Chapter 26
Ifeel woefully unprepared as I face the gate. I have a sword, and my magic, and a hope. But that doesn’t seem like a whole lot when I don’t know what’s coming for me. Back on the training grounds I at least looked like a soldier. Right now, I’m still in my riding dress and don’t even have my leather breastplate to protect me.
I try to concentrate on my memories of Halima and Ruskin’s lessons, taking a combat stance Halima showed me. Even as I position my sword, it occurs to me that I was trained with the idea that I’d be fighting opponents who were also on two legs and armed with a sword. This stance might be all wrong for something more beast-like.
The court has fallen silent again in anticipation, and it’s quiet enough that I can hear the pad of large feet in the corridor beyond the gate. Then comes a low, rumbling growl.
I feel a bead of sweat escape my hairline, running beneath the collar of my dress and tracing my spine.
The gate nudges open and the beast emerges from the shadows. On all fours, it’s the same height as me, its red eyes alert, darting around the space. Unlike the Minotaur, its entrance is slow, its huge lion-like head dropping low as it stalks into the pit. I can’t tell if it’s wary or hungry, but it sure doesn’t seem friendly,judging from its raised hackles and exposed teeth. Every part of this animal is built to be a predator, from the inch-long claws extending from its paws, to the powerful hind legs and the tail that arches above its back, hovering aloft with what looks like a scorpion’s stinger.
Gold Weaver. Iron Tamer. I chant the names to myself as the animal and I begin to circle the pit, slowly sidestepping in what’s almost a dance. I have overcome monsters and murderers before, and I’ll do it again, I tell myself. I don’t risk taking my eyes off the animal, but I reach out towards my magic, wondering if Ruskin has tried to send power to me yet.
It doesn’t feel any different, just the same rippling pool inside me, and I wonder if he truly understood what I was asking. Before I can worry about it anymore, the creature leaps forward in a powerful bound.
I panic, seeing only the rows of teeth and claws rushing towards me. Rather than reaching for my magic, I throw myself sideways, my survival instinct screaming at me to just get out of the way.
The beast has to slow to avoid hitting the wall, but at the same its tail comes slicing down towards me, the stinger glittering like a needle. I roll over and it pierces the ground instead, then retracts with a spray of thick, filmy liquid which would probably scald me from the inside out if it had actually pricked me. As it is, a few drops of the venom land on my arm, burning like acid and making me gasp.
I have to deal with that stinger first. Beating this thing will be impossible if I have to keep watching both ends. When its tail comes whipping down again, I’ve gathered myself enough to throw my sword up, remembering some words from Halima in training about downwards momentum—it’s hard to change course once you’ve committed to a strike, and that goes for your enemies too.
Her words hold true. I think the beast sees my blade, but it can’t stop its tail in time. My blade goes straight through the thin tip, slicing the stinger clean off. It flops against the ground beside me, blood darkening the earth.
The creature roars, clawing at the earth in pain, and thrashing its wounded tail, sending droplets of crimson spraying across the pit. Warm, wet drips of it hit me in the face.
The shock of the sensation clears my mind a little, enough to remind me that while I’m waiting on Ruskin, I have some magic of my own, for heaven’s sakes. I need to start using it, and soon, as the creature starts recovering from its shock, and fixes its red eyes back onto me.
I stand and glance around me. A sword is all well and good, but I don’t think I can get close to this animal faster than it can get its claws into me. And anyway, I can always guide the sword back into my grip if the beast knocks it from my hand, but what if it eats the sword? What then? I might wind up without a blade at all. I need something else I can use as a projectile. Something big. Hairpins won’t do it this time.
The beast is pacing the far side of the pit, and I think I’m picking up on its patterns. It wants to size me up before it strikes again. I risk looking further afield, up around the edge of the pit, but there’s nothing that seems immediately helpful. Just more weapons strapped to people’s sides.
And the chandelier. The huge, black one hanging right in the heights of the cavern. That would do the trick, except it’s far enough away that it would take too much time and concentration for me to reach it with my magic.
With a snarl of warning, the animal chooses this moment to pounce again. I at least manage to summon some magic to direct my sword, affording me some power and precision as I jab out at the storm of fur and teeth descending on me. Some part of my blade connects, but that doesn’t stop the animal’s momentum, forcing me to hurl myself backwards, where I fall down again. My leg sticks out invitingly, and before I can curl it under me, the beast’s claws latch on, dragging across the flesh, leaving a trail of blood and mangled flesh.
I scream, the pain almost blinding me, but I’ve felt agony like this before under the knife of Ruskin’s sister. I manage to keep my wits about me enough to jab outwards with my blade. There’s a strangled whine and the creature releases its hold on me.
Then my world shifts.
Power, warm and rejuvenating, floods into me, flowing into my toes and fingertips, wrapping me up in its aura. I feel strong and alive, recognizing the familiar feel of Ruskin’s power. Even the pain in my leg seems to dull, drowned out by this new sensation.
I glance up to the edge of the pit and see him staring down at me. His expression is one of intense concentration, but when he meets my gaze, we exchange a look of understanding. He knows it’s worked.
I don’t waste time. The beast is eyeing me with fresh ferocity, now sporting a gash across its face. It’s warier of me now, but that won’t keep it at bay forever. I need to act. I throw my magic—Ruskin’s magic—upwards towards the chandelier, and now there’s no doubt in me that I’ll be able to reach it. It feels like he’s right there beside me, giving me a helping a hand, urging me on.
A familiar coldness touches me when I take hold of the chandelier’s fixtures, and I realize with a jolt what it’s made of: cold iron. It distracts me, the strangeness of finding it here, deliberately placed in the middle of a fae court.
The beast crouches on the other side of the pit, bunching its muscles as it readies itself for another attack. I throw myself into working on the structure hanging high above me, taking hold of the fixtures buried deep into the rock, bending them to my will. A trickle of dust rains down from the ceiling, though I don’t think anyone notices.
The beast bares its teeth.
There’s a resounding grinding noise from above. I sense hundreds of heads turning upwards, but I keep my eyes straight ahead, fixed on the animal, while my mind keeps working on navigating the chandelier. I need to time this right.
The animal leaps forward.
There’s a whistle of air—that’s all the warning it gets—and then a ton of cold iron comes crashing down on top of it.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see the damage done, but when I peek at the ground, I see my shoe is damp with the beast’s blood, spreading from beneath the chandelier.
The court erupts in a flurry of energy, though it all sounds like indistinct noise to me. I use my sword as a makeshift cane to help push myself up, then limp back up the stairs. Ruskin doesn’t wait for me to get to the top, he runs down to meet me halfway, then half guides, half carries me the rest of the way. His touch is so tender, it makes me want to immediately collapse against him, but I know I should maintain some show of strength for the Unseelie. I didn’t work this hard to earn their respect just to lose it now.
King Lisinder is staring down into the pit, looking thoughtful.
“Well, that was certainly a more inventive solution than my nephew’s,” he says, stroking his beard. “It seems you are indeed worthy of the power you wield, Eleanor Thorn.”
“Cheat!”
The rest of the court is quiet enough now that the word rings out clearly across the chamber. I wearily turn, still supported by Ruskin, to see a fae with bronze-colored hair standing up from his seat.
“You think so, Climent?” the king says.
“A human could not have done that. Even if some claim they’ve seen her perform magic.” He jabs a finger at Ruskin. “The Seelie one must have helped her.”
“You mean Prince Ruskin?” Lisinder says, and it’s clear he’s correcting Climent for his rudeness. The bronze-haired fae looks slightly abashed.
“Yes, Prince Ruskin. He must have intervened in the trial.”
I focus on maintaining my exhausted expression, rather than showing an ounce of the guilt bubbling inside me. He’s right, I didn’t do it on my own—not completely. I can see some of the court even now looking suddenly doubtful, with a wave of suspicious gazes being thrown our way.
Lisinder walks back over to the edge of pit, pointing to the fallen chandelier.
“You see that? Don’t tell me you can’t all feel what that’s made of. Cold iron. A reminder of our greatest weaknesses, hanging above the kings and queens of this kingdom for centuries so that we don’t develop blind spots—so that we don’t forget how easily strength can be stolen. Prince Ruskin could no more used his magic on that thing than you or I could. But she is human,” he says, gesturing to me. “And does not feel the burn of that cursed substance. She couldn’t have cheated.”
I flush at his support, feeling guilty over letting him believe the lie. It’s true, on his own, Ruskin’s magic can’t affect the iron. But that doesn’t seem to be an issue as long as the power is channeled through me. Still, I’m certainly not going to be the one to bring that up, and I doubt Ruskin is either. We’ve got problems enough without adding more to the pile.
The king turns to us.
“Welcome to the Unseelie Court,” Lisinder says. Though his tone is still as dour as ever, I feel a rush of relief. “I grant you your audience.”
There are no more protests. Looking at the court, I take in the sea of hard, intense expressions, but some are nodding, even murmuring noises of approval. Nonetheless, when I glance at Climent, he’s still glowering darkly in our direction.
Lisinder offers us a place to get washed and changed before the audience, and I jump at the opportunity.
Some Low Fae with skin like polished opal show us to adjoining chambers along one of the stone corridors of the mountain. I almost want to sit down and weep when I see that mine has a bath in it. A moment later there’s a knock at the door, and an Unseelie healer comes in. He looks at me with confusion when I say I’d prefer not to keep the scar from where the beast—a manticore, it turns out—clawed me. It takes a few minutes to convince him, but eventually he relents, leaving me with smooth, unblemished skin on my leg and no trace of the venom burns on my arm.
Once he leaves, I don’t wait, stripping off my filthy dress and climbing into the water that magically appeared, warm and inviting when I entered the room. I let my head droop back, a groan of satisfaction leaving me as the heat soothes my aches and washes away the tension of the last few hours.
The door to the adjoining room clicks softly open.
“You should warn a man before you go making indecent noises like that.”
I open my eyes to see Ruskin sitting across from me, draped in a chair and watching me intently.
“Pervert,” I throw back, but I sink deeper into the water without making any move to cover myself, finding I really don’t care what he sees. Only a night ago we were wrapped up in each other in ways far more intimate than this. It feels like it happened a million years ago—and my decision this morning to take a step back, too. So much has happened.
My drooping eyelids spring open. I’m so wrung out from the trial I’d forgotten what I told Ruskin about my true name. Now I look over at him, feeling on edge, wondering how he’ll react. Frustratingly, he’s looking completely calm, and not at all like someone who just found out about their mystical soulmate.
“So, I guess you have some questions,” I say.
“Just a few,” he replies, the brightness of his eyes telling me he’s holding back some emotion, even if I can’t tell what it is yet.
“Go ahead,” I say, trying to match his nonchalant tone. I drag my hands through the water, watching the ripples form in their wake.
“You have a true name?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
I keep my eyes on the water.
“I found out when I went home. Through a conversation with an old friend, I learned that my mother took me to a changeling when I was a baby, and when I visited the changeling myself, she told me how she made the discovery. I suppose it’s connected to my magic somehow.”
I look up, watching carefully for his reaction. I know he can’t talk about my mother, but his silence now is as difficult for me to swallow as ever.
“And when did you begin to suspect, about us being naminai?”
I’ve never said it aloud. Hearing it now, acknowledged by him, holds a strange kind of power. Us, linked, not just by circumstance but by fate itself. It whispers to me of tantalizing possibilities—the idea of belonging to Ruskin completely, but also him being mine in the same way. A love bound not by what we can do for each other, or even who we are, but one that is tied to our very souls. It would mean total surrender to each other, a partnership that couldn’t be broken by the petty forces of this realm. God, it’s tempting, and I take a moment to digest it before I answer.
“I knew something was strange the moment I learned what my true name is. Our names…there’s a pattern to them.”
“An alignment,” Ruskin says.
“Yes. I didn’t know what it meant, so I asked Destan a few weeks ago. He didn’t realize I was asking for myself, but he told me about naminai. It seemed to fit, but I couldn’t be sure. Last night, though, when my magic surged…”
“You knew for certain,” he says.
“I could tell it was your power, not mine, and Destan had told me that was something naminai can do. So yes, that’s when I knew for sure.”
He leans further back in the chair, looking thoughtful, and I wonder if he’s piecing it all together: The magic in the tent, the way I distanced myself the next day, and my last-minute confession, just a few hours ago. I nibble my lip, not sure what he’ll do or say next.
He rises, crossing the room and kneeling beside the bathtub, where he pulls my face to his. The kiss is perfect, breathtaking. He gently pushes my mouth open, worshiping the inside of it with his tongue. The edge of hunger is still there, as it always is with us—that irresistible draw of wild desire—but there’s more too. He kisses me like he wants to keep doing it forever, and in that moment, I feel the same. This is where I’m meant to be, in his hands, under his touch. He makes it feel like coming home.
He strokes my face as he pulls back and I open my eyes, breathless.
“This is it now,” he says. “Everything we needed; it’s just fallen into place.”
I sit there dazed for a few seconds. Then the doubt creeps in.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He runs his thumb over my lips. I burn under the intensity of his gaze.
“Naminai, Ella. It’s fate. We’re meant to be together, which means nothing else matters. We can trust each other now. There’s no need for any more obstacles between us.”
The hope in his voice, the joy, causes me physical pain. I free my face from his hand, curling in on myself, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, staring down into the water.
There are still obstacles between us, though. Still secrets and unknowns. Just an hour ago Lisinder talked about murderers Ruskin pardoned—implied that they were people he let walk free simply because they were Seelie. I don’t know the full story, but the fact that it already fills me with dread shows I don’t trust Ruskin. I can never be sure that the truth about my mother isn’t something to worry about too. I can’t be certain that Ruskin doesn’t have even more skeletons in his closet, waiting to tumble out and make me question who I’ve fallen in love with. The idea I might have no choice in that—must accept it blindly because the universe says so—terrifies me.
“I’m not sure I really believe in fate,” I say. “I mean, the magic’s real, but does that really mean it can decide what we do with our lives? Two aligning true names and what, that’s it? We have no free will?”
I can feel myself starting to ramble, so I stop. When I risk looking back at Ruskin, his face is a mask again, and the sight of it is almost unbearable after so much vulnerability.
“I imagine that’s why you waited so long to tell me, because you didn’t think it meant anything. Is that right?” he asks, bitterness creeping into his voice. I feel my face crumple.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t know for sure?—”
“But you did last night, didn’t you? And you suspected before then. But you didn’t think to bring it up until it was useful to you,” he says.
How he can go from being so open one moment and so brutally closed off the next is beyond me. I rise from the water, stepping out of the bathtub and pulling a towel around myself.
“Oh, and you would’ve preferred me to have died down in that pit, is that it?”
He grits his teeth. “Of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I say, aware my voice is mirroring his now, becoming harsher.
“The problem is you’ve kept your suspicions from me for weeks, only to deny the connection now when it should be impossible to ignore. You accuse me of keeping things from you, and yet here you’ve been hiding the biggest secret of all. Even now, you won’t tell your true name, will you? Don’t think I didn’t notice how you left that detail out.”
I open my mouth to retort, but he’s right. It’s hypocritical of me to keep this from him, but I won’t have fate decide what’s right for me. I can’t tell him my true name. According to Destan it would cement the bond between us, and I’m not ready for that. The very idea fills me with fear.
With nothing else to say on the matter, I just shake my head.
“I should go get dressed,” I say. “The king is waiting for us.”