Chapter 20
We’re heading deep underground. I can tell from the way the normally warm air begins to cool. As we walk in silence, I’m keenly conscious of my nearness to Ruskin. The silence gives me too much room to dwell on the time we were last together. It ended disastrously, but before that…the feel of his lips on mine and his hands on my skin were so intense, so perfect, that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them. I’m angry at him for manipulating me under any circumstances, but if I’m honest, a part of me is especially mad that we couldn’t enjoy that moment—couldn’t give in to our desire. He had to go and spoil things.
“What makes you think I can move this iron?” I ask, looking to distract myself. “I couldn’t do it in the gallery before.”
“It’s not a lot. And you’re stronger now. You proved that much the other day.”
I did, in the valley, right before we…
No. Not going there. I turn my neck, squinting at the passageway around us, dimly lit by faerie lights. I look for something to distract me.
“How old is this place, anyway?”
“Millenia,” Ruskin says, his voice hushed with reverence for the space. “We don’t know who built it, but when they laid the foundation for the palace, they dug deep. We still have a bit of a walk yet.”
I try to wrap my head around that amount of time and fail. I’ve been around for two decades. To me, even a century seems impossibly long ago. It does for most humans. But the fae are a different matter.
“How old are you?” I blurt out, suddenly realizing I don’t have any real idea.
Ruskin glances at me.
“Three hundred and twenty-two.”
My jaw drops, but I quickly clamp it shut again. I knew he had centuries on me, but hearing it said so casually kind of puts it into perspective.
The passageway levels out, then splits into several directions. Remembering Cebba’s labyrinth in the Emerald Forest, I shudder. Hundreds of available paths but only one way out.
“So this is how you keep the stone’s location hidden?” I ask.
Ruskin nods. “You could wander these corridors for years and never find it unless you knew where you were going.”
“But you definitely do, right?” I ask as he strides ahead.
He lets out a low chuckle. “Yes. Since I was a child. The monarch’s family is taught early. We don’t just use the stone to rule, we’re supposed to protect it too.”
I keep close behind him, still not convinced I won’t get lost in this maze. I hate the part of me that wants to reach out to him for comfort and protection. I’m still haunted by the ghost of how he made me feel—safe, loved.
I keep my hand down at my side.
Eventually, the passage we’re in widens and we approach a circle of stone columns. A figure paces the perimeter, and as we get closer, I see it’s Evanthe, looking magnificent in a silver dress, the bodice sparkling in the faerie lights like it’s covered with stars.
She looks up as we approach and smiles.
“At last.”
I see now why she hasn’t entered the circle. There’s a single shoot of iron winding itself around the interior. It’s not as thick as the ones upstairs, but it seems to be more than enough to keep Ruskin and Evanthe at bay.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mother, but Eleanor has kindly agreed to help.”
I offer her a respectful nod, wondering if the two of them can tell how nervous I am. What if I can’t shift this iron for them? Can they still do the ritual? Or will the stone’s magic simply not work?
I feel a hand at the small of my back, nudging me forward.
“Go on, Iron Tamer,” Ruskin murmurs. “I know you can do it.”
I want to protest at this, because it’s not like he’s never been wrong before. But arguing won’t do any good, so instead I step towards the iron, already reaching out to read it.
It’s different when it’s not moving, impaling everything in its path. It’s easier to get hold of, to examine in my mind’s eye with my magic. There’s still more resistance there than with other metal, but that resistance doesn’t seem so conscious now—so alive.
I move close enough to lay my hands on the tendril and immediately hear a small intake of breath from Ruskin. He knows the iron won’t hurt me, but I suppress a smile, knowing his protective instinct kicked in anyway. I slide my palms along the cold metal, feeling that same echo of malice as before. Bracing myself, I wrap my magic around it—and then I start pushing.
The metal grinds, shifting beneath my hand a few inches.
“That’s it,” Ruskin says, pleased.
But even that small movement was hard work. I pause, wiping a bead of sweat from my face, then take a breath and push again, throwing the weight of my power behind it. Nothing for a second—then the iron retreats—inch by inch, foot by foot, sliding back beneath the earth it erupted from like a huge, gray worm. It requires less effort as the moments slip by, as if it accepts its defeat. By the end, the last tendril disappears quickly under the surface of the soil.
I kick the dirt over the hole it leaves behind. I can still feel it there, under the ground, but it’s covered enough not to be a threat. I swallow, trying to catch my breath. If I thought I was sweaty and gross before, it’s twice as bad now.
“Are you all right?” Ruskin is by my side, his hand at my back again. I can’t help but notice that he finds any excuse to touch me, and that I rarely protest when he does.
“Yes,” I pant.
“You were amazing.” The earnestness in his voice warms me. He is not as sparse with his praise as Halima, but his often comes with strings attached. Now, at least, I can hear the simple gratitude in his voice.
“Yes, thank you, Miss Thorn,” Evanthe says, offering me a courteous nod. “Now we can proceed.”
I sense her eagerness to get the ritual started. It must feel strange to no longer be High Queen. Maybe she secretly agrees with Ruskin that things will be better when she wears the crown again, though she seems too diplomatic to say it aloud.
I step back, looking over my shoulder as I try to figure out how in the world I’m supposed to get out of this maze. It occurs to me that I should have laid down some wire that I could use to trace my way back out—but it’s too late for that now. Maybe if I concentrate on the metal tools in my workshop, I can use them as a sort of beacon to guide me back? It seems as good an option as any, but before I can give it a try, Ruskin catches my hand.
“Stay,” he says.
“What?” I stare at him, confused. “But everyone keeps going on about how secretive this thing is,” I say.
“It is. But I want you to stay. You’ve seen the stone now anyway, and this ceremony wouldn’t be happening without you.”
He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “I heard what you said, Ella. I want to include you more. Let me.”
I look over his shoulder at Evanthe. How does she feel about this? I can’t imagine she’s pleased her son has just invited a random human to watch one of their most private and sacred traditions. Sure enough, I see her face is conflicted—not angry, but not happy either.
“You need to ask your mother,” I mutter to Ruskin. “I won’t stay if she’s not comfortable with it.”
Ruskin nods and turns to speak with her. They step away for a moment, and I stand there, shifting awkwardly, as they have a conversation I can’t hear. But it’s only a minute or so later that Ruskin looks over and smiles at me. It’s one of his rare, genuine grins, and it quite dazzles me for a few seconds.
“It’s all right,” he says, crossing back over to me and taking my hand. “Trust me.”
I blink up at him, thinking about just how much I want to be able to trust him. I glance again at Evanthe, but she’s stepping towards the circle of columns, eyes on what stands in the center. I wonder what made her say yes so quickly, and then blush when it occurs to me she must know I’m something—someone—to Ruskin. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.
Ruskin squeezes my hand and leads me towards the circle. We step through together, towards the central pillar. It’s huge, much taller than those that surround it. I look up and see where it disappears through a hole in the ceiling, darkness swallowing it up.
“Where does it go?” I ask.
“Up through the palace to the throne room,” Ruskin murmurs.
The ground in front of the pillar is inlaid with an eight-pointed star. Not just any star—the sun, I realize—a symbol of the Seelie Court.
There, protruding from the base of the of pillar like a huge step, is a massive block that stands out from the warm sand-colored rock surrounding it. It’s black as night, the bottomless surface swallowing up light—and I wonder where it came from, because it is so unlike everything else I have seen in the Seelie Kingdom.
By now, I’m used to feeling the magic in the air when I’m around someone or something that’s especially powerful, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever felt. As soon as we’re inside the circle, I can feel the stone’s power emanating from it, hitting me in the chest like deep throbs of sound.
“It’s time, Ruskin,” Evanthe says. He drops my hand and goes to kneel in front of the stone. Evanthe sweeps behind him in her glittering dress, placing an elegant hand on his shoulder. I crane my neck to see without moving nearer. I can sense that this is as close as I should come.
Ruskin lays his palm on the stone, closing his eyes, and the stone’s power throbs harder, like a heartbeat echoing around me. A scraping noise cuts through the air and a shaft of light pierces the darkness of the stone. It moves, and in its wake carves out letters one by one in the black surface, like a soldering iron burning a pattern into wood.
I recognize the name the shaft of light carves: Solskir. Ruskin’s true name. I realize his touch has revealed the hidden inscription that marks him out as High King.
But the beam of light keeps moving past the final letter, beginning to carve out another name.
G…a…t…i…
The inscription stops abruptly there, though I sense the name is not done. The beam of light flickers and crackles, then crosses through the four letters almost violently. I realize what they must be: the beginnings of Cebba’s true name, when she managed to get so close to taking the power of the High Monarch, and turning the stone to her will. I shiver at the thought, but Evanthe bends to trace her fingers lightly over the mangled name, and I wonder what she’s thinking. How strange it must be to wake up and learn not only of the death of your daughter but of her betrayal of everything you hold dear.
“Will you strike off your name?” Evanthe asks Ruskin. “It will be easier for you to do it. The stone dislikes unnecessary conflict.”
I listen carefully, fascinated, noting the way she talks about the stone like it’s alive.
“I think we should wait,” Ruskin says.
“For what?” Evanthe asks. I think I detect a note of concern in her voice.
“For you to take the trials,” Ruskin says. He takes Evanthe’s hand, standing up. “I have faith you’ll pass them, of course. But as a safeguard, would it not be better to wait until you’re ready to inscribe your name? Then I will strike mine from the stone.”
Evanthe seems to think this over, then inclines her head. “Very well.”
Ruskin steps back, positioning himself beside me as Evanthe kneels in front of the founding stone. She lays her hands on either side of Ruskin’s true name, still glowing like sunlight, and bows her head.
There’s silence. I almost hold my breath, and when I glance up at Ruskin, I see he’s barely breathing too, his face taut with tension and his eyes fixed on his mother. He’s worried, and I want to offer up a word of comfort, but then the stone lets loose a pulse of power that steals the air from my lungs, and Evanthe cries out.
Ruskin flinches, but otherwise doesn’t move, just listens intently as she starts speaking rapidly, her eyes closed and hands still splayed on the stone.
“No, please…it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what I wanted. There’s another path…is that the path?”
It means nothing to me, but Evanthe sounds sorrowful one moment, terrified the next. I reach for Ruskin’s hand and feel grateful when his large, warm fingers enclose mine.
“Don’t worry,” he says, sounding far from relaxed himself. “This is part of the process. The stone has to test her, to see if she’s worthy.”
“What kind of test?” I whisper.
“It will test her power, but her mind too. It likes to play tricks, show you things you fear or hate…it wants to know the strength of your will.” It immediately makes me think of Cebba’s labyrinth, full of mind-bending apparitions. I wonder if this is where she got the idea from.
“It did that with you?” I ask quietly, aware that for once it’s not appropriate to ask too many questions and I’m probably approaching my limit.
“Yes,” he says.
“Lucan? Lucan, where are you?” Evanthe sobs, her whole upper body shaking now. “You shouldn’t have left me. Everything…everything is so wrong since you left…”
I look away. I understand now why only the ruling family witness this. It’s too personal, too exposed for the person who would be monarch.
The volume of Evanthe’s voice steadily rises, throwing out phrases that make no sense to me at all. She even recites words in a language I don’t know, which I assume is the old tongue.
Ruskin shifts, and his hand tightens in mine.
“Something’s wrong,” he says. “It shouldn’t take this long.”
I can tell he’s right. Evanthe looks increasingly frail against the solid mass of black stone. Maybe she and Ruskin misjudged. Maybe she isn’t yet strong enough to pass the trials.
The ground beneath us begins to shake.
At first I think it’s coming from the stone—just another pulse of its power. But the motion is coming from beneath us, rising up. Instinctively, I grab hold of Ruskin, as my ears fill with the rumble of an entire building trembling.
“Mother!” Ruskin begins to move towards Evanthe, but he doesn’t reach her before she’s thrown backwards, hitting the ground with her arms still outstretched like she’s been physically shoved away from the stone. She opens her eyes, bewildered, as Ruskin starts to pull her up, and I notice the names on the stone flicker and disappear, leaving the surface blank like before.
“We need to get out of here,” he says to both of us as a crack appears in one of the columns at the edge of the circle.
Coming from high up above in the palace, I hear the distant sound of screams.
We sprint back to the exit, both fae having to slow down so I can keep up with them. Once we’re back on ground level, we follow the sounds of disaster, leading us straight towards the dining hall.
When we reach it, the orchard is bleeding iron.