Chapter 18
It’s good to be back in my workshop, to feel the heat of the fire on my face and the weight of my tools in my hands. I can’t help but notice now that nothing had been touched in my absence. Everything was just as I had left it, right down to the last notes I wrote, scribbled on a scrap of parchment and tucked under a pair of tongs. I wonder now if it’s because Ruskin hoped I would, at some point, return to Faerie. But why should I want that to be true so badly when I’m supposed to be leaving as soon as we’ve fixed this problem?
Because he’s different from before.
The changes are subtle, but they’re there. The way Ruskin greeted his court on that first night back, when he wasn’t so guarded; the way he listened to me when it came to the attack and Halima. I could guess at why he’s changed—maybe it has something to do with Evanthe being back, or maybe it’s because my leaving in the first place taught him not to take me for granted—but I’m not sure it even matters. I haven’t decided what this difference means for me, but it’s there, lurking around every corner of my mind.
I turn out the mold I’ve been using and cool the metal in a bucket of water, watching the water sizzle and steam billow. It clears, and I look up to see the man who’s been occupying my thoughts standing at the door to the workshop.
“I wondered where you’d gotten to.”
My visit to the orchard was yesterday, but the hours in between have raced by, with me only breaking to eat and sleep. The way Ruskin says it, though, I sense that he’s talking about more than just the last twenty-four hours. There’s a hint of sadness to his tone that confuses me.
“Look,” I say, removing my creation from the water and dropping it, now cool, onto the worktable. There’s an impressive clunk as it hits the wood. Ruskin comes round behind me to look at it, and I can feel his breath on my neck. We both look down at what I’ve made: a full-face mask of lead, with a narrow slit for the eyes.
“Interesting, though I’m not sure Destan would want to wear it to the next ball,” he says breezily.
I give him a light tap on the arm, unable to resist the playful response.
“It’s for the miners,” I say. “I know it’s a bit basic, but I think it could make a difference. Keep them safer while they work.”
I’d used a lead-lined box to dampen the effect of the iron shards the time I’d had to pull them out of Destan. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before that I could make other things with the material, like protective gear for a miner to wear.
Ruskin reaches out and runs his fingers over the mask.
“This is what you’ve been working on since yesterday?”
I nod. “I decided I needed to do something to help. Something I know I can do already.”
Ruskin’s wearing a look I can’t quite read.
“Ella, I—” he begins, before cutting himself off and looking away. I grow still at his use of my nickname and study his face, realizing something with unexpected certainty: he was going to tell me he loves me.
And then he thought better of it, of course, because even though it’s true—even though I feel the same—it doesn’t fix anything. Not after all that’s happened between us.
Ruskin steps back, clearing his throat, and I look down at the floor to hide the feelings I suspect are written plainly across my face.
“We should be getting back to your training,” he says. “That’s the priority right now.”
I gesture to my worktable. “But I haven’t even gotten started making them. This is the only one I have. It took me a while to get the consistency right.”
“It will have to wait,” he says, with a firmness that raises my hackles.
“No. There are people in pain in that orchard. Don’t you care? Doesn’t it bother you that your subjects are hurting when you could do something about it?”
The warmth that was in his eyes a moment ago has cooled. “I am doing something about it, and I resent your assumptions that I’m indifferent to their pain. But I’m not blind to other factors either. Why else would I be here, trying to persuade you to focus on your training?”
Why else indeed.
“My training is about stopping iron attacks when they come; this is about helping people now. I need to make more of this protection, and not just masks, all kinds of gear.”
“But the iron attacks could come at any time—this hour or the next. You’re suggesting putting a bandage on the wound; I am suggesting a cure to the disease that caused it. That is what will stop the suffering. Will you make a set of lead armor for every person in this court when the iron returns?”
I can see the wisdom in his words, even if it feels wrong to prioritize anything over the miners’ suffering. I push the mask away from me with a sigh.
“It’s hard for me to have faith in magic,” I admit. “I’m used to working with ore and metal, things I can hold in my hand. Magic feels unreliable in comparison. Especially my own power, which, might I remind you, I’m not even supposed to have.”
“Of course you’re meant to have it,” Ruskin says gently. “There’s more to us meeting than coincidence. What with your gold weaving and now these other abilities, I was supposed to find you. I’m sure of that.”
I stare at him.
It sounds like he’s talking about something grand and inevitable—something a bit like fate. Searching his face, I wonder if he could possibly have an inkling of what we are to each other. Or what we might be, if I’m prepared to accept the whole idea of naminai.
But Ruskin just looks back at me, his eyebrow quirked. I’m aware I’m staring like an idiot and so shake my head to clear it, beginning to pack away my tools.
“Fine. Let’s train, then.”
“I still don’t understand why the other training ground won’t do,” I say, reluctantly accepting Ruskin’s hand so I can slide off my horse without falling on my ass. “The one I used with Halima.”
“Because I’m expecting considerably more fallout from what we’ll be working on today.”
I straighten my tunic, noting the way Ruskin’s eyes linger on it. He wore a curious expression when I first came out of my room with my pants and thigh guards on, plus a sword sheathed at my belt.
“What?” I asked, checking I had everything on the right way round.
“Nothing. It just suits you,” he said. It took me a moment to recognize the look on his face as desire: he liked the way the armor looked on me.
“Who knew you had such a thing for military women,” I couldn’t resist teasing. “I should warn Halima.”
“Just one woman, actually, and she’s got her arm brace on the wrong way up.”
“Dammit,” I said, knowing something hadn’t felt right. I used the task of switching it around as distraction from the blush his words created on my cheeks.
I look around now to the place where he’s led us, taking in the low valley. Thankfully there’s no purple flowers on the hills, and these outcrops look rockier than the ones from my vision. Dark stone peeks through the greenery, and the tops stretch out, undulating across the skyline.
“So what’s different about today?” I ask.
“Halima is excellent when it comes to physical combat. It’s why I wanted her to teach you the basic movements of sword fighting. But she’d be the first person to say she doesn’t have the same kind of strength at magic. Halima’s tactic has always been to win before her opponent has a chance to use it against her, but that’s less feasible for you.”
“So you’re going to teach me to defend myself against magic and swords…at the same time?” I ask. It sounds impossible. I just about survived yesterday, and that only required me to focus on one kind of defense.
“I’ll go easy on you. To begin with,” he adds, unsheathing his sword. I recognize it as the one I used to kill Cebba. He notes my stare. “You managed to use this, Eleanor,” he reminds me, his voice soft and encouraging. “And that was when you had no idea what you were doing.
“But that was a matter of life and death,” I argue. “I was just acting on instinct.”
“And this is a matter of life and death too. Or it will be, tomorrow, or next week, or whenever someone next decides to take a shot at you. And that will happen; you’re too important to be left alone. But your instincts will always be a good guide.”
I suppress a shiver at his words of warning. They scare me…but at the same time, it feels good to hear them. Ruskin telling me I matter hits me right where I’m vulnerable. It echoes another time when we stood alone in a forest and he told me I was important.
He’d saved my life then—has done many times since. As wary as I am of how he makes me feel, I don’t want to let him down by playing fast and loose with my safety now, or his court’s, for that matter.
“Okay. Instinct. Got it.” I raise my sword, taking the initial stance Halima showed me.
“Good,” Ruskin says, then rushes at me.
I hurry to still my inner pool and take command of my magic, ordering it to bring my sword up to block Ruskin’s. It manages to take most of the force of his blow, which is so strong it might have dislocated my arm if I’d tried to take the brunt of it. As it is, the impact rattles painfully through my bones.
“This is going easy?” I gasp.
“It is if you still have breath to chat,” Ruskin says, spinning round and bringing his sword towards me again. Halima showed me this move, and I’m prepared to meet the angle. Another potentially bone-shattering blow, but I block it, allowing myself a triumphant smile. Then something wraps tight around my ankle and yanks me off my feet.
I hit the ground, my sword falling from my hand and sliding across the grass. I look down to see a vine releasing itself from where it had grabbed me and slithering away.
“What the hell?”
“I did say we were going to use magic in this session,” Ruskin reminds me, looking smug.
“Yes, but I didn’t think—” I pause to take his hand so he can lift me to my feet, and I go over to retrieve my sword. “I’m still learning, you know.”
Ruskin spins his sword in his hand in a move I’m sure Halima would condemn as unnecessary showboating.
“Learn faster,” he says with a shrug.
I gape at him and am about to argue, but he’s coming in for the attack again.
His blade flashes in the sun, and I wonder how he can be sure he won’t hurt me. Halima’s swordsmanship always seemed to have such tight control, but Ruskin—his fighting reflects his personality: it’s a whirlwind of power and passion.
I remember Halima’s instruction about overhead blocks and direct my sword up into a horizontal position. The steel clangs loudly enough to echo through the valley. I’m not fully focused on what my sword’s doing, though—I can’t be, not when I notice there’s another vine slithering towards my feet. When it reaches my boot, I direct my magic towards the boot’s buckle. The metal loop lifts, expands, then snaps shut around the creeping plant, severing it in two.
“Good,” Ruskin says, flashing me a grin of approval.
But despite his congratulations, he’s already withdrawn his sword to attempt another strike. I block it again, but only just this time, barely getting my sword up before his goes glancing past my ear. I stare at him, wondering if he’s aware how close he came to injuring me, but his face shows only a steely focus.
“Are you just going to block me all day, or are you actually going to try some offensive moves?” he demands, swiping at me. I almost fall over again as a root erupts from the ground and nearly impales my foot, forcing me to clumsily jump back from it and Ruskin.
I can’t catch my breath, can barely think in the onslaught of attacks. I’m working purely on gut feeling, and my blood pressure is dangerously high. I can’t take much more of Ruskin’s close calls and goading.
As I dodge the next blow, I take his advice. I don’t think I can disarm him when I’m on the back foot like this—pulling the sword from Halima was hard even without her having a fraction of Ruskin’s magical power. Instead, I seize upon the first thing I can see that would be useful: a pair of silver buttons on his cuffs.
The spell is a simple one. Whenever I use magic on metal, it grows hot to the touch anyway, so I just push it further now, encouraging the buttons to heat up, raising their temperature until they’re searing.
Ruskin hisses in pain as the metal scorches through the fabric and burns his skin. His wrist jerks and his grip on the sword loosens.
It’s a tiny window, but I try to seize it, running forward with my blade raised.
A fully formed tree bursts from the ground directly in front of me before I can slow my momentum and my magically propelled sword sinks into it, embedded in a spray of splinters.
I let out a groan of frustration, yanking on the handle to get it free.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Eleanor. A few buttons, really?”
He’s not playing fair, which might be expected, but he’s not teaching fair either. I can’t learn anything like this, when he’s foiling me at every turn, never giving me a chance to succeed. Ruskin is so powerful and experienced that of course he will win this fight, but making me lose spectacularly, with a running commentary of snide remarks, just feels like beating me down rather than helping me get stronger.
And yet we go on like this—him attacking me, me just about blocking him and his magic while desperately grabbing any opportunity to go on the attack myself. Each of my attempts fails. I find I can’t get within inches of him.
“This is a waste of time,” I bite out in between heavy breaths, my hair plastered to my face with sweat, my body aching and sore. “I’m not getting anywhere. You’re not letting me.”
“Only because you lack imagination,” he replies.
It’s the last straw. The anger that has been building inside me boils over and I cast about for something—anything—to prove him wrong. I throw the net of my power wide. His magic keeps attacking me from below, growing obstacles that trip and block me at every step. But plants aren’t the only thing you’ll find underground…
There’s a rocky outcrop to my left that sings to me, calling to my magic. There, beneath its surface, lies a fat deposit of silver. I can use that, I’m sure, if I can just get deep enough to move it.
It takes too long. I’m just easing my magic under the base of the silver deposit when the branch from a nearby tree bends and creaks under Ruskin’s magic, snapping forward to plow into me. The move knocks me a few feet backwards and I land right on my ass, doubled over and winded.
Ruskin bares his sharp teeth at me in what looks like satisfaction. Is this all just part of the training to him, or is he maybe taking some pleasure in it? Is this payback for leaving? Is he relishing the chance to humiliate me like I did him?
I’m still connected to the silver buried deep in the earth. In that moment my physical pain, my shock and anger, run into my magic, the high emotions giving it the fuel it needs.
The hill beside us sits green and undisturbed for one more second, then it explodes.