By Elizabeth Bear
She is named Seeker. Spellbound by means of the Faerie Queen, she has kidnapped human youngsters for her mistress’s excitement for what sounds like an eternity, not able to unfastened herself from servitude and reclaim her personal humanity. Seeker’s most modern prey is a Merlin. Named after the mythical wizard of Camelot, Merlins should not easily those that wield magic––they are magic. Now, with the Prometheus Club’s brokers and opponents from Faerie either vying for the prefer of this being of unlimited magic to tip the stability of energy, Seeker needs to convince the Merlin to affix her cause—or else probability wasting whatever much more priceless and extra very important to her than the destiny of humankind.…
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Extra resources for Blood and Iron: A Novel of the Promethean Age
For a time. Neither Lance nor Arthur had much to recommend them as lovers, though. Gwenhwyfar could have chosen better. ” And Seeker thought she heard in Morgan’s voice a trace of the old disdain of the brilliant— and lonely—woman for the one who is simple, and sought. “No matter. I wanted to warn you of the hands raised against you. ” The tea was hot and soothing; Seeker cradled the mug close in her hands. “Whatever may come. Alliances are not based solely on an even trade of resources, you realize.
A Mage,” she answered. ” Dry and sharp. Seeker laughed, and spindled a paper napkin between her hands. ” Seeker shook her head. ” “It’s not that kind of a fight. More a . . cold war. ” “The Iron Curtain,” Carel said, brief flash of white teeth behind the burgundy of her lips. Seeker nodded slowly. “Why should I trust you over him? ” Seeker pushed at her geasa, wondering how much truth she could get away with. She nibbled her thumbnail, feeling no pressure back. Control the Merlin—well, if truth will let me do it .
At first, she had. At first. For a little. Seeker turned away from the laughing Merlin and moved down the bar, into the shadows, where there was darkness at least, if still no peace. Seeker blinked, frowning against the images the music piled into her mind. The night crested over midnight and crashed down the leeward side, and the band swung into their last set. The music had an edge to it now: a tang of sorrow sweet and pure and focusing in its agony. She stood when the last song came to an end.