Chapter 12
I reach deep for my magic. The metal I’m searching for is buried far under our feet, and I need a few precious moments to find it. The rest of my team gives it to me, half of them fanning out across our pillars, in front of where I sit on Parsley, creating a strong protective line. The other half go for the ball, but even as I keep my focus on the ground below me, I notice they’re buying time, making half-hearted plays for the other team’s pillars, letting the ball get tossed back towards us as they wait for my signal.
There’s a scuffle on one side of our pillars. Our team is in possession, but some of the players on the other side seem to have realized something is up. The saber-toothed fae snarls at me as Vaccia’s ursinian clashes with his. But he can’t get past her.
The last time I tried to reach this metal, the effort of it nearly overwhelmed me. But I’ve gotten stronger since then, and I’ve never felt more determined than I do now.
And there it is—I’ve found what I’m looking for. I call it to me, the cold touch of ore running in a thick seam far below us. It comes slowly at first, then quickens. I look to the nearest player.
“Get the ball to Pyromey,” I mutter.
There’s a scramble as the message gets communicated and the players go on the offense, suddenly fighting whole-heartedly for possession. Our fresh strategy has done some good already: I can see our side’s morale has come back with a sting in the tail, and it doesn’t take long before one of our players—a grizzled redhead I think I heard being called Elias—has the ball in his cradle. I don’t think I’m imagining the way the ground is starting to rumble, something that this time has nothing to do with the feet sprinting around me.
The orange-haired female charges my protective line, sending a stream of violet flames across the earth. Wistal tramples at them with his huge hooves before they can reach me.
“Now!” I shout, and Elias flicks the ball to Pyromey in a straight shot. It’s barely hit her cradle before she’s turning her ursinian and racing up the west side of the circle, mere feet from the edge and the huge drop below. She gets ridiculously far across the arena in those first moments. The other side is totally unprepared for her risky play and their west flank is almost entirely unprotected. Eventually, however, there’s a shout as they come to their senses and the team begins to charge.
That’s when the ground starts sprouting metal.
The other team comes to an abrupt halt, bellowing warnings to each other as I focus on bringing the augium ore up in protective sheets, literally building a wall between Pyromey and our opponents. She keeps riding her ursinian right round the circle, until she’s just feet away from the pillars. The other team has descended into chaos, unsure what to do with this unexpected move, and there’s no one there in time to stop her as she hurls the ball through the bone columns.
A collective scream of joy goes up from our team, and Pyromey does a victory lap. The threat of the other side winning by a four-goal streak is dispelled.
“Good work,” she calls to me as we regroup, and I can’t help but beam with pride. Then she drops her voice and nods towards the western edge, where I’ve let the augium sink back down into the earth. “Shall we try it again?”
“Won’t they be expecting that?” I ask, surprised.
“Not so soon. And you can mix it up a little. Have you got any other tricks up your sleeve?”
I think about this, but maybe because I’m still high off of our success, I don’t think about it for very long.
“Yes,” I say.
“They’ll be coming after her hard now,” she says to the others. “Watch out.”
I glance over at the other team and shiver at the hate on Turis’s face. I’ve gone and made myself even more of a target—but it will be worth it if we can win this thing.
The ore is closer to the surface now, and I don’t need as much time to draw it out, but the other side is more aggressive too. I try to stay focused on the metal, trusting my teammates, but I can hear the snarls and roars close by as Turis’s team tries their best to reach me. I glance over and see Jasand fighting tooth and claw with the mountain lion. They tumble over each other in the dirt, rolling too close to us for comfort, and I’m forced to kick Parsley into a canter, carrying us away from our pillars and towards the center of the circle.
Some of my teammates follow me, trying to expand the defensive line. I know it’s not as strong as before, but I don’t have time to worry about it as Pyromey catches the ball once more.
The stag charges for her, and I don’t hesitate to strike. I focus now on the earth underneath the stag’s feet and watch, pleased with myself, as it skitters back, disturbed by something. Some of the players on ursinians try to follow suit, charging at Pyromey, but one by one the bears growl and unhappily shuffle back, away from the west side. Their players curse and chivvy them, but the bears will not move, avoiding the tiny spikes of augium I’ve now peppered across the ground between them and Pyromey.
I hear a voice scream across the space.
“Thorn!”
Then six hundred pounds of bear hits me.
Or rather—hits Parsley, but the force of it sends me flying across the arena. One minute I’m watching Pyromey, and the next I’m staring up at the sky, my skin burning from sliding across the ground and my hip throbbing from where I landed on it. I lay there, stunned and convinced I’ve shattered at least one of my bones. It’s a blessing I didn’t crack my skull open, but growing up with a healer will hone your instincts to protect your head whenever you fall. I’ve seen too many brain-damaged people to forget that. I hear a roar that I somehow know is Parsley—a mix of anger and distress—and reluctantly drag my head up, my entire body protesting at the movement.
There’s an ursinian bearing down on me. I can make out the player’s face even from the ground—it’s Turis. He’s the one who ran into Parsley, and now he’s coming over to finish the job. I try to collect my thoughts and my magic, my grip on it all shaken loose by my fall, as the bear thunders towards me.
Wistal and Jasand attack at the same time, bowling into the silver-haired fae. Wistal’s bull horns catch Turis’s bear in the right flank and Jasand leaps up, clamping his powerful jaws around his shoulder, pulling him loose with the momentum of his jump.
It gives me a clear view of the west side of the circle, just in time to see the orange-haired fae’s ursinian drive Pyromey’s off the edge of the cliff.
“Pyromey!”
Her viper eyes widen as her steed lows in fear, scrabbling for an edge it cannot reach. I pull on my magic with all the force I have, redirecting the augium beyond my line of sight, relying purely on sense—my feel of the metal and the mountain stone around it.
Turis’s teammates are dragging the orange-haired fae back from the cliff, sharp looks of concern on their faces. I manage to get to my feet and run closer, flinging myself down on my knees to peer over the edge, my heart in my throat.
“Another one of these would be great, thanks,” calls Pyromey.
It worked. Just a few feet down the plunging cliff face, Pyromey’s hanging onto the metal spike I drove out the side of the rock, holding on for dear life over the breathtaking drop below. I quickly make more handholds for her, and she pulls herself back up over the edge. Her tone before had been nonchalant, but I can see now how pale she is, and when she’s once more on solid ground, she leans back, taking deep breaths.
“I’m sorry about your steed,” I pant, feeling like I climbed the spikes myself. Pyromey’s eyes shine brightly, and even though I know she’d never let the tears fall, I can see her grief.
“We all go sometime, Lady Thorn,” she says, but somehow it doesn’t sound dismissive, more like a promise of adventure to come.
The trample of feet is still audible behind us, and we both turn, realizing at the same time that the horn hasn’t blown yet: the ball is still in play.
“Come on,” Pyromey says, grabbing a cradle from the ground and swinging herself up onto Parsley, who’s come snuffling over towards me. The bear tosses its head, and Pyromey holds her hand out to me. “He won’t move without you on him with me.”
I cry out as I clamber up onto the ursinian behind her.
“I think I’ve fractured my hip,” I gasp.
“Don’t worry. The healers are great with breaks,” Pyromey says, and kicks Parsley into motion.
I focus more on holding on than much else, pain spiking through me as we charge across the circle. There are shouts, and Pyromey shifts in the saddle. Something hot flares behind us, and the sound of bodies colliding against bodies comes threateningly close.
But at last, Pyromey jerks forward, her arm raised, and I look up to see the ball flying through the bone pillars of the opposing team.
The horn sounds, soon drowned out by the roar of joy from Pyromey and the others. We’ve won.
Pyromey leaps down from Parsley and is immediately mobbed by our teammates. All I can manage is a slow slide to the ground, my wounds screaming for relief. Wistal and Jasand are back in human form, jumping into each other’s arms as Vaccia strides towards us.
“I suppose your strategy worked, you madwoman,” she says to Pyromey, who looks smug. “I’ll try to forget about the nearly dying part.”
Thank the stars, the healers see to me quickly, erasing my flesh wounds and broken bones, and Destan meets me on the arena floor as the rest of the crowd descends to congratulate the winners and commiserate with the losers. Despite his brown skin, Destan looks almost as pale as Pyromey did after she fell.
“I think I might’ve died of fright at least twice during that,” he says, and I slap him on the back.
“Thanks for the support, Des. Where’s Ruskin?”
In answer, strong hands grab hold of me and pull me out of the crowd. Ruskin tugs me against him.
“You were magnificent,” he murmurs in my ear, and I laugh giddily, intoxicated by our win and, despite the near-death experiences, proud of myself.
“You were right,” I say breathily. “I just had to trust my power.”
I don’t know why it was so hard to do before. After all, Ruskin has already taught me this lesson once. But maybe when I felt like I’d lost him, I lost some of that faith too. But he’s still Ruskin despite it all, and he hasn’t forgotten the importance of making me believe in myself—reminding me how to rely on my instincts.
“Of course I was right.” He smiles, then kisses me.
The rest of the world disappears around me—the crowd and their chatter, the lowing of several ursinian yet to be sent back to their paddocks, even the howl of the wind. I feel the bond glow between us so brightly I can’t believe it’s not illuminating us to everyone around. But even if it did, I probably wouldn’t notice, too wrapped up in the scent and taste and feel of Ruskin. My blood hums beneath my skin, and I’m suddenly desperate for us to be alone, exploring every inch of each other, letting Ruskin take me and?—
“Lady Thorn!”
I rip myself away, unable to feel embarrassed when I meet Pyromey’s gaze. She’s with the rest of the team, hand on hip.
“We’re going for a celebration drink. It’s tradition. Are you coming?”
I glance back at Ruskin, not really wanting to leave his side, not when I could have more of those kisses, more of him .
He chuckles as if he can read my mind.
“Go,” he says, gently pushing me towards the Unseelie. Then, so low no one else will hear: “We can have our own celebration later.”
My body heats at the thought and I throw him a look that tells him I’ll be holding him to that promise. Then I let the team drag me away.
My teammates lead me through the streets of the Unseelie Court, down narrow passageways carved from mountain stone, until we arrive at a tavern called the Bull’s Eye. The sign outside has a fierce portrait of the eponymous creature painted on it, reminding me of Wistal in all his bovine glory. We find tables inside—or rather, tables are quickly cleared for us, as the granite-faced owner congratulates us on our win and offers us a free round. Before I know it, a huge flagon of ale is being slammed down in front of me.
“Drink up,” says Jasand with a wink.
I’m not so caught up in our win that I don’t sniff it first.
“Don’t worry, the owner had some imported stuff from Styrland in the back,” says Pyromey, sitting down beside me. “I think someone traded him for it once. He seemed almost relieved to have someone to give it to.”
“Thanks,” I say, as Vaccia lifts her flagon.
“To victory!” she shouts.
“To glory!”
“To not falling off a cliff to my death!” Pyromey finishes.
They cheer, and I join in enthusiastically as we clash our flagons together, sloshing the ale across the wooden table.
“You play pretty well, for a human,” Wistal says to me, as the group dives into a replay of the game, analyzing every goal and injury.
“For a human?” Pyromey says, offended on my behalf. “She played well—period. We wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for Lady Thorn’s power.”
“Good point,” says Wistal, squinting at me. “Are you sure you’re fully human? Any fae blood mixed in there somewhere?” He studies my face, and I guess he’s taking in my features, the slight sharpening at the tips of my ears that I didn’t notice until Maidar pointed it out to me. I shift uncomfortably.
“Yes, I’m sure. My magic is a gift from the fae,” I say, trying to stay close to the truth without explaining everything about Ruskin and the curse. “My mother had dealings with them before I was born. This was an unexpected side effect. It hasn’t got anything to do with my family heritage.”
Wistal and Pyromey exchange looks.
“It doesn’t!” I say, suddenly feeling protective of my mother, who they’re no doubt imagining had some tawdry affair with a High Fae.
Pyromey shrugs. “Well, either way, you can take a hit, and that’s all that matters.”
I consider this as the fae around me drink deep. I’m as surprised as anyone that I wasn’t hurt more badly in the game—or rather, that when I was injured, it didn’t incapacitate me. I’ve seen enough of my mom’s work to know how easily a little bit of pain can make it almost impossible to focus on anything else, and yet I’d managed to keep going, with my thigh torn open. Was it just adrenaline? I’d been knocked off Parsley hard, definitely hard enough to break bones, and yet managed to emerge largely unscathed. It seems I’m tougher than I thought.
“Hartflood’s the perfect example. Did you see him today?”
“Come on, Elias, his age doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
My thoughts are disrupted by Vaccia arguing with another fae on our team, the grizzled male with fading red hair and—now I’m close to him, I see it—a missing ear.
“Age has everything to do with it. Hartflood’s just like any young buck—no stamina.” Elias grins suggestively. “It’s the same every time. He uses up all his energy in the first half, making his best plays, and then burns himself out. He ends up coasting for the rest of the game.”
“There are plenty of us here only a bit older than Hartflood,” says Pyromey. She takes a sip of her beer and raises an eyebrow. “And I certainly don’t have a problem with stamina.”
“Yes, but you’ve actually seen some action,” Elias smirks. “That’s the thing about battle—you learn quickly not to go too hard too fast, or you’ll stop going altogether.” He draws a finger across his throat to emphasize his point.
I’m reminded that for the Seelie this game isn’t just a test of strength, it’s a test of your character overall. I might’ve wanted to earn my place on the council, but that’s not the only reason I signed up for the game. I needed to earn their trust and respect, and that’s even more true if we’re going to sit on the council together. I think the fact I’m here now, being included, is proof I’m getting somewhere, but I need to be even more direct in my intentions. When the time comes, I could get them to present a united front and side with me when I represent my case to Lisinder. If Turis can put him off the idea of an alliance with Ruskin, then surely all of us combined can prove the court as a whole isn’t against such a move. I think about Ruskin, about the words of advice and support he offered me during the game. I couldn’t have helped my team win without him, and it’s my turn to help him now by building ties and alliances. And that means testing the waters, seeing how willing they might be to help me with my cause now that I’ve earned some trust.
“When did you see battle?” I ask Pyromey. “I thought you were too young to witness the Divide.”
“I was,” Pyromey replies, “but as part of the king’s security I’ve dealt with some border skirmishes, and we Unseelie have had our own conflicts that don’t have anything to do with the Seelie Court.”
Jasand snorts into his ale. “I thought everything was to do with the Seelie Court.”
I look at him curiously. “In what way?”
“Blood superiority, Unseelie identity. It’s always been a favorite topic of conversation round here,” grunts the redhead. “Some Unseelie like to define themselves by what they’re not—it’s in the name after all. We are not Seelie, and therefore we’ve got to keep as much distance as possible between us and anything that feels remotely related to them.”
I guess from Elias’s sour tone that he doesn’t agree with this philosophy.
“And what about someone like Ruskin?” I ask. “He’s a mix of both, so where does he stand?”
“Prince Ruskin would be considered tainted by some of us. Too Seelie to ever be considered an ally,” Pyromey says without embarrassment, though she watches me closely, as if she expects me to get angry or defensive.
I nod, showing I can accept the reality of the situation without getting offended on his behalf.
“And yet, I bet there’s just as many of you who’d rather see one who’s more like you on the Seelie throne than a full-Seelie ruler.” I stare round at them, making it clear what I’m asking.
Elias sits back. “That’s not our battle to fight.”
“Maybe not now. But if we sit around and do nothing long enough, it might become our battle.” Pyromey says seriously, and I feel a rush of gratitude towards her.
“I understand where you’re coming from,” I say to Elias, swigging my ale, wanting to appear still casual. “I’m human, after all. I have even less of a dog in this fight.”
“Sure, no dog. Except you’re the naminai of the prince in question,” points out Jasand with his usual sarcasm.
“I didn’t know that when Evanthe’s curse started tearing up the Seelie Court.”
“And what exactly did it look like, this curse? You’ve all been rather vague on that,” pushes Jasand.
“Cold iron,” I say, allowing my voice to go hard. It’s no stretch—my horror and disgust with Evanthe for using something so terrible against her own people is very real. “Splitting open the ground, covering whole buildings, crushing and impaling fae, Low and High. And that’s before you factor in the sickness. Wherever it sprang up, it polluted the place until no one could bear to be near it anymore.” I look around at my audience and see with satisfaction that they look suitably shocked by my description.
“So I stayed. Me, someone not born of Faerie, and not a member of the court I saw being ravaged before my eyes. Because that kind of destruction was too awful for me to just stand by and do nothing. And because I stood up to the tyrant who was tearing her country and her people apart, I had to run for my life. But just because Evanthe isn’t here yet doesn’t mean this place is safe. Your realm is beautiful, but it won’t stay that way if we don’t lift a finger to stop those who are happy to destroy it.”
I toy with saying more—telling them exactly how far Evanthe wants to go in her destruction—but I still worry they won’t buy it, so I end my speech there.
Elias clears his throat.
“It sounds terrible, Lady Thorn, but I’m no stranger to destruction. Many of us fought in the Great Divide.” He gestures to Vaccia and Wistal, and I realize they must be quite a bit older than Pyromey and Jasand. “If you think what happened at the Seelie Court was bad, then I ask you to imagine that devastation on a much larger scale. That’s what would happen if King Lisinder were to support Prince Ruskin’s bid against his mother: escalation. Believe me, the suffering you saw would be a picnic compared to what another war between the courts would unleash.”
“But you wouldn’t be going to war with Seelie. Ruskin has been running the Seelie Court for centuries and he’s—” I stop myself. Ruskin still hasn’t told anyone that he’s High King. It made sense back when we thought we were re-instating Evanthe. Even afterwards, when her followers ambushed us at Irnua, it felt too risky a card to be played. I doubted any of the Hunt would have been swayed by the news, instead they’d only use it as more proof that Ruskin was a usurper focused only on keeping what they would have seen as his stolen crown from his own mother. But with the Unseelie it feels crucial if we’re going to get them on our side. I decide to speak to Ruskin about it, but for now I change the direction of my sentence.
“He still has many who are loyal to him in the court,” I say. Though I can’t know for sure if that’s true or not, I desperately hope it is. “You wouldn’t be siding against Seelie, you’d be helping to fight for it, with a Seelie ruler at your side.”
The Unseelie exchange looks, and I feel a surge of frustration when I can see they’re still not convinced. The wound left by the Great Divide must be too painful, I think, even for the Unseelie, who make no secret about believing violence has an important role to play in society. I look at the place where Elias’s ear should be, and wonder what I’m truly asking of them. I know that the price for inaction will be too high, but with only stories of Evanthe and her destruction, and no reason to believe that that same trouble could find them here, I understand why they hesitate. I can represent my case to the king alone at the council, but if I can’t convince these fae, then I worry about my chances with him.
“Evanthe might not be seeking out war with your court, but she doesn’t care about maintaining peace. Her followers even less so. Most of them want another Divide. And they’ve already started putting things in motion. Go to the border if you don’t believe me—they might not have killed any Unseelie yet, but they’ve been targeting your servants. We found three of them murdered at the border, and I bet that’s not the last of it. They’ll start with the humans, but they’re out for blood. If you’re worried about escalation, leave it to them.”
This, at least, makes some of them sit up straighter.
“I know the borderlands better than most,” says Pyromey. “If there’s trouble there, I’ll put an end to it. Give me the location and I’ll personally monitor the situation.”
“Really?” I ask, grateful she’s taking me seriously.
“Of course. It’s what any council member would do for another.”
I’m about to describe where we found the humans when the doors to the tavern close with a bang. We look up to see half the opposing team stood there. Turis is near the front—a natural leader, I guess, given his age and status. I see Climent hovering near the back, beside the fae I recognize as Hartflood—the player who transformed into a stag. The fourth member of the group is an older fae like Turis, a female with hair too orange to be natural and golden eyes. For a moment, they stand there, sizing us up, before taking a table near ours. Turis somehow manages to look not a bit like someone whose team just got thrashed. He’s too cool and collected. But the others glare at us as they shuffle past, and I don’t think I’m imagining the particularly dirty looks they save for me.
“That’s strange,” says Elias, his brows knitting. “I didn’t think they let losers drink in this tavern.”
The female bares her teeth, actually hissing at Elias. He just laughs.
“Come now,” says Turis, his gray eyes sweeping over us. “Aren’t we all civilized enough to be able to share the same watering hole?”
“That depends on your definition of civilized,” Pyromey says.
Turis looks her up and down. “Yes, I could see why your understanding of the word might be hazy.”
Jasand growls, a sound that reminds me of the wolf living beneath his skin.
But Turis just turns his back on us as his table orders drinks. I train my attention back on Pyromey, trying to ignore this obvious provocation and pick up where our conversation left off.
“If you want to go and see the work of Evanthe’s followers yourself, we found the bodies about half a mile from the border, on the main mountain pass that leads to Irnua.”
She nods at me, but her reply is drowned out by Elias’s goading of the other team. The redhead has a few drinks in by now, and the volume of his voice had risen accordingly.
“Hey, Clearglen, when are you going to teach that stag of yours how to aim?”
The female he’s addressing rolls her eyes, though Hartflood stands up abruptly, nearly knocking his drink over. But when Turis gives him a long look, he drops back down in his seat with no argument at all. It’s testament to how much sway Turis holds over them. I know how hard it is for an Unseelie to back down. It’s probably why Elias directed the insult at Clearglen rather than Hartflood himself—he wants to needle him without issuing a direct challenge. All the same, it seems strange they’d come here after their loss if Turis doesn’t want them getting into a fight. I resolve to watch him carefully.
The rest of the tavern’s patrons are doing the same, and I can feel several pairs of eyes—High Fae and Low—eagerly studying us, clearly hoping the day’s entertainment didn’t end with the bastet game finished.
Turis looks at Elias with distaste. “Just because you won a game today, doesn’t mean you get to address a member of the noble Clearglen clan so rudely. She’s Lady Brianne to you.”
“And I’m Lord Elias, but you don’t see me standing on ceremony,” he slurs back.
“That’s different,” says Turis.
“Why? Because Elias earned his title in the Divide and she was born with hers?” Pyromey jerks her head at Lady Brianne. “Lord Turis, that sounds positively Seelie of you.”
For the first time since he entered the tavern I see a hairline crack in Turis’s calm demeanor.
“Be careful who you compare to the Seelie, Lady Pyromey. I’m not the one looking to get into bed with the enemy.” He fixes his cold gray eyes on me.
Jasand makes a dramatic show of looking around, even ducking down to search under the table. “What enemies? I don’t see any round here.”
Turis replies with a clipped tone. “Those who wish to ruin this court are everywhere, and it’s more difficult than you’d expect to snuff them out.”
“You mean the Seelie?” Pyromey asks, though I know exactly who Turis is referring to. He wanted me to die in that game, I’m sure.
“The Seelie Court is nothing but a pit of snakes. Filthy backstabbers. Look at the queen, turning against her own son—if that’s the version of events you choose to believe.” He glances at me, inviting a challenge before he continues. “You can hardly be surprised at their quick betrayal, given what they say about his father’s death. Believe me, if it weren’t for the degeneracy of the Seelie, Lucan Hawkstooth would still be alive.”
“You like to throw a lot of big claims around for someone who can’t even get a bastet ball past the post,” sneers Elias.
Climent scowls, but Turis looks amused, raising a mocking eyebrow in my direction.
“If you think today’s result will change the king’s mind about sticking his neck out for his nephew, you are mistaken. If this court is finally going to prove its dominance against the scum across the border, it won’t be just to put a Seelie mutt on the throne.”
I see red, getting the urge to growl just like Jasand did a minute ago. That’s my naminai he’s talking about, my soulmate, mine . If he thinks I’ll sit by and listen to him insult Ruskin like that, he’s about to learn otherwise. I stand and step right up to Turis, glaring into his face.
“What did you just call him?” I ask. I lift my pewter flagon, and it crumples inwards, the metal collapsing like it’s a piece of parchment crushed in my fist. I slam it down into the table beside him.
Turis’s expression stays neutral, but I see Hartflood and Brianne’s eyes widen.
Climent sneers. “I think you heard him correctly.”
“We don’t mince our words here, Lady Thorn, and while your prince might be half Unseelie, he is undeniably contaminated by his mother’s blood.” Turis shakes his head. “He even carries her name.”
“Because the High Queen outranked Prince Lucan,” Jasand says, making it sound like Turis is a moron who simply doesn’t understand this fact. “If you think about it very hard, Lord Turis, I’m sure even you might recall that’s how every marriage has worked since we had royal heirs to marry off.”
“Even tradition can be wrong,” Turis shoots back.
I shake my head, not interested in debating rank and status like this. I suspect that underneath it all, people like Turis and his friends only understand one thing: power, and who has it.
“That’s a nice belt you have there, Lord Turis,” I say lightly, putting one hand on the table and leaning over him. “What’s that buckle—gold? You know, I’ve been known to do very interesting things with gold. I once decapitated a snake with nothing more than a small ring of the stuff,” I make a circle with my thumb and forefinger. “Sliced it straight through, just like that.” I pull the fingers in tight, making a fist and giving the buckle the slightest tug with my magic—not enough to do damage, just enough to make it clear that I could .
Turis’s lip curls, but his hand goes to his belt, and I can’t help smile at the way it hovers protectively over his groin area. “You can try it, Lady Thorn,” he says, spitting out my title in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t think I’m a lady at all. “Then we’ll have our proof that your prince’s naminai is just as feral as he is. Tell me, does he actively encourage you to go around attacking your hosts, or has it just rubbed off on you? I don’t know how they do it in that ditch you crawled out of, but in these lands, we put rabid animals down.”
So that’s why they’re here. They didn’t want to pick a fight with my team, they wanted to pick a fight with me .
Turis is so confident I’ll snap, so used to people not backing down, that he’s not even bothering to be subtle about it, but I can tell that it’s still important to him that I make the first move. Maybe he plans to use it to argue that I’m not fit for the council, that Ruskin and I are no friends of the Unseelie. Just like whoever planted the moon orb intended. I stare at Turis. I want so badly to use that belt buckle to shut him up, but I refuse to play his game.
I take a step back and avert my gaze, letting Turis win the confrontation in a way most Unseelie would find impossible. He’d hoped it would be the same for me. I can see the way his eyes tighten with frustration as I just sit back down at my table.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. “Come, my friends, let’s find somewhere else to drink.” He nods at his teammates. “It’s clear the clientele here isn’t up to our standards.” The group exchange looks, but down their drinks and rise to their feet. I watch them as they saunter away, promising myself Turis will get what he deserves eventually. All the same, I still feel sour about letting him think he’s won.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Elias says after they’ve gone, reading my expression. “If you know Turis, you also know that exit was his version of leaving with his tail between his legs.”
I smile at him, grateful—not to mention pleased that it wasn’t just obvious to me that Turis came after me looking for a fight, and that he lost when I didn’t give him one. Still, the whole encounter has gotten me thinking, and I wonder if I’m missing an opportunity by staying here.
I touch my tankard, uncrumpling it so it goes back to its original shape, and pull my cloak off the back of my chair.
“You’re not going after them, are you?” Pyromey asks, sounding wary.
“No, they’re not worth it. I just think I should go cool off,” I say with a smile. “That ale’s going to my head.”
Jasand pouts. “Shame. I thought you were going to go and challenge them. I could’ve sold tickets. Stars knows that Turis needs a kick up the behind—and I’m not the only one who’d like to see it.”
“Don’t encourage her,” says Elias, looking amused. “With her powers I’m sure she could.”
I nod at him, pleased that our disagreement about the war doesn’t seem to have tainted the team’s goodwill towards me after our win.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I say, and then laugh at myself, because it seems an incongruous thing to say to such a fierce-looking band. But the team happily raises their flagons to me as I duck out of the bar.
Turis and his teammates are already out of sight. I need to be quick. I lied to Pyromey—I am going after them, but not in the way she thinks. I focus on my magic right away, stilling my inner pool to locate Turis’s belt buckle. It’s fortunate I’ve touched it with my magic already, otherwise it would be too difficult to track. As it is, I have a taste for the metal’s signature, and it’s possible to search for it down the streets.
There.
I take a right, following the direction my magic pulls me.