“Keirran,” I urged, extending a hand down, “give me your sword.”

  He did, passing it up by the hilt. I grabbed it, set it beside me on the roof, and reached for him once more. “Now your hand.”

  A Nightmare scuttled toward me out of nowhere and leaped for my back. It landed, disturbingly light, and then there was a blinding pain in my shoulder as it plunged something sharp into my flesh.

  Clenching my jaw around a yell, I reached back with my free hand, grabbed whatever I could, and yanked the Nightmare over my head. It sailed into the void, dropping past Keirran, barely missing him as it flailed and plummeted to the stones far below.

  “Keirran.” I reached for him again, and this time his fingers latched on to my wrist. I dragged him out of the hole, ignoring the way my shoulder blazed with pain, and pulled him to his feet on the roof. His eyes were bright with worry as they focused on me.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s not serious,” I told him, handing him his blade. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

  We continued across the roof, running along beams and leaping over holes, until we reached the spot where the fallen tower leaned against the wall. Rotting and ancient, it pointed like a finger toward the highest spot in the castle, the spire with water pouring from the top floor. I reached the base of the fallen tower and started to climb, trying to ignore the searing pain every time I used my right arm. I could feel warm wetness spreading across my back and hoped that whatever the Nightmare had stabbed me with wasn’t poisoned.

  Gritting my teeth, I reached for the top, and Keirran’s hand gripped mine and drew me up the final few feet. As I scrambled up with him, the stones beneath me disintegrated, making me stagger, and Keirran grabbed my other arm.

  His face paled as he drew his hand back, the palm and fingers stained red. “Not serious,” I insisted, though his expression remained alarmed. “It won’t kill me. Besides, there’s no time to deal with it now.” I gazed up the stone pathway before us, all the way to the turret roof, sticking out over empty air. The final spire, thin and crooked, waited for us on the other side of a deadly plunge to the bottom of the castle.

  “There’s quite a leap at the end,” Keirran mused, judging the space between turret and tower with narrowed eyes. I stared up at it, too, noting the water pouring from the top floor, cascading to the bottom. Most of the outer walls were gone, showing the lower floors through the gaps.

  Keirran and I scanned the outer wall of the tower, searching for the best way in. “If we aim for the third floor from the top,” I said, “we’ll avoid most of the waterfalls. I think we’re going to get wet no matter where we go, but at least the floor beyond isn’t waterlogged.”

  “What about the next one up?” Keirran replied, pointing to a hole farther up the tower. “It’s a harder jump, but we’ll be closer to the top—”

  A scratching sound interrupted him, and he glanced back as a trio of mouthless horrors clawed their way onto the tower with us. “Never mind. Third floor it is.”

  We sprinted up the tower, running along the uneven path, hearing the Nightmares skittering behind us. From the corner of my eye, I caught bursts of orange light coming from the courtyard below, heard the screams of the Nightmare ringing off the towers, and prayed my family would be safe for just a little longer.

  Keirran reached the end of the makeshift bridge and hurled himself into the air. I watched him soar gracefully over the gap, come down, and hit the ledge with room to spare, rolling into the tower. With the Nightmares right on my heels, I sprinted up the turret and bunched my muscles to follow.

  A rumble went through the air, and the entire tower beneath me shuddered. I staggered, but the edge was right there, and I couldn’t stop. I leaped into empty space, seeing a Nightmare slash at me as it flung itself off the roof as well, missing. It tumbled to the ground, bursting into dust on the stones.

  Oh, this is going to be close.

  I reached for the ledge, suddenly knowing I was going to miss it. But then Keirran was there, stretching out an arm and grabbing my wrist as I came down. I hit the side of the tower with a grunt that drove all the air from my lungs, but the grip on my hand didn’t waver. Keirran pulled me onto the ledge before we both collapsed, gasping, on the stones.

  My lungs burned, my legs shook, and my back stung with a constant, fiery pain. I wished I could lie down on the hard stones and not move for a few minutes, but I forced myself upright and gazed around. We had landed in a small, circular room with a pillar of water gushing straight down the center of the spire. A spiraling staircase, the same one I had seen in my dream, ran along the wall to the floors above.

  Keirran stood as well, putting a hand on my non-wounded arm. “Are you all right?” he asked. I nodded, and his gaze rose to the stairs. “Whatever we’re looking for, it has to be up there, right?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  22

  TEARS AND REGRET

  The stairs were covered in tears. There was no way to traverse them without stepping in the water, which sloshed against my boots and made my eyes burn wildly. For a moment, Keirran hesitated, eyes shadowed. But then he set his jaw and followed, striding up the waterlogged steps until we both reached the top.

  My throat and eyes burned. The smell of the tears was overwhelming, and the entire floor was covered in several inches of water, making it look like a small indoor pool. Nearly every wall had fallen away, showing open sky, and a swollen red moon had come out from behind the clouds. The hole in the center of the room gushed water, tears flowing through the cracks in the floor and over the sides of the tower in an unending stream of poison and despair.

  Keirran coughed, holding his sleeve to his jaw as he gazed around. “So much water,” he rasped. “Where is it all coming from?”

  “There,” I said, and pointed across the room.

  A square pool, looking almost like a marble bath, sat against the wall opposite us. There were no faucets, no streams gushing into the pool, but water overflowed from every side, spilling to the floor in an endless cascade.

  “Okay,” I mused, breathing as shallowly as I could as water sloshed around us. “We’re at the top of the tower. Where could the essence be? Do you see it, Keirran?”

  “No,” he replied. “But I see something else.”

  An arm rose out of the pool, clutching at the marble sides. It was transparent, seeming to be made of water; I could see the distorted sides of the pool through it. A body followed, watery and opaque like the attached arm, a creature of tears come to life.

  Another followed, transparent forms rising from the pool. As they stepped forward, their features changed, blurring and running together. And then, like the faces I’d seen in the wings of the Nightmare, I was suddenly facing a crowd of everyone I loved. Ash, Puck, Keirran, Ethan. My entire family. Not only them, but my own Iron fey stared back at me, their faces sorrowful and accusing.

  A huge man with eyes like glowing embers stared at me over the heads of the others, coils of metal dreadlocks hanging from his shoulders, and my heart gave a jolt of grief and recognition.

  Ironhorse.

  The sound of sobbing filled my ears, and the bitter smell of tears and pain was overwhelming.

  I shook myself. I had not failed anyone. My family lived. The Iron Kingdom was still there. I had given everything to protect my kingdom and the ones I loved, and I would still.

  Beside me, Keirran let out a breath that was mostly a sob, closing his eyes and turning away from the slowly approaching horde.

  “Keirran,” I said softly, “get a hold of yourself. They’re not real. You know this isn’t real.”

  “I know,” he rasped. “I am aware that this is the effect of the Wailing One, and what I’m seeing isn’t true. But...” Tears gathered in his eyes, spilling down his face even as he took a breath. “It still feels...like I’m back there, on that day. When I lost her. When the courts exiled me from the Nevernever.”

  My throat closed up. “You see Annwyl.”

  “Everywhere,” he choked. “And the Lady. And the Forgotten. And...everyone I killed during the war. Everyone I have failed or lost or betrayed. They’re all right here, staring at me.” His gaze rose to mine, bleak and haunted. “Even you.”

  Oh, Keirran. I wanted nothing more than to pull him close, to take away all the pain and guilt and grief he was still carrying, the wounds buried deep in his soul. Regardless of everything that had happened, he was my son, and I would always want to protect him. But we couldn’t give in to pain and sorrow now. Across the room of past regrets and trauma, the pool beckoned. If we were going to have a chance to beat the Elder Nightmare, we would have to get to it. Somehow.

  “Keirran,” I said, “we’re going to have to fight our way through. Can you do this?”

  He took a steadying breath and nodded, raising his sword. “I am sorry,” he whispered, and I was unsure who he was speaking to: Annwyl, myself, or someone else. “You don’t have to remind me. I already know.”

  The crowd was nearly upon us. Gripping my blade, I took one step forward and found myself facing Ethan across the water. He held his twin swords in each hand, and his deep blue eyes were hard as he approached, silently reminding me of all the times I had abandoned him. All the times I had not been there after I had vanished into Faery for the last time. His mouth opened, and his voice, ugly with bitter resentment, lanced into my head.

  “You left us,” he accused, his voice caught between a snarl and a sob. “You left me alone with the fey who made my life hell. You never loved us. Why did you always choose Them over me?”

  “You are not my brother,” I growled, dodging the sword coming at my face. I blocked the twin sword cutting down at my head and stabbed up with my blade, striking the fake Ethan in the chest and sinking it deep. The words stung, but they didn’t bring the crushing guilt I’d felt in the past, when he was confused and hurt, and I could not be there for him.

  Ethan and I have made our peace. He was angry for a long time, but he has accepted that Faery will always be a part of our lives. I regret the years that I lost with him, but he will always be my family. You’re going to have to do better than that.

  As my blade sank home, the false Ethan jerked and then became transparent as he turned to water again and collapsed. The others pressed in—Ash, Puck, Ironhorse, even my human parents, but their features were all slightly blurry. Ash’s double was the most transparent; he was almost see-through and did not have close to the skill that his real-life twin possessed. I still hated fighting even a weak shadow of my husband, and had to look away when I dealt the killing blow, but it was a relief when he disappeared. Of the mob crowding forward, he’d seemed the least real.

  In a startling moment of clarity, I understood. Out of everyone in this room, Ash was the least of my regrets. Of course, there were always going to be some. He had gone through a lot to be with me; we had both gone through hell to defy the courts and be with each other. The fallout of our decisions still shaped the Nevernever today. But I had never regretted falling in love with a Winter prince. Not once had I second-guessed my decision to marry the youngest son of the Unseelie Queen. In this nightmare world of fear, rage, sorrow, and regret, even if it all faded away, Ash would be the last one standing at my side.

  And then Keirran stepped forward, and for a moment, I had to glance over to see if the real Keirran was still there. What I saw chilled me. He stood several paces away, his sword lowered, the tip touching the ground and his head bowed. A figure stood before him, a fey girl with chestnut hair and large green eyes, watching Keirran with a look of heart-wrenching grief. Her lips were moving, and though I couldn’t hear any sound, I knew Keirran caught every word.

  Oh no. “Keirran!” I called, and immediately had to block as the mirror image of my son lunged and swiped at me with his blade. This Keirran was much more real than Ash had been, his strikes coming in fast and aggressive, driving me back a few steps. I blocked, parried, then spun to the left, my boots sending up sprays of water as I whirled and swept my blade at my opponent’s head. From the few sparring matches I’d had with my son, I knew Keirran was quick and skilled enough to easily duck, block, or simply not be there. This one was not. The sword edge sliced through the back of his neck, and thankfully, the false Keirran turned to water as his head toppled from his shoulders, easing a bit of the horror as he died.

  I whirled back, searching for the real Keirran, but the spot where he’d been standing moments before was empty. My heart clenched as I spotted him, walking steadily toward the pool at the back of the chamber. The crowds let him pass, and he paid them no mind, his gaze fixed to something at the back of the room. Annwyl, standing waist deep in the center of the pool, one hand outstretched to Keirran as she urged him forward.

  “Keirran!” I shouted, but my son ignored me. I started toward him, but the imposing bulk of a long-dead Ironhorse suddenly blocked my way. Grimly, I turned to fight one of the Iron Kingdom’s legends while trying to keep Keirran and Annwyl in my sights.

  “Keirran, snap out of it!” I called, ducking an enormous fist that swung at my face. But Keirran didn’t seem to hear me. Standing at the edge of the pool, he hesitated for a single heartbeat, then climbed over the rim into the water, joining Annwyl in the center.

  Trailing a hand over his shoulders, she circled him, bringing her lips close to his ear. Keirran closed his eyes, and she eased him back, into the waters. The tears closed over his head, and Keirran was gone.

  No.

  Rage flared. Dodging the blow to my head, I raised my sword and brought it down on the outstretched arm with a yell, shearing through the limb completely. Ironhorse staggered, and I lunged in, driving my blade into his chest and out his back.

  The rest of the horde closed in. With a scream, I hurled myself through the dissolving body and into the midst of my enemies. Faces flashed by me, familiar and recognizable. Puck, Nyx, Oberon. I cut them down, steeling myself every time they fell. They were shadows, all the regrets I’d carried with me ever since I’d walked into Faery, but they did not define me. I had not failed them, and right now, they were only obstacles between me and my son.

  I slashed through an enemy and turned to find there was only one left. A body stepped toward me, tall and lean, with long metallic hair and depthless black eyes. A cloak of writhing silver cables spread from his shoulders and down his back. I hadn’t seen him in ages, but I knew him instantly.

  “Iron Queen,” Machina the Iron King whispered. “An empty title. The Iron fey are mine. You merely stole them. You are nothing but a pretender.”

  I parried an iron cable that came slashing at my head, but was forced back as several more snaked around me. “A pretender,” the Iron King repeated, walking steadily forward, those silver cables writhing in a hypnotic, mesmerizing pattern. “What are you without your glamour?” he whispered. “Without your knight? Without that power? My power.” A tentacle lashed at me; I raised my sword and knocked it aside. “You are nothing,” Machina went on. “You are merely human. A thief with stolen magic. You can do nothing without glamour. Look around you, child. Girl. Where are you now? Who are you?”

  The cable came at me again. I raised my free hand and snatched it from the air, drawing a shocked look from the tall faery before me. Taking one step forward, I drove my sword into his center, ignoring the tentacles as they flailed wildly around us. Machina stared down at me, raising a long-fingered hand to gingerly touch the sword hilt in his chest.

  “I am the Iron Queen,” I told him simply, as his features blurred to water, and the Iron King collapsed into a puddle at my feet.

  I rushed through him to the pool. Pressing both palms to the marble lip, I stared into the depths, searching for Keirran. The overwhelming bitterness stung my eyes, making them water and tear; I scrubbed at them angrily and kept looking.

  A face appeared in the water, staring up at me. It rose swiftly toward the surface, making me step back as a figure broke through the water and stood before me.

  “Do you hate me, Iron Queen?” Annwyl whispered, lifting sorrowful green eyes to mine. “Do you despise me for stealing Keirran away? For causing him to turn against his court and family? Or do you hate yourself, for not being able to help him?” Her gaze narrowed, a spark of anger flickering across her face for just a moment. “You and the Winter prince defied all the laws of Faery that stated you could not be together. Why couldn’t it work for us? Why was your love more important than ours?”

  Guilt tore at me, but I gripped my sword and tensed to lunge. I will not stand here arguing with shadows. Not when Keirran is lying on the bottom of that pool.

  A sword suddenly exploded from the water behind Annwyl, and she jerked up, eyes going wide, as the point pierced her chest. Her mouth opened, and she rippled into water and collapsed, as Keirran burst from the pool in a spray of tears and lunged to the side.

  My heart stood still. Coughing and gasping, Keirran slumped against the rim, water pouring off him in waves. I grabbed his arm, dragged him from the pool, and knelt with him on the floor, holding him steady as he coughed and hacked and emptied water from his mouth and nose.

  “Keirran,” I said, once the violent expulsions had calmed somewhat. “Are you all right?”

  He retched, dragging a palm down his face. “Eyes...burning,” he gritted out. “Feels like I just ground a bunch of salt into my face. Can’t see anything.”

  “Breathe,” I told him, and he sucked in several deep, shuddering breaths. As he did, I noticed one of his hands, clutched tightly around what looked like a glass ball. “Keirran,” I said, touching the back of his hand. “Is this...?”