The Iron Knight

Memory, knowledge, strength and regret. Those were the words we uncovered, carved into the stone floor in front of each broken pillar. With each one we unearthed, the hazy puzzle pieces started to join, though still not enough to form the whole picture.

“Okay.” Puck dragged his hands down his face, scrubbing his eyes. “Think, Goodfellow. What do memory, knowledge, strength, and regret have to do with the four seasons?”

“It’s not the seasons,” I said quietly, as the pieces slid into place. “It’s us.”

Puck frowned at me. “Care to explain that logic, prince?”

“Winter leaves scars that do not heal,” I recited, recalling the second line of the riddle. “Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” I pointed to a pillar. “But, replace it with that word, and see what you get.”

“Memory leaves scars that do not heal,” Puck said automatically. He frowned again, then his eyes widened, looking at me. “Oh.”

The Wolf growled, curling a lip at the pillar as if it was a waiting demon disguised as a rock. “So, we are to believe that the answer to this riddle, this ancient puzzle that has stood here for countless centuries, is us?”

“Yes.” In the center of the platform, Grimalkin opened his eyes. “The prince is correct. I have reached the same conclusion.” He gazed calmly around the platform, pausing at each of the four broken pillars. “Memory, knowledge, strength, regret. The seasons represent the four of us, so we must match the right word to the correct stanza.”

“But, there are five of us,” Ariella pointed out. “Five of us, but only four pillars. Which means one of us is missing. Or, left out.”

“We shall see,” Grimalkin mused, unconcerned. “First, though, we must figure out the rest of the puzzle. I believe the prince has already found his place. What about you, Goodfellow?” He looked at Puck, twitching his tail. “Summer is a fire that burns inside. What word best describes you? Knowledge has never been your strong suit. Strength … perhaps.”

“Regret.” Puck sighed, with a quick glance at me. “Regret is a fire that burns inside. It’s regret, so shut up and get on with the others.” He moved toward the pillar opposite me, crossing his arms and leaning against it.

The scorpions were getting louder, more frantic, as if they knew we were scant seconds away from solving the riddle. Their legs and carapaces scraped against the rock, an ocean of noise surging around us. Grimalkin sniffed and shared a glance with the Wolf.

“I believe the last two are fairly obvious, are they not?” he mused, sauntering toward the pillar that said Knowledge. “I do agree, knowledge is sometimes a terrible burden. The last pillar is yours, dog. I do not think we can argue your strength. Your intelligence, perhaps, but not your strength.”

“What about Ariella?” I glanced at her, looking a bit lost on the edge of the platform. “She has the burden of knowledge as well, not just you, cait sith.”

“Ariella is a Winter fey, and we already have a Winter,” Grimalkin replied easily, hopping onto the broken pillar of Knowledge, peering down at us all. “And I think you would be in favor of solving this quickly, prince. In any case, I believe we have to stand on the pillars together. That is generally how these puzzles work.”

The Wolf growled, leaping atop the broken stone, huge paws close together on the edge. “If this does not work, cat, I will make sure to eat you first before the scorpions get to us,” he muttered, balanced precariously on the small platform. Grimalkin ignored him.

Puck and I followed suit, jumping easily onto the broken pillars, as the sea of scorpions chittered and writhed below us. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, the sphinxes’ eyes opened, searing blue, their voices echoing through the room.

“You—” they breathed, sending a ripple of power over the sand “—have chosen … incorrectly.”

“What!” Puck yelped, but it was drowned by the furious buzz of millions of scorpions, stirred into a frenzy. “No, that can’t be right. Furball’s never wrong! Wait—”

“You—” the sphinxes breathed again “—will die.”

I drew my sword, tensing to drop down as the scorpions rushed forward, scaling the platform and spilling over the edge. Ariella gasped and stumbled backward, as the living carpet of claws and legs and stingers began covering the platform.

“Stay where you are!” Grimalkin’s voice rang through the chamber, booming and steely with authority. We froze, and the cat turned wild golden eyes on Ariella, baring his teeth, all his fur standing on end. “Time!” he spat, flattening his ears. “Time is the fifth answer, the cog that turns the wheel! Stand in the center now!”

I clenched my fists as Ariella ran to the middle of the platform, the flood of scorpions closing in from all sides. They swarmed up the pillars, crawling over my clothes, legs and pinchers digging into my flesh. I lashed out and sent dozens of them flying, but of course there were always more. They were not stinging … yet. But I felt the seconds ticking away, and knew that if the creatures beat Ariella to the heart of the dais, we were finished. Puck yelled a curse, flailing wildly, and the Wolf roared in fury as Ariella finally reached the center of the dais.

As soon as she set foot in the middle, a shiver went through the air, starting from the center of the dais and spreading outward, like ripples on a pond. The flood of scorpions halted, inches from swarming Ariella, and started flowing backward, leaving the platform and crawling down from the pillars. I shook the last of the tiny predators off me and watched the carpet recede, disappearing beneath the sands once more. In seconds, they had vanished completely, and the dunes were still.

“You have chosen … correctly,” the sphinxes whispered, and closed their eyes again.

Ariella was shaking. I leaped from the platform and went to her, wordlessly pulling her close. She trembled in my arms for a moment, then gently freed herself and drew away, smoothing her hair back.

“Wow,” Puck muttered, dusting off the front of his shirt, “now, that was weird. And to think, I never thought I’d live to see the day….” He trailed off, grinning.

I eyed him wearily. “Fine, I’ll bite. You don’t mean the scorpions or the sphinx. We’ve seen much stranger than that.”

“No, ice-boy. I never thought I’d see the day when Grimalkin was wrong.”

Grimalkin, still on his broken pillar, didn’t react, but I saw his whiskers bristle as he glanced our way. “Goodfellow,” he said with an enormous yawn, “I feel obliged to point out that, had I been wrong, you would all be full of tiny holes right now. Anyway, we are wasting time. I suggest we move out, quickly. I certainly do not wish to be stuck here until the end of time with any of you.” And before we could reply, he leaped down and trotted off in the direction of the now-open door, passing between the sphinxes with his tail held high.

I looked at Puck, smirking. “I think you offended him, Goodfellow.”

He snorted. “If I ever worried about that, I’d never open my mouth.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN REFLECTION

The door past the sphinxes opened to another narrow corridor, empty of fire-breathing dragons this time, but no less strange. It stretched away into the darkness, lit only by orange candlelight, flickering against walls. The flames seemed to float in the air, reflecting off the surfaces of hundreds of full-length mirrors lining the corridor on both sides.

Glancing at my own image, I paused, faintly surprised at the stranger in the mirror. The pale, dark-haired reflection stared back grimly, clothes tattered around the edges, eyes touched with exhaustion. I barely recognized myself, but maybe that was a good thing. After all, that was why I was here; to become something else, someone else. If all went as planned, Ashallayn’darkmyr Tallyn, third prince of the Unseelie Court, would no longer exist.

What will it be like as a human? I wondered at my reflection. Will I still be myself? Will I remember everything about my life in the Winter Court, or will all those memories disappear? I shook my head. It was useless to wonder about that now, when we were so close, but still ….