I thought of Mom, and Ethan, and our tiny little farmhouse out in the bayou, and a lump rose to my throat. “That must be lonely,” I murmured. “Don’t you get homesick once in a while?”

Ash regarded me across the flames, understanding and sympathy dawning in his gaze. “My family,” he said in a solemn voice, “is not like yours.”

He rose gracefully, abruptly, as if the subject had become tiring. “Get some sleep,” he said, and the chill was back in his voice. “Tomorrow we reach the Winter Court. Queen Mab will be anxious to meet you.”

My gut twisted. I curled up inside my cloak, as close to the fire as I dared, and let my mind go blank. I was certain that Ash’s last words would prevent me from getting any sleep, but I was more exhausted than I realized and soon drifted into oblivion.

That night, for the first time, I dreamed of the Iron King.

The scene was eerily familiar. I stood atop a great iron tower, a hot wind stinging my face, smelling of ozone and chemicals. Before me, a huge metal throne rose into the mottled yellow sky, black iron spikes raking the clouds. Behind me, Ash’s cold, pale body was sprawled against the edge of a fountain, blood oozing slowly into the water.

Machina the Iron King stood at the top of his metal throne, long silver hair whipping in the wind. His back was to me, the numerous iron cables extending from his shoulders and spine surrounding him like glittering wings.

I took a step forward, squinting up at the silhouette on the throne. “Machina!” I called, my voice sounding weak and small in the wind. “Where’s my brother?”

The Iron King raised his head slightly, but didn’t turn around. “Your brother?”

“Yes, my brother. Ethan. You stole him and brought him here.” I kept walking, ignoring the wind that tore at my hair and clothes. Thunder boomed overhead, and the mottled yellow clouds turned black and crimson. “You wanted to lure me here,” I continued, reaching the base of the throne. “You wanted me to become your queen in exchange for Ethan. Well, here I am. Now let my brother go.”

Machina turned. Only it wasn’t the Iron King’s sharp, intelligent face that stared down at me.

It was my own.

* * *

I jerked awake, my heart hammering against my ribs, cold sweat trickling down my back. The fire had gone out, and the ice cave lay dark and empty, though the sky showing through the holes was already light. Snow lay in huge glimmering piles where it had drifted in through the roof, and several new icicles were already forming on the ceiling, growing back like teeth. Ash was nowhere to be seen.