Chapter 25

“So it is true, then. My nephew has come to my kingdom.” Lisinder’s face is as stony as his throne room, his gaze resting heavily on us. I note the rustle of hundreds of fae leaning forward to get a better look.

“Your Majesty. Uncle.” Ruskin bows and I quickly follow suit, bobbing a curtsey. “It has been a long time.”

“It has, but I would recognize my brother’s son anywhere. It’s a pity you don’t seem to have inherited his forthright nature. I was displeased to hear that you arrived under a cloak of secrecy.”

I fight the urge to fidget. In Seelie, this message would’ve been delivered differently—with sarcastic insinuations or a snide smirk. But Lisinder’s disapproval is direct and unveiled. He’s not bothering to hide how this angers him. After all the games of Seelie, the bald-faced honesty of it is unsettling.

Ruskin must feel it too, because there’s more emotion than I expect in his response.

“I came in secrecy perhaps, Uncle, but I can promise you my companion and I mean no harm to this court. We are simply here to visit an old friend.”

“But not, it seems, your own flesh and blood?” Lisinder’s voice rises now, booming across the cavern. “You must be aware, Nephew, that a prince of Seelie creeping into this court like a snake in the grass looks like an act of spycraft.”

Ruskin lifts his chin, refusing to be shamed. “I hoped it would not be perceived that way.”

“You hoped it wouldn’t be perceived at all!” Lisinder says, his lips pulled back so that I can see his canines clearly. “You are either a fool or extremely arrogant, Dawnsong, to come here, when you have already shown in the past how little you care about this court.”

I glance sideways at Ruskin. He’d said he hadn’t seen his uncle since he was a child, so I assumed there wasn’t any history here, but from the anger in Lisinder’s face, it seems otherwise.

“I assure you—” Ruskin begins evenly.

“Do you expect me to forgive you trespassing as you forgave the murderers of my people?”

Murderers? What in the world?I know Lisinder can’t be talking about the war. Halima made it clear that peace was accepted after the marriage of Ruskin’s parents, which obviously was years before Ruskin was even born. Whatever he’s referring to must be some fresh incident. But what? And why didn’t Ruskin mention it to me?

I watch Ruskin carefully, seeing the way his jaw tightens at the accusation. There’s some merit to what Lisinder said, I can tell, otherwise it wouldn’t be getting to him.

“As a ruler,” Ruskin says, his voice unnaturally calm, “I’d hoped you would understand that we must sometimes make difficult decisions. The Riverwings hadn’t technically broken any Seelie laws and so yes, I pardoned them.”

Lisinder waves his hand, his expression scornful. “I do not need an explanation. I already know that justice is a joke in the Seelie Kingdom.”

Ruskin’s jaw tics, but his voice is ruthlessly calm when he answers. “Whatever you may think of the Seelie Court, I am still my father’s son. By virtue of his blood, I claim right of passage through these lands. If you were to take a private audience with me, Uncle, I would be able to prove that there’s no sinister motive for this visit.”

Ruskin is willing to explain something of our troubles to his uncle, it seems, just not with the whole court listening in.

“Oh, you will prove it. Both of you,” Lisinder says, and I feel the atmosphere shift, the hairs on my arm rising as a ripple of energy travels through the fae around us. “My brother’s son you may be, Ruskin Dawnsong, friend of my kin you may be, Eleanor Thorn,” he says, startling me when he uses my name. “But you are not members of the Unseelie Court, and if you wish to be granted access to it, you must undergo the same test we all have.”

Until now I’ve been too busy keeping eyes on all the fierce fae around us to notice the thick metal rings and grooves inlaid into the floor in front of the dais. Now some of the Unseelie who escorted us move forward to pull on them—two on either side—so that a section of the floor begins to creak open, splitting in two. Beneath it a staircase descends into a deep pit.

My heart beats harder. I understand now why the seats of this chamber are staggered like they are. It’s to give the court a good view of whatever happens in that pit.

“I will grant you the private audience you ask for…but only if you pass your trial and prove yourself worthy.”

I stare at the people around us, their eyes glinting down at us with interest. The king has said they all take this test. For the Seelie, court membership is based on your bloodline. Here, it seems, you must fight for your place. The question is, exactly how hard is the fight? I scan the pit. It’s walled around the base and there’s a gated doorway opposite the bottom steps. I assume someone, or something, comes through it and that’s the challenge you must face.

“No,” Ruskin says, so firmly it rings out across the cavern.

Murmurs of protest and disapproval rain down on us from the court, and Lisinder’s eyebrows bunch in anger once again. There’s a sad edge to his ire, though, I think. Almost like he’s disappointed in his nephew.

“You refuse the trial?” he asks.

“I will happily prove my worth to this court,” Ruskin says, his defiant expression empty of fear. “But Eleanor is not fae, and it is therefore unfair to expect her to take this test. No human has been held to this standard in the past. Why make an exception now?”

Lisinder stands, descending the dais so that he’s level with us.

“Because Eleanor Thorn is no ordinary human.”

I grimace, because I know what’s coming next. Ruskin must too, because I see a flash of worry in his eyes.

“I have heard how she used magic on your way here, how she defended herself against fully armed Unseelie. Do you deny it?” he asks me gruffly.

“No, I don’t,” I say, reminding everyone that I can speak for myself. Lisinder levels his serious stare at me. “I admit I have some power,” I continue, ignoring the sounds of surprise from the court. “And I used it to defend myself.”

Ruskin is looking at me like I’ve lost it. He probably wanted me to lie, but I don’t think that would get us anywhere here. The Unseelie don’t seem to like game playing like their Seelie counterparts. Lisinder has promised us an audience if we can pass his test. That seems reasonable enough by their standards. Not once has he threatened us, even vaguely, though his anger feels like warning enough not to mess with him.

I sense that the worst thing I could do in their eyes is lie about my own abilities. That would seem cowardly to them, I think.

Lisinder nods. “Anyone with power must show they know how to wield it. If you wish to remain in this court, Eleanor Thorn, you will take the trial.”

“I understand,” I say, even though my body is growing stiffer with fear each moment.

Ruskin grabs my arm. “No, Eleanor.” He pulls me in closer, his voice low so that we’re not overheard. “We’ll just leave. We’ll find another way.”

My heart aches at his concern for me, but this is hardly the first time I’ve had to put my life on the line in Faerie.

“We can’t waste any more time looking for new solutions,” I mutter. “This is what you’ve been training me for—to protect myself, right? I can do this.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but I need to start convincing myself that it is, and I might as well persuade Ruskin while I’m at it.

“Besides, if this is Unseelie tradition, what damage will it do for you to leave now?” I whisper. “They’ll either think you’re a coward or that you’re so arrogant that you think you’re too good to lower yourself to following their traditions. Neither one would be good for peace between the courts, right?”

Ruskin’s mask is slipping, his face a complex mix of emotions.

“You’re right,” he says.

“I know.”

“And I hate that you’re right.”

“I know,” I say again, and try to offer him an encouraging smile. It probably looks more than a little strained. He gives my arm a squeeze, then releases it so that I can turn to Lisinder.

“I will take the test,” I say and Lisinder gives a nod of approval, his face still stern as stone.

“But I’ll go first,” Ruskin clarifies, stepping in front of me. I suppose that this way I’ll at least get to see what I’m up against before I go charging in.

“Do you require anything before we begin?” Lisinder asks. “Food, water, or weaponry?”

Ruskin pulls his sword from its sheath. “No thank you, Your Majesty. I’d rather just begin.”

I think I detect a hint of approval on Lisinder’s face as he gestures to the pit below.

“Then descend, Nephew, and meet your test.”

Ruskin’s footsteps sound unnaturally loud in the silence. The court is perfectly still as they eagerly watch him travel down to the pit. He looks utterly calm and collected—his back straight and sword held casually at his side, and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride at his bravery. It almost eclipses the apprehension I feel for the upcoming tests—his and my own.

Ruskin positions himself opposite the door, but slightly to one side. Smart, I think to myself. He wants some time to take a look at whatever comes through the gate before it sees him.

A rumbling noise sounds from somewhere below and our audience breaks their silence, starting to erupt into shouts of encouragement or mockery. It seems an even split as to who wants to see Ruskin win and who wants to see him laid low.

The rumbling grows louder, until a figure taller even than Ruskin comes barreling through the gate, shoving it aside with a clang.

For the first time I feel a spike of fear for him.

The creature has the bulging muscles of a strongman, covered all over in thick, coarse black hair. Its head is that of a bull, but with long teeth that resemble tusks, curving down past its retracted lips, bared in a snarl. On top it is crowned with a pair of huge horns, the sharp ends tipped with polished metal, making them glint like arrowheads.

A Minotaur. They’re going to have us fight a Minotaur.

My pulse beats harder for Ruskin as it comes barreling out of the gate, but he’s positioned himself just right to catch the beast by surprise, swiping his sword upwards so that it catches the Minotaur in the shoulder as it passes. The animal releases a bellow that rolls up to us like thunder, pivoting on its hooves more nimbly than I expected, and charging at Ruskin. Its horns are down, aimed right at Ruskin’s heart, but Ruskin throws his blade up and catches them with a clang. I now see the metal on its horns isn’t just for decoration, it acts as armor and weaponry at the same time.

I feel a flash of relief for myself, because it’s given me an idea. I start formulating a plan involving those metal-tipped horns. I’m pretty sure that with a forceful bit of magic, I might be able to incapacitate the beast before it even gets close to me.

Ruskin’s sword is still interlocked with the horns, and he uses the blade to shove the animal backwards, sending it stumbling. The beast comes at him again and Ruskin spins gracefully to meet the Minotaur’s horns once more, the chamber ringing with the clang of metal against metal.

Seeing him like this, it’s clear to me just how easy Ruskin was on me when we were training. The Minotaur is fast and fierce, but Ruskin is a fine match for him. The bull comes at him relentlessly in a stream of vicious charges. But Ruskin keeps driving him back. After a few minutes of brutal assault, however, with the clank of metal and horn filling the cavern, I start to wonder if they’re too evenly matched. Ruskin hasn’t yet gone on the offense, and I worry that he’s starting to tire. The Minotaur’s strikes keep getting closer.

And then it happens—at the next attack the animal manages to graze him, scoring a bloody line into Ruskin’s shoulder with one of his tusks. Ruskin grunts in pain and I imagine I can feel it too, my stomach clenching with the sting of it. But the wound seems to push Ruskin into action, his face twisting in determination. As he throws his hand out, I realize he’s ready to finish this. The floor of the pit erupts, splitting open to make way for a swirl of curling tree branches. They’re lean and wiry, shooting upwards fast enough to catch hold of the Minotaur’s horns and tug it down. The beast jerks its head to snap the branches, but more just spring up in their place, dragging the beast’s head to rest on the ground. And then the branches double, wrapping themselves around the Minotaur as it thrashes, encasing it like a body waiting for burial. Eventually it stops fighting, trapped against the earth with strips of tough, sinewy wood.

Ruskin rests a foot on the fallen animal, looking up from the pit to the gathered court and Lisinder.

“Are you satisfied, Uncle?” he calls, though it sounds more playful than confrontational. Ruskin believes, as I also suspect, that the king can be held to his word.

“For now,” Lisinder replies neutrally, beckoning Ruskin back up the stairs.

I can’t help but draw close to Ruskin once he’s out of the pit. I feel safer now I know he’s safe, even if I still have my own fight to face.

“Did you drag that out on purpose?” I murmur as Ruskin sheathes his sword.

He shrugs. “I had to give them a show, to prove I was worthy.” His eyes glimmer with mischief. “That, and it took me a while to get the trees here. It’s a long way from the mountaintop to down here, and this place hasn’t got a lot of flora to begin with.”

I straighten up, still nervous, but not completely terrified. I’ve seen what my opponent is like now, have some idea of its weaknesses, and a fighting plan of my own.

Then I see movement in the pit below. Low Fae have come out of the gate and are pulling the Minotaur free of Ruskin’s branches, dragging it back out of the pit. Something occurs to me. Something not good.

I look up at Lisinder, my dread rising.

“Will I not face the same test?” I ask, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

The king tilts his head, his yellow eyes gleaming.

“Now where would the challenge be in that?”

Any confidence I had drains away. I have no idea what’s coming through that gate, and only a few days’ worth of weapons training to hold it at bay until I can find a way to beat it with my magic. If it can be beaten. I’ll have a sword, but I don’t have fae strength or speed on my side. Surely, I’m no match for whatever awaits me.

Ruskin must see my expression, because he takes my hand.

“Eleanor, look at me,” he orders as the excited rumble of the crowd begins to build again. Their curiosity was piqued at the news of my powers, and I guess they want to see them in action. Panic spikes within me at the noise, but I try to focus on Ruskin, his eyes boring into mine. “Listen. If it gets too dangerous, I will intervene. I won’t let you get hurt.”

But I can only imagine how the Unseelie Court would react to us violating one of their sacred traditions. I need to do this on my own and I need to win.

Or at least, they need to think I’m doing it on my own.

The idea comes to me in a flash. Ruskin can give me some of his power. He’s done it before. Yes, that time in the tent it wasn’t consciously, but if I asked him, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard for him to manage it again. Especially if he knows I need it to survive.

It means telling him that we’re naminai,though, and I didn’t want to do it like this. On the other hand, I definitely don’t want to die.

I grab hold of Ruskin, speaking before I can talk myself out of it.

“Channel your power to me,” I whisper, eyes wide as the roar of the crowd grows. From the volume of their baying, I think they won’t wait much longer.

Ruskin’s brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That night in the tent, when the metal danced. It wasn’t just me—you channeled your power to me. Do it again. It will make me strong enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ruskin, I have a true name.”

I stare at him, willing him to grasp the implications of what I’ve just told him. I can see the moment understanding dawns on his face. At the same time Lisinder speaks up.

“Eleanor Thorn, your challenge awaits. Do you still accept?”

I tear my gaze from Ruskin’s stunned expression, turning to face the Unseelie king.

“I do,” I say and with a thudding heart, I begin to descend the stairs.

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