By Elizabeth Bear
She is called Seeker. Spellbound via the Faerie Queen, she has kidnapped human youngsters for her mistress’s excitement for what feels like an eternity, not able to loose herself from servitude and reclaim her personal humanity. Seeker’s newest prey is a Merlin. Named after the mythical wizard of Camelot, Merlins usually are not easily those that wield magic––they are magic. Now, with the Prometheus Club’s brokers and opponents from Faerie either vying for the desire of this being of unlimited magic to tip the stability of strength, Seeker needs to convince the Merlin to affix her cause—or else hazard wasting anything much more useful and extra very important to her than the destiny of humankind.…
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Extra info for Blood and Iron: A Novel of the Promethean Age
What right have you to pity him? And then the keyboardist leaned forward and growled into the microphone bent like a black swan’s neck toward her lips, and the world lit red behind Seeker’s eyes. Her. No. Her. The Merlin is a woman. Seeker rocked on her feet and fell hard against the wall. She craned her head to steal another glance at the keyboardist. The woman pulled her hands off the keys, sharing a smile with the drummer as she bent for her water— —and her gaze brushed Seeker’s, and she stopped.
And I have done nothing but recoup in some small way the losses you mortals have inflicted upon Faerie,” the Seeker answered, with a sidelong glance at the Merlin that told Matthew she knew it wasn’t as simple as that, no matter what she said. That maybe she didn’t believe it herself. “One might argue that it’s the Prometheus Club’s fault. When Faerie was stronger, the Seekers were farther between. ” The Seeker shrugged. “Is your argument that there is wrong on both sides of the war? ” The Merlin’s first word into the conversation that she’d watched with the bright intentness of a bird.
We are watched,” she whispered, bending in a matching bow. Her shadow flared a hood, balanced long and supple, stretching its length into the grass, and then broadened, widened, flaring ears and massive shoulders. “Your skin is cold. ” Her tongue tasted the air, and she smiled from bottomless eyes. ” The other’s formal tones fell away. ” Seeker came forward and laid her hand on Kadiska’s arm. ” Kadiska’s legends were not Elaine’s, and neither of theirs were the legends of Britain. But stories twine like the web of a spider, taken deep enough.