To Bear an Iron Key (20 page)

“Still, she favors her.” The King chuckled once again—a low, warm sound that made Bromwyn think of hungry monsters with very sharp teeth. “Her mother was far prettier, though. And much less restrained.”

“For all the good either did her.” The Queen smiled, her lips shining by the starlight of the World Door. “She lost her magic that very night, among other things. Remember, dearest?”

“I do. Like mother … ”

“ … like daughter.”

Bromwyn’s head pounded as she fought to control her temper. She had to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t risk losing everything in a bout of hasty words and an ill-timed curse.

“Yes,” the King said, his smile showing far too many teeth. “So very alike.”

“Do you think that she will follow in her mother’s footsteps?” the Queen asked idly.

The King’s eyes gleamed. “That remains to be seen.”

“Strange,” Bromwyn said, no longer curtseying. “Here I thought that we were gathered to be challenged, not to make allusions to my mother’s character. I had heard that the fey were better mannered than this.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What Lady Witch means to say,” Rusty said quickly, “is that time grows short, and unless the fair folk mean to extend their nighttime visit into daytime hours, we should get on with the business at hand. Right, Lady Witch?” He shot Bromwyn a look that was half-pleading, half-fury.

“Yes.” Bromwyn blew out a calming breath, and then she fixed a bland smile on her face. “Please accept my apology for my hasty words.”
And please,
she begged silently,
let my curse remain quiet.

“You were rude,” said the Queen.

Bromwyn inclined her head. “To my deepest regret.”

“So you will forfeit a year of your life for your transgression.”

She blanched. “My lady—”

Rusty cleared his throat. “I’m afraid, majesty, that Lady Witch is unable to meet your most reasonable request. In our land, she is still considered a child, and as such, she is in no position to offer any of her life to the fair folk. You see, because she is a child, her life belongs to her mother, rather like a favorite garment. And human women get so finicky about their possessions.”

Bromwyn glared at Rusty, who completely ignored her. She turned back to face the fey rulers, deciding that when this was all done, she’d kill Rusty. Slowly.

The Queen cocked her head as she appraised Rusty, a bemused smile on her face. “And if I wait until she is no longer considered a child, my lord Guardian?”

“Then her life will belong to her lord husband,” Rusty said, most apologetically. “You would have to ask him. But given his selfish worldview, I don’t think he would be willing to release his lady wife to your good graces. He’s a moron, you see.”

The Queen laughed, and even clapped her hands in delight. “Well spoken, my lord Guardian! I accept the witchling’s apology as it stands, with no other recourse.”

Rusty bowed. “Your majesty’s kindness knows no end. Thank you.”

Bromwyn grated out her thanks as well, which the Queen completely ignored. She was too busy making eyes at Rusty. The Queen smiled mischievously, and her gown of flowers shifted—and suddenly the lady of the fey was as exposed as any tavern wench, the tops of her bosom heaving as she purred, “You are quite the charmer, my lord Guardian.”

“I thank you, my lady,” Rusty said to the Queen’s chest. “But I do not hold a candle to your own charms.”

Yes, Bromwyn would kill him. Or better, she would have her grandmother kill him, then resurrect him, and
then
Bromwyn would kill him.

“You would make a most handsome page,” the Queen murmured, sounding demure and yet completely wanton. “I offer this to you as a gift. Come with us through the World Door before the sun rises completely. You would be most happy in our land, Key Bearer.”

“I am sure I would,” Rusty replied smoothly. “But I am afraid I am bound to Loren. I am the only child to my parents, and as such, I must help them earn their lot in life. It is a son’s duty, and I cannot ignore that commitment, not even to know the delights of your land. Though it pains me greatly, I must refuse.”

Oh, no.
Bromwyn opened her mouth to interject, but the Queen was faster.

“Well and good.” The Queen’s voice was lighthearted, and her smile was wicked, and Bromwyn understood that Rusty had made a grave mistake. “But if you lose the challenge, you lose your choice in the matter as well. Understand this, Key Bearer: Should you fail in your challenge, you will join us in our land.”

Sweat popped on Rusty’s brow. A nervous grin on his face, he said, “How’s that now?”

“Well played, my lady wife,” said the King, applauding.

Bromwyn felt like she would faint or throw up. Rusty had refused a fey gift flatly, instead of offering something of equal or better value.

“My lady,” she said, “forgive my ignorance, for I am just a girl, and not schooled in the ways of the world. But it was my understanding that the challenge is for the right to keep the World Door open for a year’s time, with no mention of the Guardian at all.”

“It was,” the Queen said, all traces of amusement gone. Her voice was regal, and altogether cold. “But that was before the Key Bearer insulted me by not accepting my most gracious gift. Now the challenge is both for the right to leave the World Door unlocked for one year, as well as for the right to claim the Key Bearer’s soul. Or,” she said, smiling a chilling smile, “if this does not please you, our two peoples can go to war.”

CHALLENGED

“This,” Rusty said, “is really bad.”

The King’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Are you suggesting that living in our world is unappealing?”

“No, my lord,” Rusty stammered. “Not at all. It’s just that my mam and da, see, they’ll never understand how their only child went to live with the fairies.”

The Queen’s eyes darkened, and the King’s face tightened.

“Which is how the common folk of our village refer to fair folk,” Bromwyn threw in, desperate to save the situation from getting any worse. Calling the fey “fairies” to their faces—Nature have mercy! Her head was spinning, and her palms had begun to sweat. She had known that Rusty’s life, and her own, would be on the line while entertaining the fey, but in her heart of hearts, she hadn’t really thought it would come down to this. Now Rusty had to meet the challenge successfully not just for the good of Loren but also for his own soul.

They had to best the fey.

“Well and good.” The King clapped his hands once, and the sound thundered through the clearing. “The sun moves ever skyward, and our time here grows short. Let us begin the challenge.”

Bromwyn waited for the executioner’s axe to fall.

“You have proven yourself to be a smooth talker,” said the Queen to Rusty, “one who knows the value of flattery. But have you learned to appreciate the value of truth?”

“Can you see what is plain before you?” asked the King.

“Or,” said the Queen, “are you fooled by illusions that are more appealing?”

“And so, Key Bearer,” the King said, “your challenge will be one of Sight.”

Sight. Bromwyn knew Sight. She had an intimate understanding of it.

“My lord and lady,” she said breathlessly, “I wish to take the challenge!”

An excited buzz resonated around her as the fey horde repeated her declaration to one another. Through hints of spring rain and honeysuckle, Bromwyn thought she smelled something else wafting from the King and Queen: anticipation.

The Queen arched an amused brow at her, but the King was looking at Bromwyn with something close to appreciation.

“Winnie,” Rusty hissed in her ear, “are you mad?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him, not with the King and Queen staring at her so, but she would do anything to keep him out of harm’s way. So she would take the challenge in his place. This was her test, and it was one of Sight. And she would not only rise to the challenge—she would pass her test, and keep her magic, and save both her friend and her village.

She could do it. Especially with Rusty right there, she could do it. She was his Lady Witch.

The King raised his arms, and the attending fey fell silent. “Agreed,” he declared. “Bromwyn Darkeyes shall take the challenge.”

Around them, the fey roared their approval.

“Majesties, I must object,” Rusty spluttered over the cheering fey. “Clearly, Lady Witch has lost her mind. I think it’s the lack of sleep, myself. A growing girl like her needs her rest. So I most respectfully beg you to reconsider her insane request and allow me to take the challenge as originally intended.”

The fey quieted, save for a few isolated huzzahs.

The Queen said, “But my lord Guardian, we have already accepted the witch girl’s most entertaining offer. What sort of visitors would we be if we refused such a gift after we had already accepted it?”

“Poor ones indeed,” the King replied with a grin.

“So with all due respect,” the Queen said, with just a hint of mockery, “we regretfully cannot grant your request. Which, truly, was moot before you even asked it.”

“So we do not need to make a counteroffer,” said her husband. “The blue hour has begun. Let us discuss the terms of the challenge, as dictated by the challengers.”

“A test of Sight,” said the Queen. “To see the truth amidst the illusion.”

“A test of Sight.” The King nodded to Rusty. “With no help from the Key Bearer.”

“None at all,” said the Queen.

It hadn’t occurred to Bromwyn to request any help, so she nodded her agreement. “A test of Sight,” she said, “with no help from the Key Bearer. Agreed.”

“Nice to be needed,” Rusty muttered, crossing his arms.

Bromwyn ignored him. Let him be annoyed with her. Let him be angry with her. As long as he didn’t take the challenge, there was a better chance that he would be safe. She lifted her chin, and she allowed herself a tiny smile. Rusty would be all right. She was a witch of the Way of Sight; this would be a challenge of Sight. How difficult could it truly be?

“A test of Sight,” said the Queen, “in the allotted time.”

“You must give your answer before twilight breaks into sunrise this morning,” said the King, “lest you forfeit the challenge.”

“And should you forfeit or lose the challenge, the World Door remains open,” the Queen said with a toothy smile, “and the Key Bearer belongs to me. To us,” she amended, sliding a glance at the King.

“Urk,” said Rusty, looking distinctly pale.

“As my lady wife says.” The King’s smile was fierce, and his eyes sparkled with hidden thoughts.

Bromwyn nodded. “Agreed.”

“And,” the King said, “Bromwyn Darkeyes shall not use her magic during the challenge.”

What?
Flustered, hoping she had misheard, Bromwyn stammered, “But my lord—”

“No,” said the King, raising a finger. “The time to make your requirements known was when you announced your intention to take the challenge. That time has passed.”

“And only the challenger’s requirements may be stated,” added the Queen.

“And agreed to,” said the King.

The Queen grinned, her teeth gleaming like knives. “Unless you wish to concede our victory.”

“I,” Bromwyn said, her mouth gaping. “I. I did not know … ”

The King smiled lazily, like a wild beast contemplating which deer to eat first. “And what difference does that make, witchling?”

“None at all,” Bromwyn said, feeling very, very small. Hadn’t she just said the same thing to Rusty only yesterday? “Very well. I will not use my magic during the challenge.”

“Winnie,” Rusty hissed, “this is looking distinctly not in our favor.”

“No,” she agreed somberly. “It is not.”

The King waved his arm, and Rusty let out a surprised yelp as his feet left the ground. Bromwyn watched in dismay as her friend rose in the air until he was hovering near the top of the World Door.

“My children,” shouted the King, “look you well. Now clothe yourselves!”

With the King’s command, all of the fey—the hundreds of blond-haired, blue-eyed, flower-garmented creatures of all sizes—now looked like Rusty, down to his floppy brown hat and threadbare suit. Many of the fey laughed, and Rusty’s baritone chuckle echoed throughout the glade in harmony with itself. Some even mimicked Rusty’s startled squawk as the King spun him around in the air, and a handful pretended to spin in the air like a child’s top.

The King bellowed: “To the air!”

All of the Rusties launched into the air, flying in a circle around the clearing. And like that, Bormwyn’s Rusty, the real Rusty, was lost.

She circled about, disoriented, desperately trying to find her friend, but all that did was make her head spin.

“And down,” said the King.

With those words, all of the Rusties landed gently on the ground.

“All you need to do, witchling,” said the King, “is pick your friend from our children.”

“Without using your magic,” added the Queen with a laugh.

“And do it quickly, for once twilight ends, we shall take our leave through the World Door.”

“With the lord Guardian, should you fail.”