A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Thirteen

PART 2

OWLODIN

By about midday, the dead chicken I'd hung on a lower branch is no longer dripping blood, and my legs have completely fallen asleep. I'm starting to think my trap isn't going to work, and I've spent hours of my day perched in a tree for nothing.

Remind me again, Balsevor's voice grumbles in my mind, why you so desperately need to speak with this…Koren.

"Korrigan," I say under my breath.

Mmm, my mistake. I can hear the eyeroll in his tone. Some faerie hag who whispers nonsensical prophecy to gullible fools. They're all the same.

"I just need-" I cut off my retort as trees on the other side of the small clearing begin to rustle.

Another rabbit? Balsevor chuckles.

I'm tempted to shush him, even though I'm the only one cursed to hear his constant commentary.

When she emerges from the shadows, she looks harmless enough: skeletally thin, with a cloak of brown feathers and hooked nose much too large for her pinched face. She walks with her head bent forward, using a cane for support, reaching up every so often to push a pair of spectacles back into place. The thick glass lenses are round and framed with gold, adding to her owlish appearance. These grab my attention instantly; it is unusual for faeries to wear such contraptions, no matter how blind they are. In fact, blindness is fashionable in faerie circles, as it lends an air of wisdom and mystery. Even those who could regain their sight by magical means would probably choose not to. They'd be more likely to gouge out their own eyes on purpose. I know by now just how important the fae folk consider aesthetic. Korrigan's spectacles are out of place in The Wood, obviously handcrafted and unnatural in a way most fae would find incredibly distasteful. And that makes them all the more interesting to me.

Korrigan tilts her head, sniffing the air. If my plan works, the smell of the chicken should overpower my scent. It better work, considering how hard it was to find that bird. There aren't many chickens roaming about this far from human civilization.

I don't breathe as she creeps slowly closer to the tree. On the ground below, I placed a circle of golden berries, making sure they are sweet, edible, free of any magical properties. Let her mistake it for another offering. Really, the berries are just a marker for me, the brightness of them standing out against the blanket of dead leaves. I wait for her to cross that barrier, every muscle in my body tensed.

Close enough, Balsevor says, as Korrigan pauses with one foot over the berry-line and peers up at the dangling poultry.

No, just a little closer. Come on. My chest hurts; I desperately need to draw air into my lungs. There! As soon as she steps fully over the line, I snap my fingers, inhaling deeply at the same time. A circle of flames bursts up from the ground, and the faerie shrieks. I swing down from my hiding place, landing in a crouch. My stiff joints protest the sudden movement and weight, shooting sharp pain up my legs.

The faerie spins around, looking for a gap in the wall of fire. "Let me out!" she screeches, waving her cane in my direction.

I bounce backwards, putting another couple feet of distance between us. She's short enough that I tower above her, and her cane doesn't scare me all that much. What I'm really worried about is any spells she might decide to cast. Hopefully nothing powerful enough to get through my personal wards.

"I just have some questions!" I say, loud enough to be heard over her wordless screams of rage.

She goes still, turning her neck to peer up at me through her spectacles. "I've heard of you," she says, blinking. She pushes the eyeware back up her nose. "Adain, the lost human prince." She says both "human" and "prince" as though they're dirty words.