Chapter 32
Istagger to my feet, my heart broken, but my mind clear. Halima would want me to fight, she would want me make sure Evanthe can’t succeed in destroying this court that Halima gave her life to protect.
Magic flies around me, colliding with the pillars in an explosion of dust, making the ground quake with the eruption of iron from Evanthe and twisting tree roots from Ruskin. Their fight has taken them out of the column circle, dancing around each other in the gloom of the underground chamber. I see her taste for violence isn’t the only thing Cebba’s magic has given Evanthe—as well as the iron shoots, she crafts clouds of darkness, just like her daughter, sending them billowing towards Ruskin.
He waves the magic away with a swipe of his hand, then blocks an iron shoot with a wall of thick tree trunk, sprung up from the ground. I can see he’s pulling his punches, though, still reluctant to hurt his mother, even now. There are no offensive measures from him. He’s holding her off for now, but all it will take is him getting tired or letting his guard slip for an instant…
I can’t let her get any further if that happens.
I turn to the stone, its throbbing power beckoning me in. She’ll find a way through the trials eventually, with or without Ruskin’s help. And then the power of the High Monarch will allow her to pollute this whole kingdom with her iron poison.
But if I can find a way to protect the stone…
In the mountains of Unseelie, Maidar showed me how to tap into the memories of the ore running through the huge peaks. This stone came from those very same mountains. If it has the same seams of augium ore running through it, then maybe I can make contact, find a way to communicate with it, as the fae do when they take the trials.
It feels vaguely sacrilegious, reaching out with my magic to something so ancient and powerful, but I forge ahead, stepping up to its black surface, and searching deep for the metal which will help me find a connection.
The augium sparkles in my mind’s eye, buried inside the stone. I tap into it with my magic, trying to remember what Maidar said about finding the deepest layer of the thing so that I can truly “read” it.
At first the augium reacts easily to me. I get a brief sense of hundreds of hands being laid on this stone so that it can confer power on a line of monarchs stretching back centuries. But almost as soon as it comes to me, the memory is gone, blocked by a wall that resembles the one I built in my own mind in the mountains. Except this time it’s keeping the memories in, not out.
I press against the wall with my magic, but that only seems to strengthen the stone’s resolve to protect itself. I wonder if this is what it was like for Evanthe when she tried to retake the trials. She spoke about the stone resisting her—though her experience seemed a lot more stressful than this.
That’s when I see him: the creature from my nightmares—the Ruskin who only thirsts for blood and darkness, with yellow glowing eyes and a cold, evil heart. He stalks towards me, the stain of crimson on his bared teeth. The urge to run grips me, beating through my body with every thud of my heart.
I want to drive this monster away, to banish him from my life before he can rip it apart. Because that’s what monsters do, isn’t it? He will destroy me if I let him.
That’s a lie.
The voice comes from deep inside of me, fighting over the doubts the stone is trying to stoke.
This is a test.
The idea dances vaguely at the back of my mind, as if something is blocking me from thinking about it. The founding stone wants me to believe this is real, wants me to give in to my deepest fears. But I know that Ruskin is not a monster. I trust him, with my life and with my heart. He’s the person I gave my true name to, knowing he is worthy of that gift. The stone can’t make me forget that, any more than it can make me forget myself. Ruskin is, after all, a part of me. My fated soulmate.
Just like that, the urge to flee from the creature disappears. I stay standing—tall and strong—as the beastly distortion of Ruskin reaches me. It circles me with hungry eyes, its claws out.
“You can’t scare me,” I say. “You’re not him—you’re not real. I know him. I know myself, and I’m not afraid of something that doesn’t exist.”
The creature grins, extending a claw towards my cheek, but I don’t flinch.
Just a test. This is just a test.
I feel the monster’s breath hot on my skin, but choose to stare back at it, waiting for it to accept my point. I blink.
And the creature is gone. Vanished.
The wall that was keeping me out collapses, and the stone’s presence opens up to me. I’m ready for it, immediately reaching through to the presence beyond.
Don’t let Evanthe inscribe her name on the stone, I tell it. I don’t think it can understand words as such, but the power of the stone can certainly pick up the sentiment—how else would it test people so intensely, wheeling out their biggest insecurities and fears? I put the force of my intention behind the message and repeat it.
Don’t let Evanthe inscribe her name on the stone.
I see flashes of memory that I know don’t belong to me: Evanthe, kneeling in front of the stone—and Evanthe, producing iron shoots, snaking them across the floor of this chamber. Then I see the queen again, this time being thrown backwards from the stone, hitting the floor.
The stone has blocked her once after recognizing her dark magic. That’s what it’s trying to tell me. But if she manages to force Ruskin to make her his heir, would it be able to resist her? I can’t take that risk. I need to stop her from being able to access the stone at all.
And I only have one way to do that.
I throw my magic outwards, searching out all the metal in the room. I pull it from the knife in my boot, the trinkets in my pockets, even the metal from Halima’s armor, offering her a silent apology as I do so. I tell myself she’d understand—and I leave her mother’s sword untouched. Some things are too sacred.
I go to the iron next, stripping it from the tendrils that snake across the floor, drawing it to me in a swirling, molten mass. It needs something more—something to make it truly impenetrable. The stone offers it up to me: the augium ore. I bleed some of it from the thick seam inside the stone, drawing tiny particles out from the porous surface, then reassembling it on the other side. I mix them all together, shaping them with my mind and my magic rather than with a flame and forge. Eventually, I’m left with a steel-like alloy, thick enough to coat the stone several times over. I start to layer it over the shining black surface of the founding stone. When I’m done it should be impenetrable by magic—immune even to Evanthe’s deadly iron attacks. Any attempt would risk damaging the stone itself and destroying its power.
“What are you doing!?” Evanthe hurls the question from across the room, her shriek making me jump. I risk glancing over to see her controlled demeanor cracking under a wave of horror. Her eyes are wide, flicking between me and the stone. Ruskin stops too, taking in the sight of the founding stone disappearing behind the thick shell of metal I’ve constructed.
“You foolish girl, what have you done?” Evanthe’s face hardens with anger, and she starts towards me, iron shoots lurching from the ground. My focus is elsewhere, and my magic occupied, and I can only try to dodge the iron as the shoots jerk about my feet, attempting to stab me with their sharp tips.
But as Evanthe charges towards me, a wave of pure power hits her, throwing her across the space. She hits one of the columns near me with an awful crack. The iron shoots immediately stop trying to impale me, and I look up to see Ruskin’s hand still raised from casting the spell. He’s stopped holding back.
I return my full attention to the stone, adding the last layer of protection I can muster from the metal around me. Then I stand back, releasing an unsteady breath, a wave of exhaustion hitting me.
Evanthe stumbles to her feet, looking shocked at Ruskin’s attack. Then her eyes fall on the stone, and she’s grief stricken, her beautiful face twisting with anger and sadness.
“No!” she shouts, kneeling in front of the lump of metal that houses the stone, placing a hand on it.
The floor of the chamber starts to collapse.
At least, that’s what I think is happening at first. It doesn’t take long to realize Evanthe is summoning so much iron that it looks like the entire floor is erupting. Ruskin reaches me in a few strides, but his face is pained as we’re surrounded by the iron’s poison. My magic is depleted, burned away from reviving Ruskin and protecting the stone, but I summon the last few ounces of my strength.
I can’t stop the iron, but I can clear a narrow path through the chamber, shoving the shoots aside. Ruskin lifts Halima’s body and we run back towards the passageways.
My muscles are screaming, my throat is burning, and I can only hold the pathway open a few feet at a time. I release my hold on the iron as we go, so that the pathway immediately closes behind us, the tendrils rushing back in to fill the gap mere inches from our heels.
It’s following us. I can tell without even looking over my shoulder—a writhing sea of gray spilling down the passageways after us.
We reach the surface, bolting down the corridor, only to meet a group of fae coming the other way—Destan and a squad of Halima’s guards.
Their faces pale as we sprint towards them, and I see Destan’s eyes fall on Halima’s body resting in Ruskin’s arms.
“Is that…?” he asks, like he can’t believe his eyes, his face crumpling.
“Run!” I shout, grabbing his arm and tugging him along with us. The guards follow suit, while the iron groans behind us, colliding with the palace walls and hitting corners with a terrible crunching noise.
“To the throne room,” Ruskin barks. The guards dart forwards to shove aside a huge stone door. We fling ourselves through it into the room beyond. I’ve never been here before, but I don’t have a chance to take it in, too focused on the wave of iron rushing down the hallway towards us. The guards throw their weight behind the door, but it’s closing too slowly, and the iron rushes closer.
Ruskin swiftly lays Halima down at the foot of the throne and then produces half a dozen branches, which add their force to the door, slamming it shut and blocking up the edges.
The iron hits the door with a thunderous bang and we instinctively back away from it. Then we wait, nerves on edge, wondering if the door will be enough to hold back the tide of destruction.
A grinding noise screeches against the stone, rising and then suddenly dying away.
Silence. I exchange a look with Ruskin, wondering if this is some kind of trap.
“Let me find out what’s happening,” I offer.
I reach out beyond the door, my exhausted magic limping towards the metal that lies beyond, trying to read it.
“They’re retreating,” I say in disbelief. “The tendrils, they’re going back the way they came.”
“That was more iron than she’s ever produced before,” Ruskin says. “I suppose even she has her limits.”
We crack open the door, then pull it wider when we see the corridor is indeed empty. Only deep gouges in the ground and door show that the tendrils were ever there.
“Go,” Ruskin says to the guards. “Evacuate the court. Tell them that it has been compromised and that Queen Evanthe has turned traitor. She’s not to be trusted.”
The fae salute Ruskin before withdrawing.
Destan is kneeling by Halima, a hand stroking her hair.
“What happened?” he asks, voice wracked with grief.
“Evanthe,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She’s the one behind the attacks. She wanted Ruskin to help her get to the stone and become High Queen again. Halima tried to stop her.”
“Why?” Destan croaks. “Why is she doing this?”
“She thinks the court needs to be punished. She…” I trail off, looking at Ruskin, wondering how to explain.
“She seems in her right mind,” Ruskin says grimly. “But she’s not the person I knew. Cebba was feeding her dark magic while she was unconscious. I don’t know if the magic changed her, or if she was already too damaged by what happened to her in Styrland, but she’s not the woman I knew as my mother anymore.”
I reach for his hand. I can’t begin to imagine how painful this is for him, but I let him know I’m here.
“What are we going to do?” Destan asks, standing and dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.
“Eleanor put a metal protection around the stone. Evanthe won’t be able to make herself High Queen as long as we keep Eleanor away from her.” He turns to me. “You’re the only one whose magic can undo the wards and give her access. She won’t stop until she has you.”
“What are you saying?”
“We need to get you far away so you can’t be captured. We’ll go to the Unseelie and ask my uncle to help us.”
“King Lisinder?” Destan asks incredulously.
“We need allies, powerful ones, and he is the best of very few options right now,” Ruskin says.
“All right,” says Destan. “Even though I think this may be one of your more terrible ideas.” He straightens his jacket. “I’m coming with you.”
“We need to hurry,” I say. “Evanthe might’ve burned herself out for now, but I don’t know how long we have until she comes looking for us.”
We take the time, at least, to bury Halima. Ruskin creates a flowerbed within the throne room, growing a tomb over it, with branches plaited together in a simple, elegant pattern. I feel too wrung out to cry again, but I know the sight of the lilies blooming over her grave will stay with me forever. I only regret that we don’t have her mother’s sword to lay with her, but it was lost in the sea of iron beneath the palace.
We take back passages through the palace to the stables, loading up what supplies we can for the journey, before riding out.
“Do you think everyone will get out okay?” I ask Ruskin. “I’m worried Evanthe will come after them.”
“My mother is a smart woman,” he says, bitterness lacing his voice. “I suspect she will wait to enact more violence until she’s sure she has the power to see it through.”
The shadow of the palace follows us all the way to the Emerald Forest, and I glance back at it as we disappear into the trees. From the outside, the building still holds some of its beauty—sandy stone enrobed in flowers and climbing vines. But there’s no ignoring the effect of Evanthe’s magic, the towers wearing their crowns of jagged iron for all to see.