Lise looks back to the oracle.

Silence for a moment. The hag's eyes opened, and they were no longer hollow, but burned with flame, as black and depthless as the void. Her mouth opened, stretching impossibly wide, as she breathed:

Within the iron mountain
a stolen child waits.
A king no longer on his throne
shall guide you past the gates.


"Oh, fabulous," Puck muttered, sitting back in his chair and rolling his eyes. "I love riddles. And they rhyme so nicely. Ask her where we can find the Iron King."

"How do we get to the Iron King?"

The oracle sighed, voices erupting from her throat to whisper:

In Blights heart
a tower sings
upon whose thrones
sit Iron Kings.

"Blight." Puck nodded, arching his eyebrows. "And singing towers. Well, this gets better and better. I'm sure glad we decided to come here. Prince, can you think of anything you want to ask our most obliging oracle?"

Ash, deep in thought with his chin in his hands, raised his head. His eyes narrowed. "Ask her how we can kill him."

"How do we stop him?"

The oracle's mouth opened.

The King of Iron cannot be slain
by mortal man or fey.
Seek out the Keepers of the trees.
Their hearts will show the way.

No sooner were the last words out of her mouth than the oracle collapsed on the table. For a moment she lay there, a desiccated old woman, and then she just...disintegrated. Dust flew everywhere, and the oracle was gone. Only a few floating dust motes showed she had been there at all.

"I think she's done now."

" did she just die? "

"No, she did not just die. And I believe," Grimalkin said, peering over the table rim, "that our audience is over."

" okay. '' She stands up.