Chapter 15
Iknow I’m not paying attention as my feet carry me back through the palace. I’m not heading anywhere in particular. Each step summons another one, and I keep pacing the palace corridors. Because if I stop, I might have to decide what this means. If I stop, I have to live with the knowledge that the man who broke my heart is, by some magical decree, meant to be with me.
My distraction explains why I didn’t hear them coming.
You forget how fast fae can be until three figures are bearing down on you in the blink of an eye. I can’t see their faces, they’re obscured by unsettling masks with exaggerated features—clownish expressions with gaping mouths.
I back away, suddenly aware of how far I’ve strayed from familiar territory. I’m in a deserted corner of the palace I don’t recognize. But even though I’m alone and cornered, that doesn’t mean I’m helpless. You can protect yourself now, I remind myself, clamping down on my panic.
I start by screaming, making a racket in case anyone is nearby, while at the same time I search the approaching fae, knowing there must be something I can use—a knife, a necklace—hell, even a brass button would do.
A chill runs through me when I realize they’ve thought of that. There’s not a trace of metal on them, from the ties fastening their masks right down to their leather shoes.
But when I got dressed this morning, I definitely put some metal on. I reach into my hair to tug out the pins keeping it up, using my magic to sharpen a handful of them so their tips will draw blood. I fling the first one towards them, guiding its direction like an arrow whistling through the air. It stabs itself deep into the shoulder of the tallest attacker. A male voice shouts in pain, but he pulls the pin from his flesh, letting it drop, and continues to advance on me.
I back up another step, realizing I need to be more strategic with my aim. I focus in on the glitter of their eyes beneath the holes of their masks. If I could just get a pin in through there?—
But the male raises his hand, and in that instant, I know that magic, rather than metal, will be their weapon. His ghost-white mask is the last thing I see before I’m hit with a beam of light so bright I think he’s seared my pupils from the inside out. I scream again—in pain, this time—and drop to the floor, spilling the pins and thrashing my head, trying somehow to get that burning light out of my eyes.
But no matter how tight I squeeze them shut, the blinding brightness is still there. I feel hands on me, grabbing tight, ripping the sleeve of my dress with the force of their grip, long fingernails scratching the flesh beneath. I try to kick out, and my foot connects with a leg beside me.
There’s a satisfying grunt, then a rib-shattering blow to my side that knocks all the wind out of me.
“Quick, before she can make more noise,” comes a shrill voice that I know but can’t place.
Hands close around my throat. I’ve been here before, with a crushing force squeezing my windpipe. Just as it did the last time, my brain fires off wild thoughts as I struggle for air, my head throbbing, lungs screaming for breath. Back then the attack was in the middle of the night, of course, and I had metal on my side. When I blink, I notice the searing white light has been replaced with looming blackness, closing in on me.
Then I hear a scream that definitely isn’t mine.
“Hortense!” the male shouts, and I suddenly know why that shrill voice sounded familiar.
There’s stomping, the crackle of magic, and a strange gargling noise down on the ground beside me. But most importantly, the hands around my throat let go.
I curl in on myself, choking and spitting as my vision comes back to me. There’s no room for relief that I’m not permanently blind, all I can do is stare at the mossy paving stones in front of me as my lungs spasm, trying to restore air to my starved body.
I notice, in sharp focus despite my watery eyes, that the moss is stained dark and wet-looking. It’s covered in blood, but not mine. I follow the trickle to a pile of orange curls, a dislodged mask and a freckled face. Hortense, Galaphina’s friend, is lying there with a blank expression, probably due to the dagger sticking out of her back.
“On your knees.”
I know the words from that intimidating, regal voice can’t be directed at me. I’m already on my knees.
I look up to see Evanthe five feet from me. She’s magnificent in an emerald dress, her brown hair coiled around her shoulders, and in that moment she’s looking down at the remaining two of my attackers with all the heavy judgment of an avenging angel.
Even with their masks still on, I can see they won’t look her in eye, their gazes fixed on Hortense’s body.
Evanthe takes another step towards them, and they flinch.
“Show yourselves,” she commands. Without hesitation, the pair pull off their masks, revealing Vanis, Galaphina’s other friend, and a girl with the same golden blonde hair that I think must be a relative.
I’m still gasping in mouthfuls of air, my rib cage shifting painfully with each inhale, but all my attention turns to the queen.
The disappointment is written plainly across her face, quiet anger rather than the burning rage I see in Ruskin. She examines the faces of Vanis and the girl, frowning.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asks, shaking her head.
The girl is crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Revenge,” she sniffs. “For my sister.”
Evanthe glances at me and I give her a grateful nod, trying to communicate—silently, given my aching throat—my thanks for saving my life. The queen addresses the sister.
“Revenge is a poisonous motivation, child. It places your anger in the hands of another and gives them control over it. And over you. That can have deadly consequences.”
Evanthe gestures to Hortense, who I realize must have been the one strangling me. Evanthe stopped her life with an expertly aimed dagger before she could stop mine.
“We had to,” chokes Vanis. “She was walking free, with no punishment. It wasn’t fair.”
“And who are you to deal out punishment, boy?” Evanthe says coldly. “You are not entitled to this girl’s life, and it is nothing but arrogance and wickedness that makes you think you are. How long have you been planning this?”
Vanis glances at Galaphina’s sister, but she’s looking straight ahead, still crying.
“Tell me,” Evanthe orders calmly but firmly.
“Since we heard she was back. We tried before, with a snake but…”
For the second time in ten minutes, my blood runs cold. So there’s a reason this and that other attack felt similar. Cebba told me she wasn’t responsible, I knew she couldn’t lie, yet some part of me thought she had to be involved somehow. But apparently, I had more deadly enemies at court than I realized. And there may be still more hiding in the shadows, waiting for their opening. My mind goes to Hadeus, wondering how he could possibly be trustworthy when his extended family clearly want me dead.
“And only now, when you have thrown your lives away on this violence, might you understand what a waste it’s all been.” Evanthe sounds disgusted, appalled. It’s almost odd, hearing such measured logic coming from a fae. She’s right, of course, but I’m so used to them being volatile and bloodthirsty that her approach throws me. It’s certainly not how Ruskin would respond.
It’s like the very thought summons him. A figure in black sweeps into view at the end of the corridor, striding towards us. A confusing mix of emotions runs through me at the sight of him.
Ruskin stops in the middle of the scene, his face thunderous. He looks from the queen, to me and my attackers, then lastly his stare lands on Hortense, lying dead between us.
“I smelled blood, Eleanor’s blood, and knew someone had been foolish enough to spill it in my court.” He bares his teeth, glaring at Vanis and the girl. “Those responsible will beg for a quick death.”
“Don’t,” I rasp, straightening up. The movement sends a shock of pain down my side and I wince. Ruskin steps towards me, fear flashing for a second across his face, but I hold up a hand.
“Don’t kill them,” I say.
Evanthe’s words were true, every one of them, and they’ve made me come to my senses. It was because of Ruskin killing in my name that I landed in this situation in the first place. More deaths won’t fix anything—they’ll just give me more enemies when word spreads to their friends and family.
Ruskin is staring at me. I think he’s battling between letting his anger take over and hearing me out. The latter seems to win, by a margin.
“They tried to kill you, Eleanor,” he says, his voice mostly even. “They must be dealt with.”
“Yes, they did,” I say. “This makes the third time, actually. But they tried to kill me,not you. That means I should be the one who gets a say in what happens to them. My life, my choice. And I won’t choose revenge.” I meet Evanthe’s gaze, remembering her words. “I won’t choose something that just renews the cycle. If you execute them now, how many of their friends and family will you have to slaughter before both sides are either satisfied or too devastated to go on?”
Ruskin looks at the two fae kneeling before him. Vanis is shaking with fear. Galaphina’s sister has a dark stain across her dress where her tears have soaked through the fabric. His fist tightens, and his Unseelie eyes flash, then he rounds his shoulders and growls.
“What do you suggest instead?”
“Lock them up,” I say, fighting to keep my voice strong despite the pain in my side. “Imprison them, like you did Lady Rivera and the rest of the Hunt.”
Ruskin turns to Evanthe.
“What do you think they deserve?”
“I think they deserve to be taught a hard lesson, one as merciless as the fate they had planned for Miss Thorn.”
I feel my mouth open in surprise. I hadn’t expected Evanthe to take this stance, not after her speech about throwing their lives away. But she’s not done speaking.
“However, it may serve the Seelie Kingdom better in the long term if you stay their execution. This court has much to learn. It is so obsessed with prejudices and power that its members can’t think of any recourse other than to turn to violence. It’s important its ruler sets an example and steers it away from these tendencies.”
I glance down at Vanis and Galaphina’s sister, wondering if they’ve noticed how careful Evanthe was to talk around who the court’s ruler actually is, but they look too terrified to register much at that moment. Mostly, they seem to be hanging on to the suggestion that they might not die today.
Ruskin hardly looks happy, but he nods, seeming to concede Evanthe’s point.
“Fine,” he says. “They will live.”
I feel oddly relieved—even though these people hate me, even if they’d love to see me dead. This move feels like it at least has a chance of ending the hunger for revenge and the lives pointlessly lost.
“Thank you,” I say, then wince at the movement. I’d forgotten about my ribs and sore throat for a moment.
Ruskin’s eyes flare as he notes my discomfort.
“We should get you to a healer,” he says. “That, at least, I will hear no argument about.”
“Take her,” Evanthe says. “I shall summon the guards to deal with these.” She nods at the kneeling fae. Her son hesitates, and I can see he is torn between his urge to protect me and to watch out for his mother. His unease is so normal, so human, that I have the sudden desire to reach out to him.
“Are you sure?” he asks Evanthe.
“A woman lies dead at your feet, and you’re concerned I can’t handle myself?” she replies, looking a touch amused at her son’s doubt.
He concedes by placing a gentle hand at my shoulder, guiding me forward.
I move slowly, trying to avoid jostling the broken bones that sting every time I take a breath. As we turn out of the corridor, I can feel his eyes on me.
“I suspect you are too stubborn to say yes,” he murmurs, “but if you would allow me to carry you?—”
“The key is not to move the point of fracture any more than necessary,” I say. “Bouncing up and down in your arms isn’t going to help.”
“I’m insulted. Of course I could hold you steady.”
I sweep a look at Ruskin’s toned arms, the extraordinary grace with which he walks. Every movement is precise and perfectly considered. He’s probably right, but I can’t be that close to him, exactly because of how easy it would be, how right it would feel.
I’ve not been to the healers’ quarters before, having only met the green-uniformed men and women out at the site of crisis or injury. The rooms are decorated more simply than the rest of the palace, and the atmosphere is calm, with herbs dotted around that leave the place smelling of fresh mint, and lemon trees growing in the corners. There’s a shelf with a few glass bottles on it that reminds me of my mother’s healers kit, though it’s hardly groaning with ingredients like hers. I remind myself that these healers use magic much more than herbs to cure their patients.
The female healer comes out of a side room to greet us, curtseying when she sees Ruskin, and she nods at me.
“How can I help, Your Majesty?”
“Miss Thorn here has been attacked. She’s in significant pain. You must do everything you can to fix her injuries.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say, thinking that Ruskin makes it sound more dramatic than it is. “Just a few cracked ribs and a bruised throat, I think. Also, they did something to my eyes,” I blink, realizing they still feel sore after Vanis’s spell.
“Please, take a seat.” She gestures to a raised chaise draped with a white cloth. I obediently perch on it, conscious of Ruskin’s careful watch over the whole thing.
“I’m Eleanor, by the way,” I say, as the healer feels her fingers along my side. “We keep running into each other, so I figured I should probably introduce myself.”
“I’m Atlana Elmsweb.” She smiles at me, and I think that she has the perfect face for a healer—gentle and soothing.
“Lady Elmsweb?” I ask to clarify. All the High Fae tend to be nobles, and I’d hate to offend her by getting the title wrong.
“No, just Atlana, or Healer Elmsweb, if you prefer. We renounce all other titles when we take the healer’s oath,” she says.
“You have one of those too?” I say with surprise. It seems medicine women like Mom and these fae healers have more in common than I thought.
“We do,” she says, pausing when she presses on the tender part of my side, and I stiffen.
“Do you mind?” she asks, laying her hand flat on the point and looking at me expectantly.
“Er, sure.”
She closes her eyes and begins to work her magic. I wasn’t conscious the last time they worked on me and I realize I’m holding my breath, anticipating something dramatic.
The point where her hand presses grows warm, and a tingling sensation sinks beneath the surface of my skin. It’s actually quite nice at first, but when it reaches my ribs, it becomes distinctly less pleasant. There’s a spike of pain as—I guess—the bones are shifted back into their proper places. I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but it’s like I can feel the ends grinding against each other, then a dull ache that makes me think they’d being knitted back together now that they’re aligned.
Atlana opens her eyes.
“Now we’ll look at your throat.”
“That’s it?” I ask, stunned.
“The breaks were not big,” she says. Then her brow furrows. “You’re not still in a lot of pain, are you?”
I twist in my seat to test my movement. There’s a low level of discomfort, like the soreness of a strained muscle, but the stabbing sensation has disappeared.
“No,” I say, amazed. Atlana lays her hands on my throat next. The same skin-tingling happens, then the sharp pain whenever I inhale fades.
“Can I ask a question?” I say, now feeling more comfortable to talk. “Not that I’m complaining, but why isn’t it completely gone—the pain around my ribs, I mean? Didn’t you undo all the damage?”
Ruskin makes a noise, and when I look over, I see a faint smile on his lips.
“She’s curious,” he says to Atlana. “She likes to know the answers to everything.”
“Not everything,” I say, but my tone matches his playfulness in spite of myself.
“Allow me to oblige,” Atlana says with a smile. “The surface level bruises and the ribs themselves are healed. Skin and bone are always simpler than other, smaller body parts. There will likely have been some small damage to the tissue where the bone fractured. I’ve left it for now, as I think your body will fix it nicely itself, and one should be careful not to overload a body with too much foreign magic in one go when we’re healing your throat as well.”
“Interesting,” I say. It makes sense that this kind of healing, like everything else, has its limitations. “And my eyes?”
“They were hit with magic?” she asks, looking them over.
“Yes, some kind of bright light which blinded me for a few minutes.”
Atlana confirms that I can see fine now and then checks for lasting damage, reading my eyes with her magic like she did my side. Minutes later she steps back, looking pleased.
“There’s been some strain, and you might have headaches for the next few days, but otherwise I think you’re all right.”
I jump up from the chaise, but Ruskin lays a hand on my shoulder. The heat of his touch sears through my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Slow down,” he orders, and there’s more than a hint of irritation in his voice. “Your body still has healing to do, remember?”
Atlana tactfully takes this moment to bid us goodbye. I thank her, and she curtseys before backing out of the room.
“Really, I’m fine,” I say, once we’re alone. I’m enjoying his hand on me and realize I’ve missed the weight of his touch—want that hand to linger—which is why I immediately pull away. I’m trying to be strong, or at least, not creating opportunities my weakness can take advantage of. Not easy to do, especially considering that a simple touch—something as simple as his hand on my shoulder—is enough to make my heart beat faster.
“Why do you keep saying that?” Ruskin says, and it seems I haven’t done much to remedy his frustration. “Just because you have magic now, doesn’t mean you’re invulnerable. You can still be hurt, and you need to start acknowledging that.”
“Oh, because you’re the master of admitting vulnerability?” I point out sarcastically. I look straight into his eyes, urging myself to keep my wits about me, but my heart refuses my commands. Instead of slowing down, it picks up the pace.
“It’s not the same.”
“Of course,” I say sadly, already knowing that he believes there’s vastly different rules for him and me.
He takes a step towards me, catching my wrists before I can stop him, and pulling me in close. My breath hitches in my throat. We can’t do this. We shouldn’t do this. And yet… I look up at him, feeling overwhelmed at the nearness of his body, the mere inches between me and that ridiculously kissable mouth.
I lick my lips, aware my breathing has gone shallow.
“It’s different, Ella, because even if I cannot have you, I cannot have a world without you in it.” His words are a whisper, tender and rough at the same time, and they coil themselves around every single one of my thoughts.
I can’t think.
I can barely breathe.
I shift, my thigh brushing against his, and Ruskin closes his eyes like he’s fighting an internal demon. When he opens his eyes, I have a split second to see the fire blazing in them, to realize he’s lost the battle.
“Ruskin, we?—”
Can’t, I want to say, but I’m silenced by the weight of his lips. His mouth is on mine, demanding entry, and I’m powerless to deny him. How could I, when every inch of him is so strong, so powerful? Even my body betrays me. Boiling blood rushes through my veins, and my hands move of their own accord, eager for more of that closeness, desperate for… everything.
The fact that I’m pawing eagerly at his shirt as his hands find my hips is irrelevant. He uses his grip to pull me flush against him, my yielding flesh giving way against his hard muscles. I savor the taste of him as his tongue traces mine, caressing it, filling my mouth with that tantalizing sweetness whose source I can never identify. The flavor is just purely Ruskin, like honey with a bite of heat after it. You’d never know looking at him that’s what lies beneath, and yet I get to experience it—taste it.
I want to throw myself into that maddening sweetness of his, to lose myself in his lips and surrender all that I am. And more than just wanting it… I need it.
But that sweetness has turned bitter on me in the past.
I flatten my hands against his chest, using all my willpower to push him away. It takes all of my inner strength to do it, to go against my body’s wishes and ignore the wild hunger coursing through it. But it needs to be done, and so I do it.
Ruskin releases his grip on me, but his eyes are wild, confused with the sudden denial of his—and my—desire. Because even though it’s so obvious I want him, I still know that this ground is so dangerous. It would be too easy to give in to the desire raging within me, but the aftermath—the pain and the messiness—couldn’t possibly make it worth it. Could it?
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
I don’t want to look at him, but I can’t stop myself, studying his reaction. I see the heat die in his eyes, freezing to ice.
“You’re not safe,” he says, and for a moment, I think he’s talking about me and him. I’m certainly not safe from the draw he has on me. But then I realize Ruskin’s resuming our conversation from before as if the kiss never happened.
“That’s why you’ll go back to having Halima as your bodyguard during your stay at the palace,” he says, straightening his jacket.
“What? No.” The haze of want quickly dissipates as I realize what he’s suggesting.
“Yes, it’s the only way to ensure your safety.”
I hate how he speaks as if I’ve no say in the matter, like the decision is already made. I wonder for a moment if this has anything to do with my rejection of him a moment ago… but no, this is far from the first time I’ve heard this tone from him.
“Believe me, I’m all for me staying alive, but you can’t just hand me off to her like some kind of object.”
He has the nerve to look startled, as if it never occurred to him that I might feel that way. Of course it didn’t, I remind myself. Considering how others feel isn’t something he does. “That’s not what this is,” he protests.
“Oh really? Then why are you acting like I haven’t defended myself from stuff like this before—like I didn’t survive being hunted by Cebba back when my magic wasn’t nearly as strong?”
“And what about today?” he snaps.
“Today…” I’d almost forgotten my conversation with Destan in all the action. “Today I was distracted.” I bite my tongue, frustrated at how weak the answer sounds, but knowing I’m not ready to explain what had been occupying my mind when Galaphina’s friends attacked. “It won’t happen again,” I finish lamely.
“You’re right, it won’t.”
“I’m not a child,” I bite back. How could this man possibly be my soulmate? He’s so arrogant, so controlling, and as much as he makes my skin heat, he also makes my blood boil. “I’m fi?—”
“Don’t say fine again.” He scans me, and I stand up straighter, trying to look as steady and unshaken by my recent experience as possible.
“You may seem fine, Eleanor, but don’t you think that’s strange, considering how close you were to death today? Doesn’t it occur to you that there’s something wrong with the way you’ve gotten used to these kinds of incidents?”
“I—”
I’m actually lost for words, because he has a point. I have somehow assimilated enough to Faerie that I can experience something horrific and then just move on, not dwelling on it. A woman had died in front of me, I was nearly strangled to death, but I genuinely felt like it was all okay because I’d come out the other side and because the aftermath had been—comparatively—not too bloody or brutal.
I need to process all of this and what it’s turning me into…and I need to do that somewhere where he isn’t.“I’m going to my room,” I state, hoping that I carry enough authority in my voice that he’ll just agree for once, rather than deciding I simply must do something else because he knows best. He should be fine with this, anyway. I’m sure he’d like to keep me closed up in a tower where only he can reach me—all the better if I go there of my own free will. “No more practicing today.”
I don’t know if he’ll find Halima and have her follow me, but I can’t be bothered to fight anymore. When we’ve been working together the last few days, and when he respected my wishes just now about leaving my attackers alive, I thought it meant things were different. That even if we weren’t together, he was seeing me as a partner in this thing. Someone he’s willing to listen to and respect. But of course he doesn’t see me that way. I’m still just a piece to be moved about the board to him. A child to be guided and minded.
I decide to sleep away the rest of the day, tired of this world and its king. But when I slip into my dreams, Ruskin awaits me there still. At first, it’s like many of the other dreams that I have about him—the memory of his warm hands on me, his handsome face looking down at me with fierce protectiveness, telling me how loved I am. I see him as the man who would go to the ends of the earth for those he cares about…
Then the picture of him changes. Shadows swallow him up, yellow cat eyes gleaming from the gloom, and his teeth shine red from his kills. Now he’s not the elegant prince of my fantasies, but a monster of darkness, a creature thirsty for blood, prowling the night that surrounds me. I meet his gaze as he lifts his head to look at me. It’s then that I see he’s standing over a pile of bodies: humans and fae. People he’s made deals with, servants who’ve disobeyed him and there, slumped on top of the pile with crimson streaming down her neck: me.