A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter One

PART 1

ADAIN

"Aargh, it's a goblin! Chop off its head!" I swing my wooden sword at the stuffed doll I've propped against the bedpost, my short legs getting twisted in the sheets.

My friend Bodrin told me sometimes when he goes to play by the creek he sees faeries watching him from the trees. Ugly ones with big hairy noses and tiny eyes. Some of the children said they're trolls, maybe spriggans. Paul said it's definitely a boggart and his ma told him to be especially nice to them so they'd be nice in return. Everyone laughed when he told us his ma leaves out milk and bread for the faeries, sometimes even honey. His cheeks got all red when we mocked him, then he poked Bethany hard in the arm and she chased him all the way inside.

Bodrin assured all of us the ones he saw were goblins. The meanest type of faerie, he said. He said they're thieves who'll take your last coin and your only pair of boots, and crash about your house making a mess while you're asleep. When none of us seemed that impressed by that he said, "They eat humans, too! Children, especially, since they're monsters. And since they're not too big."

I asked him if they ever come out and try to eat him. He said when he yells at them and throws rocks they just laugh and run away. But he told me it's a mean laugh.

My father and Rogemere talk about the faeries sometimes, when they think I can't hear. Paul's ma is wrong. They're scary and evil. I wish I could see them, like Bodrin. I'd take my sword with me, the one Father says I can't use until I'm older. Or maybe I'd learn a magic spell that sets them all on fire. I wouldn't let them get away.

I take another swing with my play sword. “Take that, monster!”

"Adain!" my mother says, swooping in to stop me before I dent the wooden post. I let her take my sword away with a pout. She pulls me into her lap and kisses my cheek. "Where did you hear such things, little bird? We mustn't talk about those creatures. You know that."

"But why?" I cry. "The other children do! It's just a game! A funny story."

She frowns for a moment, thinking. "I tell you what," she says, giving me that secret, mischievous smile she reserves only for me, "you get dressed, and I'll play along. You can be a powerful wizard or a brave swordsman and I'll be a beautiful queen of the Wood, come to lure you away with sweets and pretty music and eat you up."

I screech and dive away from her as she lunges, hands curled into claws, to tickle under my arms. As soon as she reaches me I collapse into breathless giggles.

"Go on!" she says, setting me on my feet and smoothing my hair out of my eyes with a gentle touch. It is the same shade of black as hers, but while hers falls in a shining wave down her back, mine is always a wild mess. "Get dressed! We're going to be late for the festival, and then your father will be cross with us."

I stomp over to where the maid laid out my least favorite outfit, a stiff brocade jacket that has too many buttons and squishes me tight. Bodrin is a kitchen maid’s son and he doesn’t have to wear stuff like this and be careful not to muddy his clothes. "Can't I go with my friends?" I whine. "They get to watch all the shows from right up close. I don't want to be stuck all the way at the back of the parade like every year."

Mother makes an exaggerated expression of anger, eyes wide and neck arched back. "You'd disobey the orders of a faerie queen?" she hisses. "I will turn your skin into armor and feed your bones to my ogres, human."

I laugh, pulling on my clothes obediently. She bends down to help me with the buttons, her purple shawl falling in front of my face.

She gives me a kiss on the forehead before straightening. "Just like that, you're a prince."

"I'm always a prince," I say.

She takes my hand. "I see," she says, grinning. "I apologize, your highness. I mistook you for my little bird."

"I'm that, too," I say.

She stops with one hand on the door of my bedchamber. "Adain, that game we were playing? Don't tell your father. He works very hard to keep his kingdom safe from terrible creatures. To make sure there are no real monsters here in Ylvemore. He wouldn't understand that it's just pretend."

I nod seriously. "I won't," I say.

She smiles, that playful quirk of her lips that’s just for me.

We step out of the room and are quickly swept up in the bustle of people leaving the palace, every servant and courtier thronging into the streets of the city for a full day of celebration. My mother and I meet up with my father outside of the stables, where he is adjusting his armor astride his most impressive horse. The morning light shines off of his polished breastplate. Though the air is crisp with winter chill, the sun is warm against my skin.

"There they are!" he booms in greeting. Mother rises up on her toes to give him a kiss.

"Want to ride with me, son?" my father asks, holding out a hand.

I hesitate, but my mother gives me an encouraging look. Feeling a twinge of disappointment, I let my father pull me up in front of him. The crowd parts as we ride out of the palace gates and take our place behind the lines of wizards winding their way through the city. The Captain of the Guard trots a short distance behind us, making sure no one gets too close to the king. Surrounding us on every other side is a contingent of royal guards. My mother perches in an ornate open carriage right before us, following behind Father's Grand Advisor, Master of Coin and Keeper of Law. The three non-wizard council members huddle within a sleek, covered black carriage as though afraid of the world outside. Occasionally I'll see one of them peek a wrinkled face out of one of the carriage's small windows before ducking hastily back inside.

In front of the royal procession are the Ironborn, starting with the High Priest in his massive shining headdress, the circle of spiked iron glinting in the sun, his deep red robes fluttering in the breeze as he magically hovers a few feet above the ground. He turns and gives my father a smile, raising his staff in a sort of salute. Below him, on a long golden platform enchanted to move at the wizards' commands, the Prime Chancellor and his seven University Masters stand serenely in their heavy, iron-covered robes. Marching ahead of them are the Ironborn soldiers, a small army of sword-wielding spellcasters in gold-plated armor.

At a signal from the High Priest, the parade begins. Music suddenly swells and spreads across the city. The rooftops are covered in a soft layer of white snow, but today magical heat permeates the area below. There is not one patch of ice on the twisting labyrinth of streets. We start to move. Somewhere ahead of us I see flashes of bright colored lights and swirls of fire shooting through the air above the heads of the crowd. During the festival, every Ironborn priest and young University student has the chance to show off their spells for the people of Ylvemore. The stories of the great war will be told with fantastic effects and bursts of real flame. But even from the vantage point atop my father's horse, I can barely make out any of that. Instead I have a good view of a slow and stately line of powerful old men and the backs of warriors striding stiffly in suits of armor.

My mother throws flowers at the crowd as we go, as she does every year. A welcome taste of spring during the coldest season. Sometimes there are coins amid the shower of petals, and people rush forward to snatch them from the cobblestones. As we continue down the streets, she leaps down from her carriage and joins in a dance at the edge of the crowd. The guards shuffle out of her way, never quite sure how to react to her unorthodox behavior. I watch her take the hands of an elderly peasant woman and spin her around. A man with a small child sitting on his shoulders leans forward so the girl can place a crown of flowers on my mother's head. The little girl turns to wave at me, and I smile awkwardly.

"Would you like to get down, Adain?" my father asks, his voice gruff.

I look up at him abruptly, eyes wide. "Can I?"

My father's beard hides most of his expression, but I can see the smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Go on," he says.