Reaching down, he pulled the spear from his chest in one smooth, contemptuous motion. I struggled upright as the false king rose into the air, hair and clothes whipping around him in the gale. “Now,” Ferrum droned, lifting the spear above his head, “it is time to end this.”
Lightning arced from the ceiling to the tip of the spear, lancing down and crackling around the false king. I felt my hair stand up, rising away from my neck, as Ferrum lifted his other hand and pointed at me.
There was a blinding flash. Something slammed into my chest, and the noise of the world cut out, as abruptly as if someone had switched off a television.
Everything went white.
“YOU CANNOT BEAT HIM.”
Blinking, I squinted against the glare, shielding my eyes as I gazed around. All around me, everything was white. No ground, no shadows, nothing but a blank white void as empty as space.
But I knew he was here, with me.
“Where are you, Machina?” I asked, my voice echoing into the emptiness.
“I have always been here, Meghan Chase,” was Machina’s reply, coming from everywhere and nowhere. “I was given to you, freely and without constraint. It is you who has rejected me every time.”
That didn’t make any sense, and I shook my head to clear it, trying to remember where I was. “Where is everyone? Where is…Ferrum! I was fighting Ferrum. I have to get back. Where is he?”
“You cannot beat him,” Machina said again. “Not the way you are fighting. He is the essence of Iron’s corruption, feeding off the land like a bloated tick. His power is too great, and you cannot defeat him with Iron glamour alone.”
“I’m going to have to try,” I said angrily. “I don’t have a magic Witchwood arrow to kill him like I did you. I just have myself.”
“The Witchwood arrow was only a conduit for your own Summer glamour. It was powerful, yes, but it only worked because you are Oberon’s daughter, and his living, healing Summer blood flows through you. In essence, you injected the Iron King with your own Summer magic, and my body could not take it. It is the same with Ferrum.”
“Well, I can’t do that anymore. Every time I use Summer magic, the Iron gets in the way. I can’t use one without the other tainting it. I can’t win like that. I can’t—” Close to despair, I sank to my knees, burying my face in one hand. “I have to win,” I whispered. “I have to. Everyone is depending on me. There must be a way to use my Summer magic. Dammit, my father is the Summer King, there has to be a way to separate—”
And then it hit me.
I remembered my father. Not the Seelie King—my human father, Paul. I could see us sitting at the old piano, while he tried to explain how music worked. I could see the Iron glamour in the notes, the strict lines and rigid rules that made up the score, but the music itself was a vortex of song and pure, swirling emotion. They weren’t separate entities, creative magic and Iron glamour. They were one; cold logic and wild emotion, merged together to create something truly beautiful.
“Of course,” I whispered, reeling from the understanding. “I was using them separately, of course they reacted to each other. That’s what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it? This power—me, you, Summer and Iron glamour—I can’t use one or the other. They’re useless separated. I have to…make them one.”
It was so simple, now that I thought about it. Paul had shown me they could combine; it was nothing new. This was why Machina gave his power to me—I was the only one who could merge them, a half-breed who could wield both Summer and Iron.
I felt a presence behind me, but didn’t turn. There would be nothing there if I did. “Are you ready?” Machina whispered. No, not Machina, the manifestation of the Iron glamour, my Iron glamour. The magic I had been rejecting, running away from, all this time. Using it, but never really accepting it. That ended today. It was time.
“I’m ready,” I murmured, and felt hands on my shoulders, long-fingered and powerful. Steel cables began coiling around me, around us, tightening as they slithered over my skin. About the time they stabbed into me, wiggling under my skin and crawling up toward my heart, I closed my eyes. Machina’s presence was fading away, growing fainter and fainter, though right before he vanished altogether, he bent close and whispered in my ear:
“You’ve always had the power to defeat the false king. He is a corrupter, a life-taker, poisoning everything he touches. He will try to drain your magic by force. You can defeat him, but you must be brave. Together, we can restore this land.”
The cables finally reached my heart, and a jolt like an electrical current slammed into my body, as all that was left of the Iron King faded completely and was gone.