The Iron Raven

Book 1: Iron Fey: Evenfall

by Julie Kagawa

Genres: YA Contemporary; YA Paranormal; Fantasy

Synopsis

Wicked faeries and fantastic danger… Welcome to book one of the new trilogy in New York Times bestselling author Julie Kagawa’s Iron Fey fantasy series, as infamous prankster Puck finally has a chance to tell his story and stand with allies new and old to save Faery and the world. For fans of Holly Black and Cassandra Clare!

“YOU MAY HAVE HEARD OF ME…”

Robin Goodfellow. Puck. Prankster, joker, raven, fool… King Oberon’s right-hand jester from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The legends are many, but the truth will now be known, as Puck finally tells his own story and faces a threat from a time before Faery began. A threat that brings him face-to-face with a new enemy…himself.

With the Iron Queen Meghan Chase and her prince consort, Puck’s longtime rival Ash, and allies old and new by his side, Puck begins a fantastical and dangerous adventure not to be missed or forgotten. Evenfall is coming, and with it a reckoning that even their combined powers and wits may not vanquish, as a shadow falls over the lands of Faery and the world slips into chaos.

THE IRON FEY: EVENFALL

The Iron Raven
The Iron Sword

THE IRON FEY:

The Iron King
The Iron Daughter
The Iron Queen
The Iron Knight

The Iron Prince
The Iron Traitor
The Iron Warrior

Novellas:

Shadow’s Legacy (Evenfall #0.5)

Release date: February 9, 2021

Publisher: Inkyard Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

1

PUCK IN THE MARKET

Present day

I love the goblin market.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, the market is super sketchy and dangerous. Make the wrong deal, agree to the wrong bargain, and you’ll find yourself cursed or enslaved for a thousand years. Or under contract to give away your firstborn kid (not that I have any). Or in possession of a thing that wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in that it tries to eat your face off every now and again.

You can find anything in the goblin market. Need a potion that will make someone fall in love with you? There’s a vendor on every corner that will sell you one. Want to buy a lamp with a genie inside that will grant you three wishes? The goblin market has you covered; turns out genies aren’t quite as rare as everyone thinks.

What they neglect to mention is that the love potion you bought will make your target psychotically obsessed with you, and the genie will grant your wish in the most twisted and sadistic way possible, because that’s just what they do. And this is after you’ve bargained away your soul or your voice or your best friend. The prices at the goblin market are high—mostly too high—for anyone to pay without massive regrets.

So yeah, the goblin market equals dangerous. Dangerous, risky...and tempting. Because that’s the allure, isn’t it? What’s life without a little danger? And Robin Goodfellow never backs down from a challenge.

It was midnight as I strolled through the weed-covered gates of the abandoned amusement park, the grounds silver and black under the light of the full moon. Beyond the fence, I could see the rusted hull of the Ferris wheel silhouetted against the sky, looming over the trees. Straight ahead, an ancient carousel sat silently in the dirt, its once-

bright horses flaking and chipped, paint and plaster scattered around the platform. An old popcorn booth rested close by, the glass shattered, all the kernels long nibbled away by rats or crows or roaches.

Pulling up the hood of my green sweatshirt I headed into the park.

The sounds and smells of the market drifted to me. Surrounding the carousel and scattered through the dusty yard, hundreds of tents, carts, booths, stalls, and tables of every size turned the flat, open space into a miniature labyrinth. Crowds of fey milled through the aisles, faeries of every shape, size, and court, from Summer to Winter to the wyldwood, as the goblin market was neutral ground and everyone was welcome as long as they could pay.

The vendors at the various booths came in every shape and size as well. A green, pointy-eared goblin stood beside a table selling dice sets of carved bone. A few tents down, a Summer gentry brushed her collection of cloaks, all made of leaves, feathers, or spiderwebs. The smell of grilled meat filled the air, coming from a spit with an entire boar spinning slowly over the flames, a lanky gray troll turning the handle. Its beady red eyes caught sight of me and widened, and its sinewy body straightened in alarm.

With a grin, I ducked my head and melted into the crowd. As fun as pissing off a troll could be, the aftermath would probably cut my visit to the market short. For once, I was just browsing, not on any official business, and I wasn’t ready to leave.

The ground under my boots became packed and hard as I walked down the center fairway. Vendors called to the crowd, hawking their wares: herbs and crystals, weapons and trinkets, dragons’ blood, hens’ teeth, hairpins made of sculpted ice, potions, magic beans, faery dust, and everything in between. I hesitated at a table selling beads that would turn into mice if they got wet, my brain spinning with hilarious ideas, but I shook my head with a frown.

Stop it, Goodfellow. You’re already in pretty hot water with Titania, I reminded myself. Making her tub explode with rodents while she’s taking a bath would get the hounds and the knights and those creepy spriggan assassins sent after you. It’s probably not worth it.

Pause.

Nah, it’s totally worth it.

“Robin Goodfellow?”

I winced and turned. Across the aisle, a crinkle-faced gnome whose white hair looked like a miniature sheep was sleeping on her head peered at me over a long, low table. The counter before her was lined with green, longneck bottles that, even from several paces away, let off a heady sweet smell that could make a lesser faery slightly dizzy.

I grinned and stepped up to the table, putting my fingers to my lips. “Shh, Marla. Don’t say my name too loudly. I’m incognito tonight.”

“Incognito.” The ancient gnome scowled, making her eyes nearly disappear into the folds of her face. “In a heap of trouble, more likely. What are you doing here, you terrible thing? And get away from my bottles. The last thing I need is for my wine to somehow make its way into the livestock tents. I can just see the nobles’ carriages veering into ditches and trees because their horses are all suddenly very drunk.”

“What?” I blinked at her, wide-eyed. “That happened at only one Elysium, and no one could prove what went wrong.” The biannual event where the faery courts came together to discuss politics and review treaties while parading around in fancy clothes was just as boring as it sounded. For my own sanity, I made it a point to spice things up every once in a while. “Though come on, admit that watching Mab’s carriage walk in circles the whole way out was hilarious.”

“I will admit no such thing,” the wine vendor snapped, and jabbed a withered finger in my direction. “Only that you are an incorrigible troublemaker and always up to no good. I don’t know why Lord Oberon hasn’t banished you permanently.”

“Well, he keeps trying.” I shrugged, grinning at her. “But never sticks. I guess I’m just too charming. I’ve been banished from the Nevernever...what, three times now? Or, is it four? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Eventually, he always orders me to come back. Funny how that happens.”

It happened because I was far too useful to keep away for long, and Oberon knew it. And while it was comforting, in its own twisted way, that the Summer King would never truly get rid of me, there were times when I wished I could be free, even if that would leave me homeless.

The gnome shot me a dark look, and I gave her a dreamy, overexaggerated smile. “Between us, I think Titania secretly 

misses me too much.”

Marla snorted. “If the Summer Queen heard you say that, there’d be lightning storms for a month,” she muttered, then straightened in alarm. “Wait, you were looking at Ugfrig’s wares a moment ago,” she exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you were contemplating the mouse beads.”

“Well...”

A snuffle interrupted us. I looked down to see a small, brown-and-white dog gazing up at me, stub tail wagging. It was cute, in a scraggly, ankle-biter kind of way. But I could see the copper gears, cogs, and pistons poking through its fur that marked it as a creature of the Iron Court. A clockwork hound. Or terrier, I supposed. A pair of flight goggles on its head glittered in the moonlight as the dog gazed up at me and whined.

I smiled. “Hey, pooch,” I greeted. “Where did you come from?” It gave a small, hopeful yap, and I shrugged. “I don’t have any gears you can munch on, sorry.”

Marla gazed over the edge of the table and recoiled like I was talking to a giant cockroach. “Abomination!” she spat, and the clockwork terrier cringed at the sound of her voice. “Get out of here, monster! Shoo!”

The small creature fled, gears and pistons squeaking as it scurried away and vanished around a booth.

I frowned. “Well, it’s a good thing you scared it off. It looked terribly vicious.”

“It was of the Iron Realm,” the gnome muttered, wrinkling her nose. “It belongs to the Iron faery that set up shop in the goblin market. Horrible creature. They shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Wait, there’s an Iron faery here? In the market?” I was surprised. Though there was no law that barred the Iron fey from the goblin market, in the early days most of the traditional fey would not have tolerated their presence. Recently, however, it had been officially decreed that the goblin market was open to all fey, including the faeries of the Iron Realm. This was at the Iron Queen’s insistence, because the faeries of Summer and Winter welcomed change as well as an old cat welcomed a new puppy. But this was the first I’d heard of one setting up shop.

“Where is this Iron faery?” I asked.

The gnome gave a disapproving sniff. “In a tent on the far edge of the market,” she replied, stabbing a finger in that direction. “Beneath the old Ferris wheel. At least it has the 

good sense to keep away from the rest of us.” She eyed me in a critical manner. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would want to associate with those abominations.”

“Nope, that’s me. I love hanging around abominations.” I grinned at her sour expression, though truthfully, I was surprised at the venom coming from the tiny gnome. Though the Iron fey still faced fear and distrust from the rest of the Nevernever, most residents of Faery had accepted they were here to stay. “But, uh, you are aware that we’ve been at peace with the Iron Court for years now, right? And that their queen is kind of a good friend of mine?”

She snorted. “I don’t mind the Iron Queen,” she stated. “Or the rest of them, as long as they stay within their own borders. But I don’t want to have to worry about Iron fey when I’m in the goblin market. Or anywhere that isn’t the Iron Realm.” Marla shook a finger at me. “The next time you see the Iron Queen, you should tell her to keep her subjects within her own territory, not allow them to wander where they please, terrorizing normal fey.”

“Well, this has been a riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have to go.” I stepped back from the counter, smoothly avoiding a collision with a dwarf, who grumbled at me under his beard. Tugging my hood up farther, I glanced at Marla over the bottles of wine and offered my best disarming smile. “I’m off to find this Iron vendor and send them your well wishes.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “This will be ignored I’m sure, but be careful, Robin. You might be in the good graces of the Iron Queen, but none of those things can be trusted.”

“Careful?” I grinned. “I’m Robin Goodfellow. When am I not careful?”

She rolled her eyes, and I left, melting back into the crowds of the goblin market.

Well, that was weird. I wonder what’s up? Did a gremlin spit in her wine or something?

I wasn’t naive. I knew there were those in the Nevernever that still hated and feared Meghan’s subjects; I just hadn’t expected to run into such blatant hostility here. In the market, you left all grudges, feuds, and personal vendettas behind. It was how a Summer sidhe and a Winter gentry could browse side by side without killing each other. Or why a halfling could walk past a motley of redcaps without fear of having their limbs ripped off. One did not tamper with the sanctity of the market, especially since many of the 

vendors sold some of the most dangerous, rare, and questionable items in the entire world of Faery. Make trouble here, and the least that could happen was being banned for life. Not even I would risk pissing off the goblin market.

Regardless, that seemed a bit extreme. It’s not like the Iron fey have threatened anyone since the war with Ferrum.

I made my way through scattered booths and tents, ignoring the vendors that called to me. A persistent kobold latched on to my sleeve, squawking something about his fine tools; I turned my head and grinned at him beneath my hood, and he let go like he’d grabbed a scorpion.

Finally, the crowds thinned, and the booths and tents fell away until I stood beneath the rusted hulk of the Ferris wheel, which groaned softly as the wind blew through the metal frame.

Straight ahead, in the shadow of the derelict ride, stood a strange setup that was part carnival stall, part wagon, part junkyard. The booth sat on four rusty wheels and looked like it had been slapped together with corrugated metal and duct tape. Boxes, crates, and flimsy metal shelves surrounded it, blinking with strands of Christmas lights, and a neon pink sign flashed OPEN against the wall of the booth. Another sign, this one made of wood and iron, had been jammed into the ground near the entrance. Cricket’s Collectables, it read in bold copper letters. Trinkets, Gadgets, Oddities.

A low growl echoed from the shadows as I approached the booth, and a pair of clockwork hounds, these much bigger than the brown-and-white terrier from earlier, slid from between crates and boxes to stare at me. They looked like rottweilers, the gears and cogs in their fur spinning lazily as they came forward.

“Oh hey, guys.” I stopped, raising a hand to the dogs, who eyed me with flat, unfriendly gazes. “I come in peace. I’m not going to snitch your stuff.” They continued to shoot me baleful looks, and I offered a weak smile. “Um... I’ll trade you safe passage for a squeaky bone.”

“Ooh, a customer.” The door of the stall opened, and a figure emerged, the small brown-and-white dog at her heels. The two clockwork hounds immediately turned and trotted back into the shadows, becoming one with the piles of junk surrounding the stall. 

“Howdy, stranger.” The figure strode toward me, beaming a bright, toothy smile. She was small and willowy, with long pointed ears and bright copper hair that seemed metallic. She wore a brown leather corset, leather gloves, and knee-high leather boots, all trimmed in gold, iron, and copper gears. Her skin was circuit-board green, and the pair of leather-and-gold goggles perched on her head were almost identical to the dog’s.

Yep, this was definitely an Iron faery. Just the amount of metal studs and loops in her long ears would be enough to give a traditional faery heart palpitations.

“Welcome, welcome!” the Iron faery said. “What can Cricket find for you this fine evening? Have you come to browse my wares, or are you looking for something in particular? Waaaaaaait a second,” she added before I could answer, and shiny black eyes peered at me beneath the goggles. “I’ve seen you before. You’re Robin Goodfellow, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh wow.” The faery grinned back with excitement. “I hear the stories they tell. You’re famous! Is it true you stormed Ferrum’s moving fortress with Queen Meghan and helped her defeat the false king? And went to the End of the World with the prince consort? And ventured into the Between to fight the entire army of Forgotten by yourself?”

“All true.” I smiled. “Well, most of it, more or less.” She sighed dreamily, and I gestured to the booth behind us. “But what about you? Can’t imagine you get many customers, even in the goblin market.”

“Not yet,” Cricket admitted cheerfully. “But setting up shop in the Iron Realm sounded so boring. There’s huge potential to be had in the market! Just think of the profit that will come from being the first Iron faery to run a successful trade alongside the other courts.”

“Right,” I said. “But there is that small, nagging problem of regular fey being deathly allergic to iron. Kinda hard to sell someone a product that melts their fingers off.”

Cricket shrugged. “All great treasures come with a certain amount of risk,” she said. “And not all of my wares are from the Iron Realm. Some come from the mortal realm, from the places I’ve seen and traveled to.” She waved an airy hand. “Besides, I’m confident that the regular fey will find a way to deal with their iron intolerance. They’ll adapt and evolve, I’m sure of it. It might take a while, but hey, I’ve got time. 

1

PUCK IN THE MARKET

Present day

I love the goblin market.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, the market is super sketchy and dangerous. Make the wrong deal, agree to the wrong bargain, and you’ll find yourself cursed or enslaved for a thousand years. Or under contract to give away your firstborn kid (not that I have any). Or in possession of a thing that wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in that it tries to eat your face off every now and again.

You can find anything in the goblin market. Need a potion that will make someone fall in love with you? There’s a vendor on every corner that will sell you one. Want to buy a lamp with a genie inside that will grant you three wishes? The goblin market has you covered; turns out genies aren’t quite as rare as everyone thinks.

What they neglect to mention is that the love potion you bought will make your target psychotically obsessed with you, and the genie will grant your wish in the most twisted and sadistic way possible, because that’s just what they do. And this is after you’ve bargained away your soul or your voice or your best friend. The prices at the goblin market are high—mostly too high—for anyone to pay without massive regrets.

So yeah, the goblin market equals dangerous. Dangerous, risky...and tempting. Because that’s the allure, isn’t it? What’s life without a little danger? And Robin Goodfellow never backs down from a challenge.

It was midnight as I strolled through the weed-covered gates of the abandoned amusement park, the grounds silver and black under the light of the full moon. Beyond the fence, I could see the rusted hull of the Ferris wheel silhouetted against the sky, looming over the trees. Straight ahead, an ancient carousel sat silently in the dirt, its once-bright horses flaking and chipped, paint and plaster scattered around the platform. An old popcorn booth rested close by, the glass shattered, all the kernels long nibbled away by rats or crows or roaches.

Pulling up the hood of my green sweatshirt I headed into the park.

The sounds and smells of the market drifted to me. Surrounding the carousel and scattered through the dusty yard, hundreds of tents, carts, booths, stalls, and tables of every size turned the flat, open space into a miniature labyrinth. Crowds of fey milled through the aisles, faeries of every shape, size, and court, from Summer to Winter to the wyldwood, as the goblin market was neutral ground and everyone was welcome as long as they could pay.

The vendors at the various booths came in every shape and size as well. A green, pointy-eared goblin stood beside a table selling dice sets of carved bone. A few tents down, a Summer gentry brushed her collection of cloaks, all made of leaves, feathers, or spiderwebs. The smell of grilled meat filled the air, coming from a spit with an entire boar spinning slowly over the flames, a lanky gray troll turning the handle. Its beady red eyes caught sight of me and widened, and its sinewy body straightened in alarm.

With a grin, I ducked my head and melted into the crowd. As fun as pissing off a troll could be, the aftermath would probably cut my visit to the market short. For once, I was just browsing, not on any official business, and I wasn’t ready to leave.

The ground under my boots became packed and hard as I walked down the center fairway. Vendors called to the crowd, hawking their wares: herbs and crystals, weapons and trinkets, dragons’ blood, hens’ teeth, hairpins made of sculpted ice, potions, magic beans, faery dust, and everything in between. I hesitated at a table selling beads that would turn into mice if they got wet, my brain spinning with hilarious ideas, but I shook my head with a frown.

Stop it, Goodfellow. You’re already in pretty hot water with Titania, I reminded myself. Making her tub explode with rodents while she’s taking a bath would get the hounds and the knights and those creepy spriggan assassins sent after you. It’s probably not worth it.

Pause.

Nah, it’s totally worth it.

“Robin Goodfellow?”

I winced and turned. Across the aisle, a crinkle-faced gnome whose white hair looked like a miniature sheep was sleeping on her head peered at me over a long, low table. The counter before her was lined with green, longneck bottles that, even from several paces away, let off a heady sweet smell that could make a lesser faery slightly dizzy.

I grinned and stepped up to the table, putting my fingers to my lips. “Shh, Marla. Don’t say my name too loudly. I’m incognito tonight.”

“Incognito.” The ancient gnome scowled, making her eyes nearly disappear into the folds of her face. “In a heap of trouble, more likely. What are you doing here, you terrible thing? And get away from my bottles. The last thing I need is for my wine to somehow make its way into the livestock tents. I can just see the nobles’ carriages veering into ditches and trees because their horses are all suddenly very drunk.”

“What?” I blinked at her, wide-eyed. “That happened at only one Elysium, and no one could prove what went wrong.” The biannual event where the faery courts came together to discuss politics and review treaties while parading around in fancy clothes was just as boring as it sounded. For my own sanity, I made it a point to spice things up every once in a while. “Though come on, admit that watching Mab’s carriage walk in circles the whole way out was hilarious.”

“I will admit no such thing,” the wine vendor snapped, and jabbed a withered finger in my direction. “Only that you are an incorrigible troublemaker and always up to no good. I don’t know why Lord Oberon hasn’t banished you permanently.”

“Well, he keeps trying.” I shrugged, grinning at her. “But never sticks. I guess I’m just too charming. I’ve been banished from the Nevernever...what, three times now? Or, is it four? Eh, it doesn’t matter. Eventually, he always orders me to come back. Funny how that happens.”

It happened because I was far too useful to keep away for long, and Oberon knew it. And while it was comforting, in its own twisted way, that the Summer King would never truly get rid of me, there were times when I wished I could be free, even if that would leave me homeless.

The gnome shot me a dark look, and I gave her a dreamy, overexaggerated smile. “Between us, I think Titania secretly misses me too much.”

Marla snorted. “If the Summer Queen heard you say that, there’d be lightning storms for a month,” she muttered, then straightened in alarm. “Wait, you were looking at Ugfrig’s wares a moment ago,” she exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you were contemplating the mouse beads.”

“Well...”

A snuffle interrupted us. I looked down to see a small, brown-and-white dog gazing up at me, stub tail wagging. It was cute, in a scraggly, ankle-biter kind of way. But I could see the copper gears, cogs, and pistons poking through its fur that marked it as a creature of the Iron Court. A clockwork hound. Or terrier, I supposed. A pair of flight goggles on its head glittered in the moonlight as the dog gazed up at me and whined.

I smiled. “Hey, pooch,” I greeted. “Where did you come from?” It gave a small, hopeful yap, and I shrugged. “I don’t have any gears you can munch on, sorry.”

Marla gazed over the edge of the table and recoiled like I was talking to a giant cockroach. “Abomination!” she spat, and the clockwork terrier cringed at the sound of her voice. “Get out of here, monster! Shoo!”

The small creature fled, gears and pistons squeaking as it scurried away and vanished around a booth.

I frowned. “Well, it’s a good thing you scared it off. It looked terribly vicious.”

“It was of the Iron Realm,” the gnome muttered, wrinkling her nose. “It belongs to the Iron faery that set up shop in the goblin market. Horrible creature. They shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Wait, there’s an Iron faery here? In the market?” I was surprised. Though there was no law that barred the Iron fey from the goblin market, in the early days most of the traditional fey would not have tolerated their presence. Recently, however, it had been officially decreed that the goblin market was open to all fey, including the faeries of the Iron Realm. This was at the Iron Queen’s insistence, because the faeries of Summer and Winter welcomed change as well as an old cat welcomed a new puppy. But this was the first I’d heard of one setting up shop.

“Where is this Iron faery?” I asked.

The gnome gave a disapproving sniff. “In a tent on the far edge of the market,” she replied, stabbing a finger in that direction. “Beneath the old Ferris wheel. At least it has the good sense to keep away from the rest of us.” She eyed me in a critical manner. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would want to associate with those abominations.”

“Nope, that’s me. I love hanging around abominations.” I grinned at her sour expression, though truthfully, I was surprised at the venom coming from the tiny gnome. Though the Iron fey still faced fear and distrust from the rest of the Nevernever, most residents of Faery had accepted they were here to stay. “But, uh, you are aware that we’ve been at peace with the Iron Court for years now, right? And that their queen is kind of a good friend of mine?”

She snorted. “I don’t mind the Iron Queen,” she stated. “Or the rest of them, as long as they stay within their own borders. But I don’t want to have to worry about Iron fey when I’m in the goblin market. Or anywhere that isn’t the Iron Realm.” Marla shook a finger at me. “The next time you see the Iron Queen, you should tell her to keep her subjects within her own territory, not allow them to wander where they please, terrorizing normal fey.”

“Well, this has been a riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have to go.” I stepped back from the counter, smoothly avoiding a collision with a dwarf, who grumbled at me under his beard. Tugging my hood up farther, I glanced at Marla over the bottles of wine and offered my best disarming smile. “I’m off to find this Iron vendor and send them your well wishes.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “This will be ignored I’m sure, but be careful, Robin. You might be in the good graces of the Iron Queen, but none of those things can be trusted.”

“Careful?” I grinned. “I’m Robin Goodfellow. When am I not careful?”

She rolled her eyes, and I left, melting back into the crowds of the goblin market.

Well, that was weird. I wonder what’s up? Did a gremlin spit in her wine or something?

I wasn’t naive. I knew there were those in the Nevernever that still hated and feared Meghan’s subjects; I just hadn’t expected to run into such blatant hostility here. In the market, you left all grudges, feuds, and personal vendettas behind. It was how a Summer sidhe and a Winter gentry could browse side by side without killing each other. Or why a halfling could walk past a motley of redcaps without fear of having their limbs ripped off. One did not tamper with the sanctity of the market, especially since many of the vendors sold some of the most dangerous, rare, and questionable items in the entire world of Faery. Make trouble here, and the least that could happen was being banned for life. Not even I would risk pissing off the goblin market.

Regardless, that seemed a bit extreme. It’s not like the Iron fey have threatened anyone since the war with Ferrum.

I made my way through scattered booths and tents, ignoring the vendors that called to me. A persistent kobold latched on to my sleeve, squawking something about his fine tools; I turned my head and grinned at him beneath my hood, and he let go like he’d grabbed a scorpion.

Finally, the crowds thinned, and the booths and tents fell away until I stood beneath the rusted hulk of the Ferris wheel, which groaned softly as the wind blew through the metal frame.

Straight ahead, in the shadow of the derelict ride, stood a strange setup that was part carnival stall, part wagon, part junkyard. The booth sat on four rusty wheels and looked like it had been slapped together with corrugated metal and duct tape. Boxes, crates, and flimsy metal shelves surrounded it, blinking with strands of Christmas lights, and a neon pink sign flashed OPEN against the wall of the booth. Another sign, this one made of wood and iron, had been jammed into the ground near the entrance. Cricket’s Collectables, it read in bold copper letters. Trinkets, Gadgets, Oddities.

A low growl echoed from the shadows as I approached the booth, and a pair of clockwork hounds, these much bigger than the brown-and-white terrier from earlier, slid from between crates and boxes to stare at me. They looked like rottweilers, the gears and cogs in their fur spinning lazily as they came forward.

“Oh hey, guys.” I stopped, raising a hand to the dogs, who eyed me with flat, unfriendly gazes. “I come in peace. I’m not going to snitch your stuff.” They continued to shoot me baleful looks, and I offered a weak smile. “Um... I’ll trade you safe passage for a squeaky bone.”

“Ooh, a customer.” The door of the stall opened, and a figure emerged, the small brown-and-white dog at her heels. The two clockwork hounds immediately turned and trotted back into the shadows, becoming one with the piles of junk surrounding the stall.

“Howdy, stranger.” The figure strode toward me, beaming a bright, toothy smile. She was small and willowy, with long pointed ears and bright copper hair that seemed metallic. She wore a brown leather corset, leather gloves, and knee-high leather boots, all trimmed in gold, iron, and copper gears. Her skin was circuit-board green, and the pair of leather-and-gold goggles perched on her head were almost identical to the dog’s.

Yep, this was definitely an Iron faery. Just the amount of metal studs and loops in her long ears would be enough to give a traditional faery heart palpitations.

“Welcome, welcome!” the Iron faery said. “What can Cricket find for you this fine evening? Have you come to browse my wares, or are you looking for something in particular? Waaaaaaait a second,” she added before I could answer, and shiny black eyes peered at me beneath the goggles. “I’ve seen you before. You’re Robin Goodfellow, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh wow.” The faery grinned back with excitement. “I hear the stories they tell. You’re famous! Is it true you stormed Ferrum’s moving fortress with Queen Meghan and helped her defeat the false king? And went to the End of the World with the prince consort? And ventured into the Between to fight the entire army of Forgotten by yourself?”

“All true.” I smiled. “Well, most of it, more or less.” She sighed dreamily, and I gestured to the booth behind us. “But what about you? Can’t imagine you get many customers, even in the goblin market.”

“Not yet,” Cricket admitted cheerfully. “But setting up shop in the Iron Realm sounded so boring. There’s huge potential to be had in the market! Just think of the profit that will come from being the first Iron faery to run a successful trade alongside the other courts.”

“Right,” I said. “But there is that small, nagging problem of regular fey being deathly allergic to iron. Kinda hard to sell someone a product that melts their fingers off.”

Cricket shrugged. “All great treasures come with a certain amount of risk,” she said. “And not all of my wares are from the Iron Realm. Some come from the mortal realm, from the places I’ve seen and traveled to.” She waved an airy hand. “Besides, I’m confident that the regular fey will find a way to deal with their iron intolerance. They’ll adapt and evolve, I’m sure of it. It might take a while, but hey, I’ve got time. Eventually, Cricket’s Collectables will be a household name through all of Faery.”

“Yeah...sure,” I said, because I didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. “Well...good luck with that.”

She gave me an appraising look. “And what about you? Do you need anything special tonight, Robin Goodfellow? A pocket watch with a heartbeat? A mechanical bird that sings? A handkerchief embroidered with the fur of a silver-metal fox?”

“Um...”

Deep, low growls cut through our conversation. Both clockwork hounds had stepped forward again, only this time, their hackles were raised and their iron teeth were bared to the gums.

Cricket turned on them with a frown. “Ballpeen! Springtrap! That’s not nice. I’m with a customer.”

“Excuse me.”

The quiet voice echoed behind us, and my stomach lurched. Even before we turned around, I knew who it was.

A figure stood at the edge of the yard, cloaked and nearly invisible, blending seamlessly into the night. The cloak was ragged at the edges, fraying into wisps of shadow that writhed into the air like a formless black cloud. The hood was drawn up, hiding the face, but I caught the flash of an ice-blue eye in the darkness of the cowl, the only spot of color I could see.

Ballpeen and Springtrap exploded into a chorus of loud warning barks. ...