A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Fifteen

I land on my mountain peak with a satisfying thud. Loose stones clatter and the earth rumbles beneath my feet. In the back of my mind I consider Gulver and his tunnels, and hope I haven't caused any cave-ins with my temper-tantrum.

When I walk into my house, a small bird darts in after me and perches on a windowsill. It looks like a swallow, but I eye it suspiciously. There is an unnatural sort of gleam to its blue feathers, and a luminous golden tint to it's tawny underbelly. In Cassian's voice, it says, "Fine. Glamour lessons begin tomorrow at dawn. Meet me in Moonhollow." The bird flaps its wings rapidly and vanishes with nothing but a subtle shift of light.

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

...

Moonhollow is in what used to be the Winter Court's territory, before the war. Before the fae came together to defeat my human ancestors and failed. I can tell I'm nearly there because the rosy pre-dawn glow begins to soften and shift into the shadowy blue hues of twilight. In Moonhollow it is always night. The trees start to thin out, and the narrow birches that remain have a silvery tint to their bark. The silver leaves beneath my feet crunch like I'm stepping on tiny bones.

"Do you hear that?" I ask under my breath.

Hear what? Balsevor says.

"The music. I just want to make sure my subconscious isn't making it up to fit the mood."

Oh, that. I hear it. The dragon chuckles. But I can hear your thoughts, so that doesn't exclude your other theory.

"Fantastic," I say with a wry smile. Going mad would honestly be the least of my worries at this point. I start to hum along with the lilting melody, smiling wider when Balsevor groans in dismay. The music sounds like dozens of inhuman voices singing from far away, accompanied by the bright whistle and gliding thrum of strange instruments. I ignore the way the song pulls at my emotions, fairly adept at handling the effects of faerie charms. Singing along helps, especially if done badly. It adds a bit of humanity to an ethereal enchantment, like a spoke in a wheel.

It might be my imagination, but the melody becomes more frantic as I add my voice in terrible harmony. There is a pained note to it that wasn't there before, a melancholic wail. I wince, but keep humming along cheerfully.

I step through the last of the thin birch trees. The bone-like silver leaves blanketing the ground give way to a rocky beach. No, wait, those aren't rocks. Bones. Of course. Actual bones this time, all shapes and sizes, bathed in the soft light of an ever-present blue moon. In the center of the dell, glowing with reflected light, is a perfectly round pond. The water is still, but shapes of shining turquoise dart beneath the surface. I would say they were simply reflections, shooting stars perhaps, except similar bright forms dance on the shore, clearly humanoid. I can see them only out of the corners of my eyes, a flutter of movement I can't quite focus on.

Cassian sits at the shore of the pond, cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. The blue light of the moon seems to slip off his body, as though repelled by the soft golden glow he emanates. He's like the warm light of a candle on an eerie night. I glance down at my arms, at the flickering fire barely contained beneath my skin. If Cassian's a candle-flame, Balsevor is a bonfire. The thought is weirdly comforting, and I smile. "You picked an odd place for a lesson," I say to the back of the prince's head.

"The moon is a close companion of glamour," the prince says quietly. His eyes are closed, his body still.

"This moon?" I ask, making a face at the celestial form hanging heavy and overly ripe in the starry sky. "The real moon isn't even full right now, let alone out to greet the dawn. This place is clearly illusory."