The Iron Warrior. Julie Kagawa

you all to consider whom we are dealing with. This is my son, and your kin. Both of you,” she added, looking to the Summer King and the Winter Queen in turn. “Are we going to declare war on our own blood without knowing the details? We are still uncertain as to what the Forgotten and the Lady really want.”

      “I can tell you what she wants,” said a new, familiar voice behind us.

      I spun, as did the rest of the table, to face the entrance of the room. The double doors had been pushed back, and a figure stood in the entryway with a pair of shadowy sidhe knights flanking him.

      Keirran.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE LADY’S DEMAND

      I stared at the Iron Prince, a chill sliding up my spine as our eyes met. Keirran’s flat gaze held no emotion, no spark of regret or remorse, nothing but blank apathy. His silver hair was longer now, tied behind him in a loose tail that made him look older and showed off his pointed ears. A tattered cloak draped his shoulders, trailing wisps of shadow that writhed into the air. His shadowy entourage stood rigid behind him, four silhouettes in ghostly gray armor with the glowing yellow eyes of the Forgotten.

      I saw a shiver go through Meghan, saw her lips breathe Keirran’s name, though no sound came out of her mouth.

      “Iron Prince.” Mab’s voice was glacial and lethally soft. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you come into my home uninvited?”

      “Apologies, Queen Mab.” Keirran’s tone could match the Winter monarch’s for chilliness. “But is this not a war council? You have gathered to speak of the Forgotten, what they want, if you should prepare for war. I am here to tell you exactly what you wish to know. Be warned,” he continued, with a quick glance at Meghan and Ash’s side of the table, “I came here in good faith, under the banner of peace. The ancient law states that you may not attack a messenger of war. I trust you all to uphold that policy.”

      “Speak, then,” Oberon said, his voice hard. “Deliver your news, Iron Prince, and be done with it.”

      Keirran bowed, but it was a short, mocking bow, and his eyes remained cold as he straightened. “I come on behalf of the Lady,” he continued in a low, terrible voice. “The Forgotten goddess, the First Queen of Faery. She demands that the Summer and Winter courts be annulled, and that the Nevernever exist as one realm, without borders or boundaries. There will be no Seelie or Unseelie lands, no Arcadia or Tir Na Nog. There will be only Faery, and she will rule the Nevernever as she did in the ancient times, before the courts came to be. Only the Iron Realm will remain as it is.” He glanced at Meghan, whose face had gone pale with horror. “The Lady understands that the Iron fey are integral to Faery, but wants no part of them. Mag Tuiredh will become a separate seat of the Nevernever, and the Iron Realm may still have its queen, if she swears fealty to the Lady and recognizes her as the true monarch of Faery.

      “If these terms are not met,” Keirran went on, “the Lady will declare war on the Nevernever, and she will descend on the courts with her army of Forgotten, to take back what has been stolen, and to restore Faery to what it was.”

      A brittle silence fell over the room, broken only by the frantic thud of my pulse in my ears. Meghan stared at Keirran, and the look on her face made my insides hurt. It was one of complete devastation, shock and denial, and it made me want to smash the prince’s head through the wall. The Iron Queen gazed at her son like she didn’t know him anymore, like the person standing before her was a stranger.

      Then Mab’s laughter rang out, harsh and mocking, making me jump. “You dare, Iron Prince?” she hissed, as the temperature in the room dropped. As if it wasn’t cold enough. “You dare stand with this Lady, this forgotten pretender, and demand that I give up my kingdom? Annul the Winter Court? Blasphemy!” She spat the word at him, and icicles made sharp crinkling sounds as they grew from the walls and floor. “You can tell the Lady that the Winter Court will never bow to usurpers, that she can expect to face the full might of Tir Na Nog on the field of battle.”

      “And the full might of Arcadia,” Oberon chimed in, his own voice making the icicles tremble. “The Summer Court stands with Winter in rejecting your Lady’s claims. If she wants the Seelie Court destroyed, she will have to take it herself.”

      Silence fell once more. Keirran regarded us all without emotion, then looked to Meghan. “And you, Iron Queen?” he asked, when the silence had stretched to a breaking point. “What is your answer?”

      “Keirran.” A lump caught in my throat at the sound of Meghan’s voice, broken and desperate. Almost immediately, however, the queen straightened, regaining her composure and standing with her back tall as she faced the Iron Prince. “Why are you doing this?” she asked in a quiet, yet calm voice. “What can you possibly hope to gain?”

      “Nothing.” Keirran’s answer was completely without emotion. “It’s not for me,” he continued in that same steely tone. “This is for the exiles, and the Forgotten. For too long, they have been ignored. For too long, the exiles have suffered the cruelty of the human world, and the courts have done nothing. It is time to change that, even if I must clear away the old to make room for the new.”

      “This is not your responsibility, Keirran,” came Ash’s voice, deep and controlled, though I could hear the bridled fury beneath. “There are other ways for the Forgotten and the exiles to live. Stop this madness and come home.”

      For the briefest of moments, a tiny, agonized furrow creased Keirran’s brow. But the Iron Prince blinked, and it was gone. “I’ve made my choice,” he said serenely. “I cannot turn from it now.” His cold gaze went to Meghan and narrowed. “It seems I was prophesied to bring destruction to the courts, long before I was born,” he said, making her flinch. “Everyone knew of this. Everyone, except myself. I am only walking the path that has been destined for me all along.”

      “Dammit, Keirran,” I snarled, unable to hold back any longer. “You know that isn’t true. Get your head out of your ass and wake up!”

      He gave me a frigid smile. “You’re very loud for a ghost,” he remarked, making me want to step forward and drive a fist through his teeth. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you lived. You’re too stubborn to stay down for good.” His smile faded then, as his eyes glittered with icy malice. “I am glad that you survived after all, Ethan, but know this. If you get in my way, if you try to stop us, I will kill you. And this time, I’ll make certain that you stay dead and gone.”

      I clenched my fists, but Meghan’s voice rose up before I could do anything. The Iron Queen’s power filled the chamber, sharp and crackling, like the air before a storm. “If you do this, Keirran,” she said, “if you declare war on all of Faery, I will have no choice but to cast you from the Iron Court. You will no longer be welcome, or safe, in Mag Tuiredh, or anywhere in the Nevernever. So, please...” She wavered, very slightly, though her voice remained strong. “Think of what you are doing. There’s still time, to stop this, to find another way.”

      Keirran gazed at her, a faint, sad smile crossing his face, before his eyes hardened and he took a step back. “It’s too late for me, Iron Queen,” he whispered as the knights closed in, surrounding him. “The prophecy has been set in motion, and I must follow it to the end. I will return to the Lady and inform her of your decision.”

      “Really?” Puck had pushed himself off the wall, his green eyes glittering with a dangerous light. “And what makes you think we’re going to let you walk out, princeling?” he asked, smirking in a way that made my skin prickle with fear.

      Keirran didn’t move, though the Forgotten knights stiffened, hands dropping to their sword hilts. “I came here in good faith,” the Iron Prince said calmly, looking not at Puck but at the other rulers. “According to ancient Faery law, a messenger of war may deliver his news