A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Three

ADAIN

"Don't touch that, Child. Your father would disapprove," Rogemere says, appearing by my side with a swish of his burgundy robes. As always, his tone is condescending and bored, as if the entire world is barely worth his notice.

I drop the wand back onto the table. It is a small, elegantly curved piece of wood, engraved with thorny vines. Open next to it is a large tome, words and numbers scribbled in the margins of the spellbook in a hurried hand. It seems one of the young nobles was studying at the University, and left his homework in the palace library.

"Why not? I want to learn, so I can be a wizard like you." I lean my back against the table and cross my arms.

Rogemere scoffs. "Don't become attached to such a fantasy, my boy. You will never be a wizard. You will be trained in politicking and swordsmanship and horse riding and such, so that you can one day be a king like your father."

I scowl. "Swords are stupid. Why can't I just fight with magic, like the Ironborn?" I glance over my shoulder at the abandoned spellbook. Magical texts aren’t kept in the palace library. This is the first I’ve ever seen up close, and I’d been caught before I even had a chance to flip through its pages.

Rogemere closes the book with a thunk, his fingers spread like a claw against the aged leather cover. "First of all,” he says, “my soldiers are skilled with all types of weapons, just as your father's men are. Swords can be very powerful things."

"Magical ones."

"Perhaps," he says with a chuckle. "But swords are forged of iron. And magic or not, iron is humankind's greatest weapon. Do you know why?"

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if this is a trick question. "My father says faeries are gone. The stories are nonsense that scares peasants and children."

"Ah. Your father loves you very much. He wants to protect you." Rogemere gives me a pitying smirk.

Of course my father wants to protect me. But the way Rogemere said the statement makes me suddenly wonder if my father has lied to me, treated me like a baby. He wouldn’t keep it from me, if there were still faeries. Would he? I don't trust Rogemere, with his eyerolls and condescending drawl. He is a mean old man who thinks he's smarter than everyone else.

"The Ironborn drove the fae out of Ylvemore before I was born," I say, a statement I am fairly certain can't be disputed.

"Oh, we did. Burned a swath of their poisonous wood to the ground, defeated their leaders and hunted down the sneaky filth who hid among us. But," he grimaces, "they refuse to be eradicated, even to this day. We killed thousands of their demonic spawn, and still we find more. Are they changelings, placed in the cribs of innocent babes while their parents sleep unaware? The human children stolen away. A threat, perhaps. A warning. Or is it that this whole kingdom is infected, tiny seeds of evil planted within seemingly human folk? Growing...growing. I don't know." He raises his hands in an “oh well” gesture, as if none of this is much of a big deal, after all.

I'm speechless. I don't know if I'm supposed to believe him, be afraid, keep what he's told me secret. Does everyone know these things but me? Have I really been so coddled? I decide that Rogemere must be trying to make me feel stupid and small. I can’t let him do that, so I pretend that my world has not been upended by what I’ve just been told and give a small shrug, arms still tucked together against my chest.

"Don't you worry, My Boy," Rogemere says, smiling. "The Ironborn keep this kingdom safe. You and your father can go on as though everything is fine and leave the dirty work to us. Just remember, the monsters are real. And without our magic to protect you, iron is all you'll have to defend yourself. So keep your sword close. Learn to use it."