Chapter 14
“And what exactly do you want me to do with that?” I ask, eyeing the coils of silver chain in Ruskin’s hands.
“While there are lots of fun ideas that spring to mind,” says Ruskin, dropping the chain to the floor, “you’re just going to be following it.”
We’re in my workshop, where I decided we’d meet for magic training as it’s less…risky than my bedroom. And now, as Ruskin’s looking at me in a way he must know sends certain body parts tingling, I know I made the right choice.
You’re here for the court, Eleanor, not him.
I try to hold that sensible voice in my mind as I pick up the end of the chain, examining it. It’s thin, almost as slim as a necklace chain, and really nothing like the great iron spikes crowding parts of the palace.
“Follow it with my mind, you mean?”
“Yes. We’re going to work on your ability to read metal over distance. As this isn’t gold, it should be a challenge for you to trace. Obviously, we can’t use actual cold iron. We’re trying to reduce its spread around the palace, after all. Even regular iron is hard to find in Faerie. It’s unpopular by association.”
“So you just want me to just find the end, wherever you put it?”
A vine detaches itself from the wall, snaking its way across the floor until it wraps itself around the chain, then it turns around and disappears under the door, the silver unspooling with it.
“I want you to find me. I’ll go wait at the end of the chain, and then you can come and find me once you’ve read the metal to find out where I am.”
“Is that really necessary?” I ask, thinking about how I could just as easily search out the end of the chain without him.
“It will incentivize you.” He smiles that dangerous grin of his again, and I look away, annoyed at his insistence on flirting.
“Get going, then,” I say.
He sidles past me, a low chuckle on his breath as if he’s nothing but amused at my coldness. It makes me feel like he can see right through me. Not that it’s hard. He knows there’s a reason I didn’t protest when he kissed me in my bedroom, why I said nothing instead of telling him off for being so forward. It must’ve been obvious I was dangerously close to giving in to him—how much I wanted to. He believes he’s wearing me down…and I’m not sure he’s wrong.
“See you later,” he murmurs.
I wait patiently until the chain stops moving, which takes a while. It’s so thin that I underestimated just how much of it there was, and it’s not until what must be hundreds of feet later that it finally pulls taut from where I’ve fastened my end to the leg of my work bench.
“All right, Ruskin,” I mutter to myself, closing my eyes. “Ready or not.”
I dive into the pool of my magic, directing it to take hold of the silver and dance along the thread of it, out of the workshop, and down the corridor. It’s as if I can feel the silver in my hands and, in relation to it, the shape of the palace around me: I have a sense of the paving stones, blooming flowers, the arch of a courtyard. I’m aware of them, by texture and sensation, even if I can’t truly “see” them.
Something warm reaches out towards me, and I feel the brush of it around the chain.
“Ouch!”
“Don’t touch it. There’s wards on it. Leave it alone.”
I realize the warm thing was a person—a hand. The voices are lilting—fae—and sound loud enough that they could be speaking right next to me.
I jump in shock, trying to understand what just happened.
Someone tried to touch the chain, maybe a curious servant or courtier. And I was able to hear them, wherever they were in the palace, from where I’m standing.
So I can’t just sense the metal with my mental sight, I can hear and feel whatever happens around it. Now that’s an interesting development.
I feel my excitement building. There’s a kind of exhilaration to getting to test what my magic can do, discovering it’s capable of things I never imagined. When I went back to Styrland weeks ago, I’d believed that I was sacrificing my magic as well as my relationship with Ruskin. Styrland is all wrong for magic, and I’d assumed that what little power I had would eventually dampen or fade from me until it was completely gone. I’d been ready to say goodbye to it—and yet here I am, not just using my power but exploring with it, stretching the limits of what I thought I could do.
I have more energy as I return my focus to the silver, chasing it along the corridors of the palace. I pause when I next sense the heat of people nearby, catching snatches of conversation: servants giggling, a High Fae gossiping with another about someone’s betrothed, a fae child singing in a courtyard.
I stop when I hear a familiar, businesslike voice that I know can only be Halima.
“What else?”Her usual brusque tone sounds so close to my ears, it makes me jump again.
“There’s been some vandalism in the Ambrosia Quarter,”comes a voice with the clipped tones of a soldier. “We suspect seditious Low Fae. Naturally, the former residents aren’t happy about it.”
I realize Halima must be having some kind of security briefing, and immediately feel guilty about eavesdropping. But just as I’m about to move on I hear her mention Ruskin.
“And what about His Highness? Is there trouble or not? Be honest with me, Kellspring. My job is to protect the peace, and I cannot do that without the facts, however ugly.”
“There’s has been some unrest. The operation by Lord Hadeus is helping. It shows there’s ways to fix the iron problem, but many are still talking about Ephor Jorna’s readings. They say His Highness might have brought these attacks on us.”
“That’s as I feared. They’re looking for someone to blame—and he’s an easy target.”
“Do you think we should be watching for escalation?”I hear a note of concern in the soldier, Kellspring’s, tone.
“Don’t worry, I will make sure order is maintained. There will be no rebellion on my watch.”
I feel a little chill at the determination in her voice. I’ve never before got such a strong sense of just how intimidating Halima can be—especially if she sees you as a problem.
They then switch to talking about guard schedules and I decide I’ve heard enough, pressing on. I want to know exactly how fast I can find Ruskin by following the silver. The point of this exercise is to make me stronger, after all, and that will only happen if I push myself.
I start to come up against my limits when I follow the thread of silver beyond the bounds of the palace. I don’t know this space as well, and my awareness feels stretched thin. I fight to maintain focus, concentrating on the intricate links of the silver, which I can almost feel in my fingers: loop after loop, one step after another.
The effort is giving me a headache, but I turn a corner in my mind, into a room I’m not familiar with, and am relieved when Ruskin’s voice reaches me. He sounds angry.
“I expected better from you, Lord Zastel.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord, but I fear we are ignoring the evidence.”
“There is no evidence,” Ruskin snarls. “Only suppositions and guesses.”
There’s silence for a moment, and I think that Ruskin’s anger might’ve scared his audience into leaving, then comes a reedy voice I recognize.
“If you’ll please, my Lord, there is evidence.” It’s Ephor Jorna, the woman from the square with the prophecies.
“Beyond your dusty texts?” Ruskin replies. “Enlighten me.”
It’s Zastel who answers.
“We know no fae would have a hand in crafting cold iron. That abomination has always been the product of humans. For it to appear now, here, in our court…it must be a warning that allowing anything human to infect our way of life will poison us. It is one thing to have humans as servants, but a human with magic? You must see that this Eleanor Thorn is a bad omen.”
My stomach twists at his words, then a third voice speaks, a woman.
“It cannot be coincidence, my Lord, that she is the only one who can stop the iron. Her existence, the abnormality of it, must be what’s inviting these attacks. Ephor Jorna has seen it.”
Jorna speaks next, sounding less certain. “Well…things are open to interpretation, of course, but I agree there could be something to it. If the unnaturalness of this girl being human and magical is creating an imbalance and poisoning the veins of this court?—”
“Enough.”
I can hear the anger making Ruskin’s voice as sharp as steel.
“I hadn’t taken the Seelie for such a collection of gullible fools. Eleanor Thorn’s presence in this court has saved it from greater disaster than you can imagine. And that was before she proved she was the only one who could do anything about this iron.”
“My Lord, perhaps if we could speak with the High Queen?—”
“Do not test my patience any further, Lord Zastel. I will not have you waste my mother’s time with childish superstition. If you choose to indulge in bedtime stories about the evil of humans, then that is your affair, but Eleanor Thorn is here to protect the court, and therefore she will remain under my protection. Now, leave my sight before I decide it is you who brings bad luck to this kingdom.”
I feel the heat of the three High Fae dissipate, leaving Ruskin alone. Mentally working my way back from that point, I can tell where he is now, or, at least, how to get to him. I release my magic, but feel instantly drained, my legs aching and my pulse beating in my temples like I’ve been sprinting. Despite this, the exercise has definitely extended my sense of awareness. As intense as it was, the longer I maintained focus on the silver at a distance, the stronger my hold on it became. By the end of their conversation, my sense of the space and their presence was as clear as the area right outside my workshop, even though I now have to take deep breaths to calm my thudding heart and burning lungs.
Yet part of me wishes I hadn’t heard the conversation at all. I leave the workshop to go show Ruskin that I’ve passed his test, not needing to glance at the silver to know the direction I’m heading. I felt this path with my mind before I walked it, and I notice it makes the route feel familiar to me, allowing my mind to wander.
It was nice to hear Ruskin stick up for me. But he’s always been protective—to a fault. I’ve seen him take more than one life because of a perceived threat to me. If Lord Zastel hadn’t been willing to take no for an answer, it’s likely that things would have turned bloody.
I’m also confident that Ruskin will not mention any of this to me. If the High Fae are labeling me a bad omen, I should know, and yet I’m sure that he’ll try to keep it from me, just as he always does. More secrets, more doors closed in my face. More proof that he’ll never see me as the true partner I wanted to be. More reasons not to give in to his flirting…or the attraction to him that burns as hot as ever. I might not be able to stop myself from wanting him, but I’ll be damned if I give myself to him when I know how little he’s willing to give back.
I force my thoughts away from my relationship woes and concentrate once more on the words of the High Fae.
Unnatural, they’d called me. Freak was the word Lady Petra had used yesterday. I suppose to a fae, a human with magic would seem like something freakish, like an animal that can talk. But even the birds here do that, and no one seems bothered by it. Yet they consider my magic so strange and dangerous. Could they be right?
I think of the dark, musty house of the changeling, her piercing gaze as she explained how I, unlike normal human children, could not survive without the true name ritual. Am I really so warped that my body needed something magical and nonhuman to survive?
I find Ruskin, picking up the end of the chain outside the door before entering the room I know he’s in to hand it over. He straightens up when he sees me, his hard expression softening in a way that plucks at my jumbled insides.
“Here,” I say. “It worked.”
“You used your magic?” He gives me a sly look. “You didn’t cheat?”
“No. I stayed in the workshop until I knew where you were. You were right, I could reach further than I thought.”
My answers are flat, but I can’t bring myself to change that. My earlier enthusiasm has vanished. I don’t want to talk about this test now. What I want is to understand how I can pass it in the first place—how I got this magic. And I know that answer isn’t going to come from Ruskin.
“What’s wrong?” Ruskin asks, studying me.
“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m hungry. Let’s take a break so I can eat.”
He doesn’t try to follow me when I march out of there, which is good, because I don’t go to the kitchens. Instead, I make for Destan’s quarters. He’s one of the few people in this place who’s always given me information when I asked for it, and I need that level of honesty now.
I’m actually surprised when I find him writing rather than trying on a new set of clothes. But then he puts the parchment down and I see a sketch of a beautiful coat on it, realizing he’s busy designing.
“Looks good,” I say, eyeing the drawing.
He sighs. “I can’t decide whether the sleeves should be ivory or bone. What do you think?”
“I think sleeves made of fabric would be more comfortable,” I say. Destan massages the bridge of his nose.
“I have so much to teach you.”
“I agree,” I say brightly, settling myself down on the couch beside him.
He shoots me a sideways look, wary. “Given your reluctance to take my fashion advice in the past, what is this really about?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing important anyway. You know me, I’m just being nosy.”
“Right,” he says, still not fully relaxing. “And you have questions about something, as per usual.”
“Exactly,” I say, then pause, wondering how to lead into the conversation without giving everything away. Destan is Ruskin’s friend before mine—not to mention being his subject—and I know there are some things it wouldn’t be fair to ask Destan to keep a secret from Ruskin. As I think, I pick at a throw blanket on the back of the couch, tugging at the corner. “I was wondering if you knew about…I mean…if you could tell me if…”
Destan slaps me lightly on the back of my hand. “You’re fraying it.”
I drop the fabric. “Sorry.”
“Just spit it out; you’re making me nervous.”
“It’s just about true names,” I say.
“Oh right, just.” Destan shakes his head. “Just some of the most ancient and secretive part of fae magic. If this is about Ruskin?—”
“He told you?” I ask, surprised. “I mean, he told you that he told me his true name?”
“It was a bit obvious when Cebba kidnapped you that you had something she wanted. Ruskin didn’t want to own up to it, of course. I think he was embarrassed. But I made him tell me after you left.”
“He was embarrassed?”
Did Ruskin feel foolish, handing me something so powerful only for me to vanish on him in the middle of the night? I hadn’t really considered it from his perspective. Or maybe I haven’t wanted to. It was a lot easier to stay mad at him if I didn’t consider his feelings. But now that I think about it…I know perfectly well that Ruskin isn’t someone who liked to feel vulnerable, and I’d made him vulnerable, and then walked out on him. With good reason, I tell myself, but still…
“It’s not exactly the kind of thing he does every day.” Destan gives me a hard stare, and I shift uncomfortably.
“This isn’t about Ruskin,” I say. It’s a lie, but I want to move Destan away from that line of thought. “I just wanted to understand something.” That, at least, is the truth. “I know how true names work to a certain degree, but there’s something I heard about and I don’t know what it means.”
“Go on,” Destan says, his eyes narrow.
“Well, what does it mean when two fae have true names that are kind of similar? Or, you know, they just go together in some way, like true opposites?”
Destan’s face droops in relief.
“Oh, you really are just being nosy. You what to know about naminai?” He laughs. “Why?”
I don’t know how to take his amusement, but the phrase he uses catches my interest. “I just do. I’m curious,” I say. “What was that word you used—naminai?What does that mean?”
“Most people just assume it’s a quirk of magic. Others like to call it fate.” He waves his hand dismissively at the idea.
“Fate,” I repeat after him, the word carrying a new weight to it. “What does that have to do with true names?”
“There’s an old story about a pair called Aelis and Gyrell. They were perfect for each other because their true names were a match.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know. Their true names aren’t noted anywhere, but the idea is in there. You have names that align or complement each other, then it means you’re fated partners—soulmates.”
My heart speeds up, fast enough that I wonder if Destan can hear it.
Soulmates.
“It’s real, then? It actually happens to people?”
Destan makes a face.
“It’s extremely rare, so much so that there’s a lot of dodgy lore around it.” Destan looks to the sky, like he’s trying to remember a list of things. “Supposedly, the bond isn’t ‘active’ until they share their true names, but after that, the legends say they can do amazing things.”
“Like what?”
“Like share or merge their magic. I think they can share other things too, but honestly, I never really gave it much thought. These days, the only ones who pay attention to it are young people with sentimental ideas about love. There’s always some two-bit ephor making gold off of claiming they can find your naminai match—and always someone dumb enough to take them up on it.”
“Can the ephors really do that?” My mind spins, wondering if I can somehow confirm what I’m fast beginning to suspect.
“No. It’s a load of old hogswash. I mean, maybe we’re all walking around with naminai matches and don’t know because none of us are sharing our true names, but honestly, I just don’t think it’s really a thing anymore. It’s not the Seelie way for marriage to be decided by fate. It’s more likely to be decided by our parents,” he says, looking like he has a bad taste in his mouth.
Sure, Destan’s probably right, this naminai bond is probably super rare, something that only happens once in blue moon.
Kind of like a human with magic.
There’s a reason that Destan’s not looking at me with any suspicion right now, despite my odd questions—he can’t fathom that I, a human, would have a true name. But I do have one, and it’s Ruskin’s exact counterpart.
So what’s more na?ve, believing this connection between us is fate or refusing to believe this could be anything more than a coincidence? Yes, Ruskin knew who I was once he’d met me, but I summoned him, not knowing I would look like the perfect person to break his curse: a gold weaver striking a deal with the man with a golden heart. And now this. Is this fate? Is this some force beyond me pushing me towards Ruskin? Is that why I have to fight so hard not to think about him every moment, even as I plan to leave him and this world behind forever?
“You look a bit pale,” Destan says, examining me. “What is this really about, Eleanor?”
No, we can’t be naminai or soulmates or whatever they want to call it. If Ruskin was my perfect match, he’d never make me feel the way I do, so lost and confused. There wouldn’t be so many walls between us, all the secrets and the anger.
“I was just curious was all,” I say again, my voice coming out raspy and strained. I get up, straightening out my skirts. “Thanks, Destan.”
Destan catches my arm as I turn to go.
“Whatever it is, Eleanor, you can tell me. I don’t want you leaving again. You wouldn’t, would you? Without a warning this time?” He looks genuinely alarmed and I rush to calm him.
“No, of course not. I promise.”
He frowns. “It’s very frustrating, you know, not being able to tell if you’re lying. I don’t know how you humans ever believe what one of your kind is saying.”
I try not be offended. I did leave without a word last time. He’s not wrong to be suspicious. I soften my voice.
“It’s called faith, Des. I know that kind of thing is in short supply around here, but you can have it in me. As long as it’s in my power, I won’t leave Faerie again without saying goodbye.”
“Good,” he says, letting go of my arm and looking at his feet. “I don’t think he could take it.”
I don’t need to ask who he’s talking about. Who else could it be other than the man who I’m apparently tied to, whether I like it or not? The person who upended my life and my heart, who seems to know me inside out without being willing to share more than a fraction of himself.
My naminai match, my soulmate. Ruskin.