23. The Iron Daughter: Mab, giving Ash his final ultimatum.
24. The Iron Daughter: Ethan to Meghan, after she and Puck stop the bugged Ash from attacking her home.
25. The Iron Queen: Ash, making the knight’s vow to Meghan.
Q&A with Julie Kagawa
Thank you, Julie, for taking your life into your hands and entering the Nevernever to answer a few questions.
Q: When you first began writing The Iron King, what were your hopes for the story? How do you feel about what The Iron Fey has become?
A: Honestly, I am utterly thrilled and delighted. When I first started writing The Iron King, I was one of those hopeful writers just looking to be published. I never dreamed it would grow the way it did, but I’m so grateful for the readers and fans who made this series what it is today.
Q: Did you plan out the whole Iron Fey series before you started writing it, or did it develop organically as you wrote each book?
A: I knew the basic plotlines for all the books, and with the original trilogy (King, Daughter and Queen), I knew how I wanted it to end. Within the individual books, I have “high points” that I know have to happen, but the story usually develops as I go along.
Q: You’ve written Iron Fey stories from Meghan’s, Ash’s and Puck’s points of view. How do you change perspective and get into a new character’s head?
A: I think the key is knowing your characters, and making sure each one is very different from the others. Voice, personality, motives, desires—they should all have their own unique look on life, and once you really know them, it’s fairly easy to switch to their voice.
Q: Grimalkin is another fan favorite. How do you channel Grim onto the page?
A: LOL, Grimalkin is based on every cat I’ve ever known, and his voice is actually pretty easy to write. (Don’t tell him that, though; I’d never hear the end of it.) [I heard that. And you won’t.] He is bored, blunt, proud, independent and says exactly what he means in any situation. He is not afraid to tell the others they are being foolish, and doesn’t have anything to hide. In his own words: he is a cat. ’Nuff said.
Q: You often create drawings of your Iron Fey characters. What is your background as an artist?
A: I’ve always enjoyed sketching, doodling and painting. (I often doodled in math class, when I wasn’t reading novels behind my textbooks. My teachers despaired.) I haven’t taken any formal art classes, though. I just enjoy painting and drawing. I suppose it’s like writing in a way; you have to practice to get better.
Q: You’re an avid gamer. How has gaming influenced your career as a writer?
A: I’m a firm believer that video games are just another medium of storytelling, and the truly good games are just as compelling as a book. Most of my inspiration comes from video games and anime, especially when it comes to character and setting. The ending of some games (Dragon Age, Final Fantasy X) made me sob my eyes out, I was so attached to the characters and their stories. And some have been so inspiring and uplifting that all I wanted to do was write a story as magnificent as that. If that’s not an argument against “All video games do is rot your brain,” I don’t know what is.
Q: Tell us a little about you personally. What do you do—besides art and gaming!—when you aren’t writing?
A: I enjoy reading, painting, playing in my garden, playing with my animals (dogs, cats and chickens), watching television with my hubby and martial arts. My husband and I take both kung fu and Kali, which I lovingly refer to as “Hit People with Sticks” class.
Q: What does the future hold for The Iron Fey?
A: Well, the first book of the new Iron Fey trilogy will be out this fall. It’s called The Lost Prince, and it stars Meghan’s brother, Ethan Chase, when he is older. There will also be cameos from several familiar faces, so be on the lookout for that!
Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt from Julie Kagawa’s next Iron Fey novel
Book 1 of Call of the Forgotten, a new trilogy starring Meghan’s younger brother, Ethan Chase!
The Lost Prince
The demonstration started with a couple of the beginner students doing a pattern known as Heaven Six, and the clacks of their rattan sticks echoed noisily throughout the room. I saw Kenzie take a few pictures as they circled the mats. Then the more advanced students demonstrated a few disarms, takedowns and freestyle sparring. Guro circled with them, explaining what they were doing, how we practiced and how it could be applied to real life.
Then it was my turn.
“Of course,” Guro said as I stepped onto the mats, holding the swords at my sides, “the rattan—the kali sticks—are proxies for real blades. We practice with sticks, but everything we do can be transferred to blades, knives or empty hands. As Ethan will demonstrate. This is an advanced technique,” he cautioned, as I stepped across him, standing a few yards away. “Do not try this at home.”
I bowed to him and the audience. He raised a rattan stick, twirled it once and suddenly tossed it at me. I responded instantly, whipping the blades through the air, cutting it into three parts. The audience gasped, sitting straighter in their chairs, and I smiled.
Yes, these are real swords.
Guro nodded and stepped away. I half closed my eyes and brought my swords into position, one held vertically over one shoulder, the other tucked against my ribs. Balanced on the balls of my feet, I let my mind drift, forgetting the audience and the onlookers and my fellow students, watching along the wall. I breathed out slowly and let my mind go blank.
Music began, drumming a rhythm over the loudspeakers, and I started to move.
I started slowly at first, both weapons whirling around me, sliding from one motion to the next. Don’t think about what you’re doing, just move, flow. I danced around the floor, throwing a few flips and kicks into the pattern because I could, keeping time with the music. As the drums picked up, pounding out a frantic rhythm, I moved faster, faster, whipping the blades around my body, until I could feel the wind from their passing, hear the vicious hum as they sliced through the air around me.
Someone whooped out in the audience, but I barely heard them. The people watching didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the blades in my hands and the flowing motion of the dance. The swords flashed silver in the dim light, fluid and flexible, almost liquid. There was no block or strike, dodge or parry—the dance was all of these things, and none, all at once. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before, until I couldn’t tell where the swords ended and my arms began, until I was just a weapon in the center of the floor, and no one could touch me.
With a final flourish, I spun around, ending the demonstration on one knee, the blades back in their ready position. For a heartbeat after I finished, there was absolute silence. Then, like a dam breaking, a roar of applause swept over me, laced with whistles and scraping chairs as people surged to their feet. I rose and bowed to the audience, then to my master, who gave me a proud nod. He understood. This wasn’t just a demonstration for me; it was something I’d worked for, trained for and finally pulled off—without getting into trouble or hurting anyone in the process. I had actually done something right for a change.
I looked up and met Kenzie’s eyes on the other side of the mats. She was grinning and clapping frantically, her notebook lying on the floor beside her, and I smiled back.
“That was awesome,” she said, weaving around the edge of the mat when I stepped off the floor, breathing
hard. “I had no idea you could do…that. Congratulations, you’re a certified badass.”
I felt a warm glow of…something, deep inside. “Thanks,” I muttered, carefully sliding the blades back into their sheaths before laying them gently atop Guro’s bag. It was hard to give them up; I wanted to keep holding them, feeling their perfect weight as they danced through the air. I’d seen Guro practice with his own blades, and he looked so natural with them, like they were extensions of his arms. I wondered if I’d looked the same out there on the mat, the shining edges coming so close to my body but never touching it. I wondered if Guro would ever let me train with them again.
Our instructor had called the last student to demonstrate knife techniques with him, and he had the audience’s full attention now. Meanwhile I caught several appreciative gazes directed at Kenzie from my fellow kali students, and felt myself bristle.
“Come on,” I told her, stepping away from the others before Chris could jump in and introduce himself. “I need a soda. Want one?”
She nodded eagerly. Together, we slipped through the crowd, out the doors and into the hallway, leaving the noise and commotion behind.
I fed two dollars into the vending machine at the end of the hall, choosing a Pepsi for myself, then a Mountain Dew at Kenzie’s request. She smiled her thanks as I tossed it to her, and we leaned against the corridor wall, basking in the silence.
“So,” Kenzie ventured after several heartbeats. She gave me a sideways look. “Care to answer a few questions now?”
I knocked the back of my head against the wall. “Sure,” I muttered, closing my eyes. The girl wouldn’t let me be until we got this thing over with. “Let’s have at it. Though I promise, you’re going to be disappointed by how dull my life really is.”
“I somehow doubt that.” Kenzie’s voice had changed. It was uncertain now, almost nervous. I frowned, listening to the flipping of notebook paper, then a quiet breath, as if she was steeling herself for something. “First question, then. How long have you been taking kali?”
“Since I was twelve,” I said without moving. “That’s…what…nearly five years now.” Geez, had it really been that long? I remembered my first class as a shy, quiet kid, holding the rattan stick like it was a poisonous snake, and Guro’s piercing eyes, appraising me.
“Okay. Cool. Second question.” Kenzie hesitated, then said in a calm, clear voice, “What, exactly, is your take on faeries?”
My eyes flew open, and I jerked my head up, banging it against the wall again. My half-empty soda can dropped from my fingers and clanked to the floor, fizzing everywhere. Kenzie blinked and stepped back as I gaped at her, hardly believing what I’d just heard. “What?” I choked out, before I thought better of it, before the defensive walls came slamming down.
“You heard me.” Kenzie regarded me intently, watching my reaction. “Faeries. What do you know about them? What’s your interest in the fey?”
My mind spun. Faeries. Fey. She knew. How she knew, I had no idea. But she couldn’t continue this line of questioning. This had to end, now. Todd was already in trouble, because of Them. He might really be gone. The last thing I wanted was for Mackenzie St. James to vanish off the face of the earth because of me. And if I had to be nasty and cruel, so be it. It was better than the alternative.
Drawing myself up, I sneered at her, my voice suddenly ugly, hateful. “Wow, whatever you smoked last night, it must’ve been good.” I curled my lip in a smirk. “Are you even listening to yourself? What kind of screwed-up question is that?”
Kenzie’s eyes hardened. Flipping several pages, she held the notebook out to me, where the words glamour, Unseelie and Seelie Courts were underlined in red. I remembered her standing behind the bleachers when I faced that creepy transparent faery. My stomach went cold.
“I’m a reporter,” Kenzie said, as I tried wrapping my brain around this. “I heard you talking to someone the day Todd disappeared. It wasn’t hard to find the information.” She flipped the notebook shut and stared me down, defiant. “Changelings, Fair Folk, All-Hallow’s Eve, Summer and Winter Courts, the Good Neighbors. I learned a lot. And when I called Todd’s house this afternoon, he still wasn’t there.” She pushed her hair back and gave me a worried look. “What’s going on, Ethan? Are you and Todd in some sort of pagan cult? You don’t actually believe in faeries, do you?”
I forced myself to stay calm. At least Kenzie was reacting like a normal person should, with disbelief and concern. Of course she didn’t believe in faeries. Maybe I could scare her away from me for good. “Yes,” I smirked, crossing my arms. “That’s exactly right. I’m in a cult, and we sacrifice goats under the full moon and drink the blood of virgins and babies every month.” She wrinkled her nose, and I took a threatening step forward. “It’s a lot of fun, especially when we bring out the crack and Ouija boards. Wanna join?”
“Very funny, tough guy.” I’d forgotten Kenzie didn’t scare easily. She glared back, stubborn and unmovable as a wall. “What’s really going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“What if I am?” I challenged. “What are you going to do about it? You think you can save me? You think you can publish one of your little stories and everything will be fine? Wake up, Miss Nosey Reporter. The world’s not like that.”
“Quit being a jerkoff, Ethan,” Kenzie snapped, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not really like this, and you’re not as bad as you think you are. I’m only trying to help.”
“No one can help me.” Suddenly, I was tired. I was tired of fighting, tired of forcing myself to be someone I wasn’t. I didn’t want to hurt her, but if she continued down this path, she would only rush headlong into a world that would do its best to tear her apart. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not again.
“Look.” I sighed, slumping against the wall. “I can’t explain it. Just…leave me alone, okay? Please. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“Ethan—”
“Stop asking questions,” I whispered, drawing away. Her eyes followed me, confused and sad, and I hardened my voice. “Stop asking questions, and stay the hell away from me. Or you’re only going to get hurt.”
“Advice you should have followed yourself, Ethan Chase,” a voice hissed out of the darkness.
Keep reading for an excerpt of The Immortal Rules by Julie Kagawa!
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin ebook. Connect with us for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Subscribe to our newsletter: Harlequin.com/newsletters
Visit Harlequin.com
We like you—why not like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books: HarlequinBlog.com
Chapter 1
They hung the Unregistereds in the old warehouse district; it was a public execution, so everyone went to see.
I stood at the back, a nameless face in the crowd, too close to the gallows for comfort but unable to look away. There were three of them this time, two boys and a girl. The oldest was about my age, seventeen and skinny, with huge frightened eyes and greasy dark hair that hung to his shoulders. The other two were even younger, fourteen and fifteen if I had to guess, and siblings, since they both had the same stringy yellow hair. I didn’t know them; they weren’t part of my crowd. Still, they had the same look of all Unregistereds; thin and ragged
, their eyes darting about like trapped animals. I crossed my arms tightly, feeling their desperation. It was over. The trap had closed; the hunters had caught them, and there was no place for them to run.
The pet stood on the edge of the platform, puffed up and swaggering, as if he had caught the kids himself. He was walking back and forth, pointing to the condemned and rattling off a list of crimes, his pale eyes gleaming with triumph.
“…assaulting a citizen of the Inner City, robbery, trespassing and resisting arrest. These criminals attempted to steal Class One foodstuffs from the private warehouse of the Inner City. This is a crime against you, and more important, a crime against our benevolent Masters.”
I snorted. Fancy words and legal mumbo jumbo didn’t erase the fact that these “criminals” were just doing what all Unregistereds did to survive. For whatever reasons, fate, pride or stubbornness, we nonregistered humans didn’t have the mark of our vampire masters etched into our skin, the brands that told you who you were, where you lived and who you belonged to. Of course, the vampires said it was to keep us safe, to keep track of everyone within the city, to know how much food they had to allow for. It was for our own good. Yeah, right. Call it what you wanted, it was just another way to keep their human cattle enslaved. You might as well be wearing a collar around your neck.