Chapter 7
O f course they’d expect to room us together. We’re naminai , for star’s sake. There shouldn’t be anything strange about this, and yet my heart flutters in my chest at the sudden intimacy of it. It’s not as if Ruskin and I have never shared a bed before, but that was the Ruskin who knew me—who loved me. Not this stranger with his face. Now the idea of being so close to him fills me with a combination of yearning and pain.
The servant closes the door on us, and I look at Ruskin for a reaction, but he’s already walking over to the magically-filled bathtub, pulling off his jacket and shirt.
“What are you doing?” I ask stupidly.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Washing.”
“I mean…I…” I don’t know what to say, and all the objections die in my mouth, sounding silly. Ruskin clearly doesn’t feel self-conscious around me, and I’ve seen him undressed many times before—know his body almost as well as my own. And if I’m honest, there’s a side of me that longs to see it again.
I just nod, casually turning away as if to examine the bed to allow him to take off his pants and climb into the water. I think I hear a low chuckle alongside the splash of him sitting down. Maybe he thinks me a prude, but in reality, I think I’m more afraid what will happen if I lay eyes on him again. Can I handle seeing him like this, without wanting more? Without feeling the sharp edge of not being able to have it?
I reach the bed, then make a decision. I won’t throw our naminai status into doubt with the Unseelie by requesting separate quarters, and I won’t be afraid to relax in my own room. I turn and sit down, relishing the soft spring of the mattress on my saddle-sore behind as I level my gaze at Ruskin.
He’s got his head leaned back and his eyes closed, enjoying the lap of water across his skin. I watch it move over the planes of his stomach, the tight lines of his abdominal muscles, and the curve of his broad chest. He’s as beautiful as ever, and I can’t take my eyes off him. My blood heats, sending my heart beating faster. I want so badly to strip off and climb in with him, to lay my body against his. The press of skin to skin is the only thing I can think of that could properly chase away the horror and strain of the last few days. I look at his body and I see home—the place I’m meant to be. So what does it mean when the person inhabiting it isn’t quite who he was?
I realize Ruskin has opened his eyes and is watching me stare at him. When I flush at being caught, a smirk spreads slowly across his face, sending bolts of lightning straight to my core.
“What?” I say, trying to sound defiant.
“You want me,” he says, sounding devilishly smug.
“Shut up,” I reply, because it would be pointless to lie. When I can’t do anything about my desire, his words just feel like a cruel taunt.
He laughs again, low and gentle. “Don’t be embarrassed, Eleanor, I want you too. I suppose that’s the least we can expect from a bond like ours.”
I feel an odd mix of emotions—a thrill of pleasure at him admitting his desire and an edge of danger too, because it feels different, almost forbidden, hearing it coming from this Ruskin. The way he dismisses it as just a side effect of the bond is painful, and yet I still burn for him. It’s torture.
“I assume we have lain together?” he asks.
“Yes,” I admit.
He nods and stands up. The water cascades off every perfect inch of him as he stands there in his full glory, and I get a direct view of his growing arousal, half-hard against the curls of black hair that travel in a dark trail up to his navel. I simultaneously hate and like the way the sight of it makes my throat go dry, my pulse twitching as my mind starts conjuring up vivid memories of that body colliding with mine. He elegantly steps out of the tub, his stomach muscles rippling, giving himself a perfunctory drying with the towel folded beside it, then he throws the cloth aside and stalks towards me.
I stand, my heart thudding, but the bed is at the back of my knees, and there’s nowhere to go as he looms over me. I can smell the scent of him—sweet and musky—and feel the heat coming off his skin. He pins me in place with his eyes, his naked body just inches from mine. How easy it would be to reach out and touch him, the idea almost chasing all other thoughts from my feverish mind. From the looks of it, Ruskin also seems almost driven to distraction by this tension between us. His pupils are blown, their pure blackness dominating his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with leashed desire.
“Well, I’m game if you are,” he says.
My own body reacts to the thought of it, the heat in my stomach coiling downwards, tightening around my core, I squeeze my thighs together at the building sensation. His lips twitch, and I remember Ruskin’s excellent sense of smell. He can already tell how much I want to give in, and I teeter there on the cliff edge, pulled towards the abyss by the sight of him hard and ready before me. And yet?—
“You don’t even know me,” I say, a note of accusation in my voice.
I gasp as he lifts a hand and runs a single finger along my jawline, his eyes tracing my lips. It leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Yet I tell myself I can resist this, no matter how irresistible my body is telling me Ruskin is.
“But I want to get to know you,” he says. “Isn’t that the point?”
I catch his hand and lower it. It wouldn’t be the same, making love to this version of him. It would still be glorious and satisfying, I have no doubt, but different. I don’t think I’m ready to risk that with him yet, as much as my skin begs for his hands on me. I close my eyes, asking the universe for strength.
“I think I’ll pass,” I say. I wonder if he’ll argue. I can sense he, too, is on the edge. But when I next look up at him, he doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he simply shrugs and steps back.
“Another time, then.”
He proceeds to throw himself down on the bed with a contented sigh, still fully naked. The bastard. He’s going to make me fight to do the right thing, and then force me to lay next to his naked body all night? I glare at him, but it’s no use, because he’s already closed his eyes, and moments later the slow rise and fall of his body tells me he’s asleep, splayed out across the blankets with his perfect ass on show.
I need to cool off, so I take the opportunity to wash, finding it soothes my hungry body. Then I realize I’m taking probably more time than is necessary trying to scrub away not just the grime of the day, but the creeping set of fears it’s given me—that Maidar won’t be able to help Ruskin, that Lisinder will change his mind, or that Evanthe will find a way to get to us anyway. I find some nightclothes and slip into bed beside Ruskin—it’s so huge there’s more than enough room for both of us. For a moment, while he’s asleep, I pretend that he remembers everything, that he still loves me, and I risk planting a kiss on his shoulder. He stirs a little, but doesn’t wake, and I find some comfort in the weight and warmth of him by my side, as sleep eventually claims me too.
I make sure to be already up and dressed before Ruskin wakes, trying to ignore the still tempting sight of his body as I retreat to Destan’s room next door. I’m hoping to save myself any awkwardness, but Destan gives me a knowing look when I knock and slip inside, then turns back to the mirror where he’s trying to fix his hair.
“You’re hiding from him, aren’t you? I heard from the servant they gave you the same room.”
“Can’t a girl just check if her friend is all right?” I say with a grimace, because he’s right, of course. “How’s your arm?”
He bends and stretches the limb, now free of my makeshift sling. “Good as new. Although that lunatic of a healer asked me why I didn’t want to keep the scar. Can you believe these people?”
“ These people are the only ones we’ve got right now, so I’d suggest getting used to them.”
“I’d say the same for Ruskin,” Destan deflects, frowning.
“What do you mean?”
“You have to face the possibility his memories might not come back, Eleanor.”
I perch on the edge of his bed, shaking my head.
“I can’t consider that until we’ve tried everything else.” I know it probably sounds like I’m just being stubborn, but sheer dogged determination might be the only way I get through this. “It’s not just him not remembering me. He’s different like this. I don’t know what it is…”
Destan shrugs. “Maybe he has less baggage this way. He doesn’t know us, so he’s not exactly being friendly, but he seems…freer, doesn’t he? Not so secretive.”
“I thought the same thing when he announced to the king and everyone else that we’re naminai ,” I admit.
“And now you’re stuck in a room with him,” Destan says with the hint of a laugh in his voice. “Dear me, what a predicament.”
I scowl. “It didn’t occur to me. I don’t know what the rules are around fae and this stuff, but in Styrland you’re only expected to share a room as a couple if you’re married.”
“Really?” Destan says. “How odd.”
“What is the difference between being bonded and being married?” I ask. My voice trails off a little at the end, suddenly self-conscious about the comparison.
“Being naminai bonded is a purely magical state, whereas marriage is mostly cultural. Though there are certain rituals that have to take place to make it official,” he says thoughtfully. “Why do you ask? Don’t tell me our forgetful Ruskin has decided to pop the question.”
I blanch. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Although he did propose something last night, I decide to spare Destan the details.
“Just checking. I never know with you two.”
A single, loud knock sounds at the door and Ruskin strides in, looking very composed now he’s got all his clothes back on. I should be relieved, but it doesn’t stop me picturing him from last night, naked and aroused in front of me. I try to hush my traitorous mind. Since I accepted the bond it’s like I can’t even be near him without wanting more.
“There’s an Unseelie here claiming he knows me,” Ruskin says.
“Does he look a little…goatish?” I ask.
“‘Little’ is an understatement,” he says dryly. I push past him and into our room, the two fae men following.
“Maidar,” I say, clasping the old Unseelie’s leathery hands. “You’re looking well,” I say truthfully. The last I saw of him he was being attended to by healers after the attack on the mountain, beaten black and blue by one of the Unseelie who targeted us.
“It’ll take more than a few foolish upstarts to keep me down,” he says gruffly, looking us up and down. “And here I thought I’d gotten rid of you two.”
“No such luck, I’m afraid,” I say as Ruskin settles down on a chaise behind us and Destan bows to Maidar.
“Good to see you again, Magister,” Destan says.
Maidar peers at him, taking in his fancy clothes. “Lionsvale, you haven’t changed at all.” It doesn’t really sound like a compliment to me, and Destan seems to agree, because he coughs and straightens his jacket, stepping back from his old tutor.
“We need your help again,” I say, cutting to the chase.
“What is it this time? More practice with metal reading? Or do you finally want to get to grips with your transmutation?”
“It’s not me,” I say, turning to Ruskin. “It’s him.”
Destan and I relay to Maidar the events at the Seelie Court up until Ruskin got taken through the portal to Interra, at which point Ruskin interrupts, seemingly tired of hearing people talk about him like he can’t speak for himself. He tells the story from there, covering his fight with Evanthe and the attack from the monster.
“And then…” He turns to stare at me. “And then you appeared. I thought you were a vision at first—too radiant in a world of shadow, but you conjured magic—distracting the Interra creature long enough for me to kill it. Then you ran up to me and…” He meets my gaze and I know we’re both remembering that I kissed him. It must’ve seemed so bizarre, having a strange woman just run up and plant her lips on him, but Ruskin doesn’t look like he thought it odd. The way he’s looking at me, it almost feels like the memory is precious to him. Now those easy kisses have been taken from me, I feel the same.
“…And then I grabbed him, and we ran out of there,” I say, finishing his explanation when it appears he won’t.
Maidar steeples his fingers in front of him, his typical “thinking” posture.
“Interra is a mysterious place, but there are many stories about it. And while no two stories are exactly alike…let us say that they often rhyme. There are recurring patterns.”
“And do any of those patterns have anything to do with losing one’s memories?” Ruskin asks skeptically.
“Not specifically. The most persistent pattern is that Interra, as a shadow plane balanced between realms, compels a certain balance in turn. In the stories, those who go to Interra find that it always takes something from and gives something to the visitor. A loss and a gain. It would explain why it took your memories, and the changes in her appearance.” He gestures to me.
I blink. “What are you talking about? What changes?”
Destan stares. “Now you mention it…”
I hurry over to the mirror on the dressing table, staring at my reflection.
I suppose you could say my eyes look slightly more upturned, and my face less round—but I’ve been traveling in a realm where safe food is limited, so a little weight loss could explain that. But my irises. In certain lights you could argue the pale blue is darker than it was, almost lilac.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I say, spinning around to accuse Destan and Ruskin. Destan bites his lip.
“To be fair, Eleanor, I see you every day, and it’s pretty subtle.”
“And I have no reference for how you looked before,” says Ruskin nonchalantly. “I did notice your ears though.”
I pull back my hair to stare at the tops of my ears. They’re less round, I’m certain, and I run a finger over them, feeling the tiniest of points.
“But why?” I say, unsettled. “Why this of all things?” I don’t say aloud what it is—I look more fae. Not enough for people to assume I’m not human, but enough to make me look other , not quite belonging to either group anymore.
Maidar hunches his craggy shoulders in what I think is meant to be a shrug. “Why did Interra take Stiltskin’s memories? What did it take from you and give him in return? If these questions had obvious answers, the place would not be considered mysterious.”
I frown. This doesn’t feel like gaining something to me, but I don’t voice the thought.
Ruskin clears his throat. “Stiltskin?” he asks with disdain.
Destan sniggers. “I’d forgotten about that nickname.”
“So what do you think? Can you get them back, his memories?” I say, still feeling rattled, and afraid of the answer to this question.
“That all depends on where they’ve gone,” says Maidar. “We’ll need to run some experiments.”
“And then what?” Ruskin says. “To be practical, we still have a problem far larger than my missing memories. There’s a woman looking to destroy my kingdom who needs me dead and Eleanor in her clutches, and we have no idea where she is, or what we’ll do when she inevitably makes her next move. If we came here for allies, let us secure them.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but your memories should be your priority,” I argue.
“Why? Because it will make you feel better?” he asks sharply. The words sting, partially because of the fear they stoke in me—is he even going to try to get his memory back?
“No, because they’re what make you you !” I snap, frustrated.
We stand there, both glaring at each other, until Destan steps in.
“How about a compromise? Ruskin, you’ll work on these experiments with Maidar, and Eleanor and I will work on this ally problem. It’s better you avoid socializing with the Unseelie as much as possible anyway. The more time you spend with them, the more likely they are to start realizing you’re lacking knowledge you should have.”
Ruskin shakes his head, but when he responds, it’s not to argue.
“You need to look to Lisinder’s kin first. There were several members of that audience who were more incensed than the rest about the idea of Evanthe re-assuming rule after all these years and using dark magic to do it. The woman who escorted us to the cavern is one, I could see it in her face. People like her would rather see a half Unseelie ruler at the head of the court than a Seelie one. She could be useful to us. Lisinder’s already told us he feels duty bound to his court. If enough of them want him to side with us against my mother, then I think he will change his mind about backing us with his forces.”
I lift my eyebrows in surprise. Ruskin has been watching and learning, picking up on the court dynamics without ever remembering having been here before. It’s impressive.
“So we need to make contact with those who have the ear of the king?”
“Exactly. Lionsvale can help you navigate the rest, but you’re human, and that might mean they’ll see you as less of a threat and let their guard down around you.”
“But will they take me seriously?”
“ Make them take you seriously.”
He stands, laying a hand on my arm in a gesture so familiar it almost feels like he’s himself again. I can’t help but lean into the touch, the bond quivering between us like a bowstring pulled taut, straining to be released.
“Listen, Eleanor. You are the naminai of a fae ruler and you have power some of these Unseelie could only dream of. Make sure they know that you deserve their respect.”
His support seeps into me, helping me stand straighter, filling me with a sense of strength. Then he drops his hand and I immediately miss the warmth of it. The tension of the bond slackens, but only a fraction.
“You need to help her,” Ruskin says to Destan “You’re Seelie, so they’ll probably be more hostile with you, but they have less prejudice towards humans in these parts. Remind them you and her are different where you can—that they have no reason to dislike her like they probably will you.”
The corners of Destan’s mouth twitch downwards. “Fine. I’ll go pick out an outfit for all the fun I definitely won’t be having.”