Chapter 13
Iwake wondering if the raven has reached Dad by now, imagining this curious creature from the fae world swooping into our kitchen by the back door and dropping my letter on the counter. I figured ink and paper were less likely to alarm Dad than suddenly having a bird talking to him.
There’s a knock on the door—I’m in my old room again, as beautiful and fragrant as it ever was. Assuming it’s Kaline, I call for her to enter.
But I reflexively pull the covers up over my nightdress when Ruskin strides in.
He smirks, allowing his eyes to linger over the shape of my body as I sit up.
“I’m not dressed,” I say pointedly, though I am at least in my nightgown.
“Yes, I noticed,” he says with a smirk. I hate myself for blushing.
“Well, enjoy the memories, because you’re not seeing it again,” I throw back, wrapping myself up in the blanket as I drag myself out of the bed, now swathed in a kind of makeshift cape. I’m aware I probably look ridiculous as I waddle, but I don’t let that stop me as I move towards the dress laid over the futon, waiting for me. It’s the blue one Destan gave me, the one that brings out my eyes, and I have to admit that I’ve missed it.
“Are you going to leave while I make myself decent?” I ask, waving at the wash basin in the corner.
He crosses his arms, leaning his back against the door.
“I’d rather not.”
I huff. These are exactly the kind of things I was worried about—the passing comments, the flirting. He might be powerful and intimidating, but I also get the other side of him: the one that enjoys teasing me and riling me up. It only annoys me because it’s so successful—making me want him to rile me up and get under my skin in other ways.
“I’m not your toy,” I say, trying to make it sound stern. “I’m not here to amuse you. I’m here to try to save lives. If you have something to say about that, go ahead. But that’s the only topic I’m willing to discuss with you. We have nothing else to talk about.”
For a second, he actually looks hurt—but the expression is soon masked. “That’s why I’m here,” he says, dropping the teasing tone. “We can talk while you get ready. Just business.”
“Fine, turn around,” I order. He turns his back to me as I cross to the basin, dropping the blankets.
“So what’s so important that it can’t wait?” I ask, wetting a wash cloth. I check over my shoulder to make sure Ruskin is still staring resolutely at the wall, then shimmy my nightgown off my body to start washing myself.
Despite the speech I’ve just given him, my body can’t help but react to the thought of being naked in a room with Ruskin. The warm breeze drifting from the window is enough to encourage the surge of desire, making parts of me tighten and come alive. Hypocrite, I scold myself, trying to keep my mind far away from the sweet relief Ruskin could offer me if I let him.
“I just think the sooner we start the better. You may be the only one able to influence the iron, but you’re still learning to use your magic, and I can help you navigate the process.”
“You think that’s really the reason I couldn’t stop the iron completely? I just need more practice?” I ask as I wring out the wash cloth.
“Mostly likely. We can examine the iron as a start and glean where your limits are from there.”
I dry myself and slip on my underwear, then step into the dress.
“Do you need help lacing up?” Ruskin asks, and I turn to eye his back suspiciously. How does he know what stage of dress I’m even at? As it is, Kaline does usually help me with this bit, as the fastenings up the back are fiddly. We’d be here about fifteen minutes longer than we need to if I tried to do it myself.
I sigh.
“Yes please,” I say.
The moment Ruskin puts his hands on me I know I’ve made a mistake. I can feel the heat of them through the fabric and then—just there—the brush of skin on skin as he threads the ribbon. I feel my body come alive with the attention, yearning for more, and I have to fight not to lean into the touch.
I think I stop breathing as the sensation awakens memories in me of those hands undoing these very same fastenings, of his nimble fingers stroking and teasing the body beneath on those long nights when we would take our fill of each other. He would worship every inch of me, making me feel as precious as a jewel, then hold me so close that I knew I was better than just a treasure to him. We were connected, part of each other—making the sweet oblivion of pleasure seem like coming home at the same time.
I can’t help myself—I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. His face is beautiful in its concentration, alert and alive, and I know instantly that seeing him in this moment was a mistake. I’ve caught him with his guard down, and I can’t look away. With the mask off, it’s too irresistible. He’s too irresistible. Eventually, he lifts his eyes to mine, and we’re trapped in a net of tension. Neither of us wants to move first, neither wants to avert our gaze. And then he does. Slowly, so slowly, he lowers his mouth and presses a kiss to the inch of exposed flesh at the base of my neck. It’s soft and tender. An invitation.
I bite my lip, knowing he’s testing me—seeing how firmly I’ll hold the line. But I bunch my hand in my skirts, clamping down on any impulsive movements. I mustn’t go down that path. I have to be strong—stronger than my base impulses, at least. Ruskin was always good at bringing those out in me, but I know better than to give in to them again.
I turn my head away and clear my throat, remembering to start inhaling and exhaling again, and the noise breaks the silence. Ruskin says nothing, but resumes his work, tying the final bow and stepping away.
His voice is gravelly when he speaks.
“You’ll need to eat before we work. We’ll stop off at the kitchens on the way.”
I push away the thought that I’m hungry for something completely different right now and nod.
The tension thrumming through me eases a bit once we’re in the corridors of the palace, no longer alone together, and the possibilities my brain has been grasping at fade away. I’m conscious of the looks from people we pass—High and Low Fae bobbing curtseys and bowing to Ruskin, but openly staring at me. I wonder if it’s to do with Lady Petra’s accusations yesterday, or what happened after. After the way Ruskin touched me in front of everyone, the rumors must be flying. Even if we’re not actually lovers anymore, it must’ve left little doubt in people’s minds as to the nature of our relationship.
“How’s your mother doing?” I ask, trying to ignore the probing looks.
“She’s fine. Resting. It will take time for her to be as she once was, and all this iron business is hardly helping.”
I wonder if the fae won’t question Evanthe’s absence. She wasn’t there at the attack on the square and gallery. It was Ruskin seen helping his subjects, covering the iron. I doubt Evanthe could’ve done that—not without the High Queen power—but it worries me that the Seelie might wonder why she didn’t. It occurs to me that this is the kind of situation Halima warned about. I just hope that the rest of her warnings don’t come to pass.
In the kitchens Ruskin tries to force a pile of food on me, but I settle for jam and bread, which I wolf down as he takes me to the orchard. No need to draw this out. I’m here to do a job—and I’d rather get on with it.
The bodies have been removed from the dining hall, but blood—dried to a rusty brown—is still visible on and around the twisting iron vines, spatters of it peppering the surface of the metal, or else dotting the ground with dark circles.
“Are you all right to be here?” I ask as we step between the tree trunks, and Ruskin takes care not to brush up against the metal.
“There’s not as much iron here as at the memorial square,” he says—which doesn’t actually answer my question. I try to gauge if it’s truly bothering him or not. He doesn’t look happy, I think, but he still has his color. When he sees that I’m not satisfied with his reply, he adds, “I can manage here for a time. At the moment it’s like a developing headache. When it becomes unbearable, I will take a break.”
I examine the nearest shoot to me. It’s thick as my torso, and I can’t help but think there’s a kind of malevolence to the dark, dull color of it. It looks like it wants to do harm.
“We’ll start by having you get a sense for this substance,” Ruskin explains. “Tap into it—as you did before with my mother. Not just to move it or influence it, but to read it. We want to know where it’s from, so pick a tendril and follow it down.” He points to where the iron has punctured through the orchard earth. “As far as it goes.”
“You mean, until I find the source?”
“Exactly.”
I close my eyes, finding the shifting pool within. Each time it gets a little easier to locate. While I still need to concentrate to calm it, the waters don’t fight me very hard at this moment, perhaps because what I’m asking of it isn’t very complicated. I just want to observe. I find the iron shoot in my mind, tracing the curves and twists of it across the room, feeling the shift as it descends into the earth.
I follow it, and sense darkness close in around me, the heat leaching from the metal as it runs deeper. I shiver, the coldness seeming to seep into me, too, and I try not to feel claustrophobic as I sense the world pressing in on every side, the weight of ancient soil enclosing me.
But the further I follow the metal down, the more my impression of it begins to fade. I feel myself being pulled from it, like being tugged from one end of a tunnel to another. The distance between my mind and my body is too great. Soon, I can’t hold on to the metal anymore, and I feel my mind returning. Gradually, I become aware of the breeze in the trees, of Ruskin’s slow breaths beside me growing stronger.
I open my eyes, taking deep breaths. I hadn’t realized the effort it was taking me to go so deep.
“It’s too far,” I gasp, shaking my head. “The iron runs too deep underground; I can’t reach the source. Couldn’t even get near it.”
I feel the same sharp frustration I’ve felt a hundred times before when one of my experiments didn’t work. The moment of disappointment is quickly followed by the urge to try again—to find a way to solve the problem.
“It’s a great start,” Ruskin says, putting a hand on my shoulder. I’m so grateful for the comfort that I can’t bring myself to pull away. “We just need to build up your strength.”
I nod, an old determination lighting within me.
“If at first you don’t succeed…” I say. It’s a cliché, but I also know it means there’s some truth to it.
Ruskin looks nonplussed. “Then it’s nothing to be worried about?”
Despite myself, I laugh. “No, ‘try, try again.’ It’s a saying.”
“Oh. Well, in good time. We need to test some of your skills first,” he says. I can’t help but feel a happy warmth at the way he says ‘we.’ Like we’re a team. A partnership. It was what I always wanted our relationship to be, in all ways. This is just a fraction of what I hoped for, but at least I’m being looped in rather than being kept in the dark. It’s nice to feel like I’m being kept at the heart of my own work here, unlike last time.
Ruskin raises an arm to guide me out of the orchard and I follow his lead.
As we’re exiting, a trio of fae meet us coming the other way. The man at the head of the group has flowing blond hair and impossibly bright blue eyes, features which seem vaguely familiar. He immediately sweeps into a bow, with the younger fae behind him following suit a moment later.
“Your Highness,” the man says, his powerful voice carrying down the corridor. “Just the one I was wanting to see.”
“Interesting, as I hadn’t thought of you at all, Lord Hadeus,” Ruskin says. I don’t need to turn around to know Ruskin has his Unseelie features out again.
“Indeed, and yet, I believe I may have the means to assist with this situation we find ourselves in.”
“What situation is that?” Ruskin asks, not handing the man an inch of help in this conversation. I glance between the pair of them, wondering why Ruskin seems so wary of him.
“The iron, my Lord. I brought my associates here to examine it.” Lord Hadeus gestures to the younger fae, and I notice they have scrolls of parchment and quills in their arms. “As I’m sure you’re aware, my mining business supplies the better part of the Seelie Kingdom, and I therefore have the resources to start removing this blight from your palace.”
“That’s quite the claim,” Ruskin says.
“Perhaps. But I have many hard workers and, you’ll forgive me, my Lord, but the sooner we banish this poison from the court, the better, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would say. But I would also say I have not seen you at the dining hall lately. I’d assumed the reason for your absence was for personal reasons. So you can see how your offer of help now might surprise me.”
I study Hadeus’s reaction, trying to understand what’s really being said. As with so many fae conversations, I get the sense that half of it is taking place behind the words spoken aloud.
“Ah, yes.” Hadeus bows his head. “My niece’s fate was unfortunate, but Galaphina was unwise to provoke you, my Lord.”
I keep my face neutral as I can, but it’s hard when I realize this man is related to the woman who tried to kill me on my first day in Faerie—and very nearly succeeded, before Ruskin snapped her neck. It clicks now, why Ruskin is being wary. He wants Hadeus to know that he doesn’t fully trust the fae lord’s motives, that he’s testing him.
“And that’s all that you have to say on the matter?” Ruskin asks. “Her death could not have been easy on your family.”
“You are correct, my Lord, but we Swallowtails are loyal to the crown, and her punishment was not unexpected.”
Expected, Hadeus implies, but not just. I notice he hasn’t looked at me during the whole exchange—though that in itself isn’t surprising. It must be galling to have to stand before the man who murdered your niece and the lowly human who is the reason he did it, but Hadeus seems calm enough. It’s enough to make me believe he wants this iron gone as much as any of us.
“Very well, Lord Hadeus.” Ruskin steps aside, gesturing to the orchard entrance. “Then let us see what you make of things.”
I notice Hadeus and his minions pale slightly as they approach the iron, but to their credit, they seem to push through the feeling. The younger fae flit about, quickly taking measurements and scribbling them down.
“Dear, dear,” Hadeus says as they work, scanning the room. “Quite the mess, and such an awful sensation, as well.”
For the first time, I sense him looking at me out the corner of his eye.
“I suppose this is nothing to you?”
“It doesn’t make me feel sick, if that’s what you mean,” I mutter back. I can’t work out what it is about this man I don’t like, but I’m certainly not warming to him.
The measurements take all of five minutes—with the fae working to get in and out as quickly as possible. I see relief wash over all their faces when we duck back out into the corridor and put a few yards of distance between us and the orchard.
“I can have a team of my best miners here by the end of the day,” Hadeus says, after quick consultation with his lackeys. “They’re good for this work—Gargin and Wentle clan, natural diggers.”
“You’re talking about Low Fae?” I say. To my knowledge, High Fae don’t have clans, but the Low Fae seem to group themselves by their different traits.
At first Hadeus looks like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge my question.
“Yes,” he says eventually.
“But won’t they get sick too?”
Hadeus waves a hand dismissively, but I can’t tell whether he’s dismissing my question or dismissing me,as a whole.
“We’ll take precautions, of course. We can put them on regular shift changes so that they get breaks before the iron sickness takes too firm a hold.”
“But—”
I feel Ruskin’s hand on my shoulder, and I stop to look up at him.
“A moment, please, Lord Hadeus,” Ruskin says. I don’t fight him as he draws me away, out of earshot of the other fae, but I do frown when he turns to face me.
“It’ll be horrible for them,” I say, before he can speak.
“It certainly won’t be pleasant, but nothing about these circumstances is pleasant for the people of this court. Everyone will suffer, High Fae and Low, if we don’t find a way to rid ourselves of this iron. To a small degree, we’re all suffering already, and it may well get worse. I fear its poison will spread even with no new attacks. It has to be removed, and it”s not as if we can make the human servants take care of it—they have no training or experience in this type of work. And as long as their exposure is limited, a fae is still stronger and faster than your kind. This is our best option.”
I can’t argue with any of that, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy with the answer.
“I don’t trust him,” I say.
Ruskin gives me a nod of approval. “Good. You’d be a fool to trust anyone but a few select fae in this court. That said, we don’t need to trust him to work with him. Hadeus may be no real ally of mine, but we all benefit from him taking action on this.”
I glance back down the corridor, where Hadeus is watching us with bright, beady eyes.
“All right,” I say to Ruskin. “But you need to prioritize helping me practice my magic. The sooner I can get a handle on this, the sooner we won’t need him or his miners.”
Ruskin grins, showing his fanged teeth.
“What?” I ask warily.
“I just like hearing you insisting that I spend more time with you.”
“Shut up.”