Puck took my hand, gripping it as if he could keep me here just by holding on. I looked into his green eyes, shining with emotion, and saw all his years as Fey, all his triumphs and failures, loves and losses. I saw him as Puck, the devilish, legendary troublemaker, and as Robin Goodfellow, a being as ancient as time, with his own scars and wounds gathered in his immortal life. Puck squeezed my hand, tears running unabashedly down his face, and shook his head.
“Wow,” he muttered, his voice choked with tears. “Here we are, the last night and all, and I can’t think of anything to say.”
I pressed my palm to his cheek, feeling the moisture beneath my fingers, and smiled at him. “How about ‘goodbye’?”
“Nah.” Puck shook his head. “I make a point of never saying goodbye, princess. Makes it sound like you’re never coming back.”
“Puck—”
He bent and kissed me softly on the lips. Ash stiffened, arms tightening around me, but Puck slid out of reach before either of us could react. “Take care of her, ice-boy,” he said, smiling as he backed up several paces. “I guess I won’t be seeing you, either, will I? It was…fun, while it lasted.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to kill each other,” Ash said quietly.
Puck chuckled and bent to retrieve his fallen dagger. “My one and only regret. Too bad, that would have been an epic fight.” Straightening, he gave us that old, stupid grin, raising a hand in farewell. “See you around, lovebirds.”
Glamour rippled through the air, and Puck disintegrated into a flock of screaming ravens, flapping wildly as they scattered to all corners of the room. The knights ducked as the birds swooped over their heads, cawing in their harsh, mocking voices. Then the birds vanished into the darkness, the sound of wings disappeared, and Puck was gone.
THE KNIGHTS LET US THROUGH without a fight, bowing their heads as we passed. Some of them even raised their swords, as if in salute, but I didn’t really notice much. Cradled gently in Ash’s arms, my body and mind numb to everything, I concentrated on not falling asleep, knowing if I did, I might never open my eyes. Soon I could rest, give in to the exhaustion claiming my body, lie back and forget it all, but I had one last thing to do. And then I could finally let it all go.
Soft flakes touched my cheek, and I looked up.
We were outside the fortress now, standing at the top of a flight of stairs, gazing down at the field. The sounds of battle had ceased, and silence hung over the field as every eye, be it Summer, Winter, or Iron, turned in my direction. Everyone was frozen, staring at me in shock, unsure of what to do.
Ash never stopped, walking deliberately forward, his face unreadable, and the ranks of Summer, Winter, and Iron fey parted for him without a word. Faces passed by me, silent in the falling ash. Diode, his whirling eyes wide with alarm. Spikerail and his herd, lowering their heads as we walked by. Gremlins trailed us, hushed and grim, weaving their way through the crowd.
Mab and Oberon came into view, their eyes at once blank and sympathetic. Ash didn’t stop, even for Mab. He marched by the faery rulers without even a glance, continuing through the gray drifts, until we reached the edge of the field and the huge frost dragon waiting for us. The dragon shifted, settling back to stare at the Winter prince with ice-blue eyes.
“Take us into the Iron Realm.” Ash’s voice was soft, but several degrees below freezing, leaving no room for argument. “Now.”
The dragon blinked. Hissing softly, it turned and crouched low, stretching its long neck for Ash to get on. Without so much as a jolt, Ash stepped onto a scaly forearm and leaped up between the dragon’s shoulders, settling me in his lap. As the dragon rose up, spreading its wings to launch, Razor let out a buzzing cry, and the gremlins exploded into shrill, high-pitched wailing, leaping up and down and pulling at their ears. Though startled, no one moved to stop them, and their keening voices followed us into the air, until the wind swallowed them up.
I DIDN’T REMEMBER FLYING. I didn’t remember landing. Just a soft thump as Ash slid off the dragon’s back onto solid ground again. Raising my head from his chest, I gazed around. The landscape was blurred and fuzzy, like a fading, out-of-focus camera, until I realized it was me and not the surroundings. Everything was gray and dark, but I could still make out the tree, the great iron oak, rising from the tower ruins to brush the sky.
Behind us, the dragon made a low rumble that sounded like a question. “Yes, go,” Ash murmured without turning around, and there was a blast of wind that signaled the dragon had fled, back to the Nevernever where it wouldn’t be poisoned. I noted, in my numb state of mind, that Ash didn’t tell it to wait for him.
Because he wasn’t planning to leave, either.
Ash’s step was firm as he carried me through the tower, drifting through the empty ruins, slipping through the shadows, until we reached the base of the tree. Only when we stepped into the central chamber and the branches loomed above us did he start to tremble. But his voice was steady, and his grip didn’t loosen as he approached the trunk and stopped, lowering his head to mine.