"The High King and his domain know to keep their eyes out for us," Renier answers swiftly. He looks annoyed by his own answer. One of his fingers taps impatiently against the table. "Although we all have treaties, we're also all waiting for the other to strike. If I were to send my soldiers into the Grim Woods, it would be an act of war."

"And my firelets may be able to walk through the woods, but the greenlings are on edge and waiting for any excuse to slay them. You, however--" Ignit points a long nail at Artemis as curved as her wicked grin. "Are neither a concern or a threat."

Artemis feels a little insulted, although he agrees, which further proves his point. "If I'm neither a concern or a threat, why do you expect me to be able to kill the High King?"

Ignit giggles, the sound cold and terrifying. "Because he has grown weary."

"The High King is about to fall into a long slumber," Renier adds. "My scholars have found ancient texts detailing a previous slumber that lasted almost a century. He will be weak. Vulnerable."

"If that's true, he would have been slain by his own long ago," Artemis interjects. He knows fae better than most. None would pass up the opportunity to slay the strongest force ever known.

"Not if they never had the weapon to do so." Ignit rises to reveal a sword draped in black cloth perched against the table. Her smile falters, replaced by a strange combination of discomfort and excitement. She sets the sword on the table, quickly retracting her hand. Her palm is slightly red.

"Open it," she orders and retakes her seat.

Artemis glances to Renier, uncertain what response he expected. The king nods silently.

Hesitantly, he grasps the sword to remove the cloth layered upon layers. The sword within doesn't stand out in any way other than the fact that it's made entirely of iron. A blackened handle and a deep gray blade.

"A sword?" Artemis inquires, refusing to grasp the handle.

"A very unique sword," Ignit grumbles and holds out her hands. They suddenly crack as if covered by glass. The pieces shatter, pale dust atop the table, revealing charred hands beneath as if... as if she had touched iron.