The Iron Thorn - Caitlin Kittredge [164]
I nearly lunged forward and socked Tremaine in the jaw at that last, but I kept the geas between us. The flame began to flicker from the draft. “You told me he was shot,” I snarled.
“I lied,” Tremaine said. “I do so, from time to time. Oh, did your mother tell you the pretty fairies couldn’t lie? Her mind must be rotten enough from iron poisoning by now to believe that.”
“Why?” I cried, wanting to strangle him bare-handed. “All it did was nearly make me give up and die. I wasn’t going to help you.”
“I am pragmatic,” Tremaine said. “A useful trait of men. If you thought that sot of a brother was alive, you would be loyal to the Graysons, not the Folk. You’d try to find him. To rescue him. You could be diverted from your mission. But revenge against the Proctors by awakening the Folk? That cause made you quite able.”
“I hope I fail and your queens sleep forever,” I spat. “You’re vile.” I felt as if I were seeing Tremaine for the first time, and that even with his sculpted face and haunted eyes, he was indescribably ugly.
“I am the Regent of Winter!” Tremaine growled. “And the Thorn Land is mine to command whether my queen lives or dies!” He breathed and gained control over his trembling visage. I could tell the geas—and the truth it drew out like venom—was straining him.
“If this little tale has put you off your purpose,” Tremaine said, “consider that I could still simply kill your brother, your ghoul friend and your besotted Erlkin. Slowly, and in that order. Would that be sufficient motivation?”
The geas gave off the scent of rowan wood as it began to sputter and go out. “I’m not your subject,” I said softly, looking Tremaine in the eye so he’d know that he might have me cornered, but he didn’t frighten me anymore. “And don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I’m loyal to anything that comes from that foul place you call a kingdom.”
“I think you’ll change your tune in … six days, was it?” Tremaine folded his hands with the satisfied expression of a predator that had just brought down a lame deer.
“My father may have understood you,” I snarled. “But I don’t.”
“Your father?” Tremaine spat. “Grayson was my adversary, Aoife. He sought to keep Thorn and Iron locked in their old ways, old traditions. He and those foul mistling Erlkin.”
I started when he mentioned Dean’s people in the same breath as my father, but I kept my composure. “I knew Dean hated you, but it’s nice to know why.”
“The Gateminder and the Folk need one another for many reasons, Aoife, but need does not equate to love,” Tremaine said. “Someday, you’ll learn that. Archibald Grayson was not the human who favored the Folk. He sought to learn our secrets of sorcery and craftsmanship with his foul Brotherhood of Iron, and I, for one, am glad he’s gotten himself good and lost.”
Before I could retort, the geas went out with a crackle and a snap. Tremaine lunged for me, and in my shock I let him take hold of my throat. “Open yourself to the Engine,” Tremaine ordered. “Allow your Weird to right the wrongs visited on my people.” His nails dug half-moons from my flesh. “I had to threaten you, but I’d rather you understand. Whether you approve or not, there is a natural order and the Folk have a place in it. With their queen ruling and their lands alive. Otherwise, we’ll both suffer. The natural order. That’s all I want.”
“Do you really?” I demanded, thinking of Conrad’s voice in my dream. “Do you really want your queen awakened, or do you want Winter for yourself?”
Tremaine’s lips peeled back in a sinister grimace. “Politics of the Folk aren’t your concern, Aoife. The