Chapter 14
W hen I wake the next morning, Ruskin is gone, but there’s a note from him on the pillow beside me. It says that Maidar arrived early for their session, and Ruskin didn’t want to wake me. Almost immediately, the mellow peace I was carrying when I woke up tightens into a small knot in my stomach. We didn’t talk about it yesterday, too wrapped up in each other, but I don’t like these experiments. I might have been the one who pushed Ruskin to try to get his memories back at first, but I don’t want it at the cost of his well-being. When I stumbled in on him yesterday, I could tell he was hurting. I worry he will push himself too far, and Maidar won’t think to stop him in time.
I rise and dress, telling myself that I’m probably worrying too much—but I’m not very convincing. No matter how many times I tell myself that I should go sniff out some food—I’m pretty hungry after yesterday’s activities—or find out whatever Destan’s getting up to, my fears won’t let me. In the end, I leave my room determined to find Ruskin and Maidar, if only to keep an eye on whatever risky experiment they’re trying next.
Which turns out to be…reading.
I find them in the first place I look: Maidar’s house, hunched over a pile of scrolls. When Ruskin sees me, his face rapidly shifts from concentration to a warm smile, lighting up his face, and I’m momentarily dazzled. I smile back, thinking I might be blushing, and wonder what’s wrong with me. I feel giddy, even distracted—like when I first fell for him, except without so much fear and doubt. I don’t think we’re being very subtle, because Maidar stomps past us muttering something grumpy about trying to work with people ogling each other.
“I thought you’d be doing more spells,” I say, trying to regain my composure.
Ruskin grimaces. “That particular route wasn’t getting us as far as we’d hoped.”
Maidar drops a pile of books onto the table with a thud.
“It wasn’t getting us anywhere at all,” he says, waving one of the books around. “I was sure that his memories were locked away behind other suppressed parts of his subconscious, but Stiltskin’s turned over just about every stone in that part of his mind and we’re no closer to finding them.”
It occurs to me Maidar might have been overly optimistic, thinking Ruskin had his memories still buried within him. Interra could have removed them permanently, couldn’t it? I look between the two fae, and the frustrated expressions on their faces tell me they’re thinking the same thing.
“So what now?” I ask.
“We need a new theory,” says Maidar, scanning the book before him. “But that takes time.”
“In that case, I think I’ll take a break, Cragfoot,” Ruskin says, standing and stretching his legs.
“Yes, fine, fine,” Maidar replies, not looking up from the book as he waves us away.
We wait until we’ve closed his front door behind us, then Ruskin pins me against the frame, kissing me until I’m breathless. The memories of yesterday swell up in my mind, making heat coil at my core, and I wonder how quickly Ruskin and I can get back to our room for that “break” he mentioned.
“I missed you when I woke up,” I say, enjoying the way the muscles of his arm flex as I stroke my fingers along them.
But then he makes an unhappy face. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten about my appointment with Cragfoot, but I decided it was too important to miss.” He gently brushes a strand of my hair away. “The sooner we get answers, the sooner I can get my memories back.”
My eyes drop to the ground. I feel guilty again about pushing this. After all, Ruskin still loves me without his memories, and I love him. It feels almost selfish, demanding more.
“Maybe you were right before, about priorities. So far you’ve been managing surprisingly well without them, and even I can see we have bigger problems.”
He looks at me like he sees right through me.
“Ella, I want to remember. The more time we spend together, the more I realize what I’m missing. I want to know what it was like, the first time I saw you, or when I was getting to know you, or the first time we made love.” His eyes fall to my lips, and as I wonder what colorful scenarios he’s imagining, I grin at the real memory, the blush returning to my cheeks.
“Whatever you’re picturing, it was better,” I say, and his eyes darken with desire.
“Perhaps we should re-enact it.”
Parts of me might be heating up at the thought, but then my stomach growls loudly, and I’m reminded there’s another part of my body that needs attention.
Ruskin chuckles.
“Food first,” he suggests, and I nod eagerly.
We’re back under the mountain, weaving through the stone corridors, when I see them: Turis, Brianne, and Climent, walking together and looking up to no good. I feel like a lovestruck fool—I’d gotten so wrapped up in Ruskin’s confession yesterday all thought about his cousins and what I overhead went out of my head. Now it comes flooding back, just as they catch sight of me.
“ Magna Lunis ,” Ruskin greets them, but they don’t offer the traditional response. Instead, they look like they’re going to pass by without a word, ignoring us completely. That is, until Brianne makes the mistake of murmuring a single word under her breath as they go past.
“Mutt.”
My eyes dart to Ruskin, wondering how he’ll react. He quirks an eyebrow and turns around to look at the fae.
“Did you say something?”
Brianne seems reluctant to reply, but Turis is more than happy to, stepping forward.
“My friend was merely expressing her opinions about having a half-breed in our court.”
I wonder at the man’s arrogance, to throw such insults so boldly in Ruskin’s face. If this were the Seelie Court, I feel like he’d already be dead. Even here, he obviously thinks us being dependent on Lisinder’s hospitality is enough to protect him from retaliation, but I’m not so sure.
Ruskin doesn’t look tense, though, simply curious. “Is that what they’re calling mixed blood these days? Rather unimaginative, isn’t it?” Then his eyes narrow, examining the two males more closely. “Aren’t you the gentlemen who took such pains to injure Lady Thorn in the game yesterday?”
Climent straightens up, looking defiant. “We were just playing it as it’s meant to be played. We can’t be held accountable for weaker beings signing up for something they can’t handle.”
Because I know him well, I can see the hatred coursing through Ruskin, tightening his shoulders. But to the untrained eye he still looks calm. A little twitch in his fingers is the only other sign that he wants to wrap them around Climent’s neck and squeeze hard.
“And yet she handled you , I seem to remember. I particularly enjoyed it when she broke your ankles.” Ruskin’s smile stretches from ear to ear and is perfectly disconcerting. I see even Turis take a small step back.
“Let’s not waste our time further,” the silver-haired fae says, and for the second time in as many days, I watch with satisfaction as he retreats. It’s becoming more and more obvious to me that Turis is only direct with his insults. When it comes to action, he’s much more slippery, preferring to pull strings behind the scenes. It fits with my theory about him being involved in Ruskin’s attack, and perhaps even Lucan’s death too.
“I thought you were going to tear him apart,” I say when they’re gone.
“Oh, I would have liked to,” Ruskin says. “Especially when I think about how they treated you in the game yesterday.”
“But?”
He looks at me, surprised, like he doesn’t understand why there’d be more to explain.
“But it would be messy, and there are better ways to take care of bigots like them.”
I search his face for a sign of the smoldering rage that so often haunted the Ruskin of the past. Perhaps Interra did gift him something when it took his memories: distance. It seems so much easier now for him to take a step back from his emotions—not that he doesn’t feel them, but now he can balance them better. They serve as more than sharp tools that cut him open even as he uses them to achieve his ends. I suppose that’s the kind of advantage you get when you can put certain traumas behind you.
Which makes me curious what his reaction will be when I bring up one of those traumas.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
We sit in the bedroom, me cross-legged on the bed, him on the chaise, as I explain my encounter with Turis and his friends the day before. I recount how his dad was mentioned, once in the bar and then again in the conversation I overheard. I watch Ruskin carefully, but he simply leans back in the chaise, thinking.
“Destan filled me in on the death of my father,” he says. “From the way he described it, even I find it questionable. He was considered an excellent hunter. Surely he wouldn’t ever have found himself alone and unarmed in the path of those wolves—not unless magic was involved.”
“If there were ever even wolves at all,” I say, wondering exactly how much the Seelie Court questioned Lucan’s death. He wasn’t popular, and afterwards it sounds like Evanthe was so pressured to remarry even she didn’t have time to properly mourn—or to question what happened.
“Destan says I’ve always assumed that the murder came from within Seelie—especially after the betrayal of my sister and stepfather. But if I were in the killer’s shoes, and I was an Unseelie who wanted to end a fresh peace between the courts, he’d be the perfect target. A young prince, newly married and deeply in love with his wife—then dead, under conditions so odd they seem intentionally suspicious. If the killers were Seelie, they could’ve chosen any manner of more believable ends. This seems deliberate. They wanted people to suspect murder—specifically, they wanted the Unseelie to suspect it. They wanted people thirsty for revenge.”
I nod, thinking this all makes a lot of sense. It’s very possible Ruskin hadn’t considered this angle before now, too focused on the betrayals of those closest to him to look further afield.
“But it all happened so long ago. How can we prove it? Should we try to find out who commissioned the moon orb ourselves and go from there?”
Ruskin shrugs. “If King Lisinder has already looked into the moon orb, I doubt there’s much more for us to find. As for my father, we shouldn’t do anything for now. We can bide our time, knowing more than they do, and wait for the right moment to use it.”
I nod, feeling better. Hearing him examine everything so calmly fills me with confidence we’re doing the right thing. His certainty soothes me in a world of unknowns. I reach out and touch his hand, a silent message. He responds in kind, squeezing it tight.
A knock echoes at the door, a frantic edge to it. Ruskin calls for the visitor to enter, and Destan and Jasand stride in. They’re an odd pair—the dandyish Destan in a burgundy coat, and Jasand looking much more intimidating all in black—but they wear twin expressions of concern on their face.
“You’re being summoned by King Lisinder,” Jasand says. I feel a prickle of worry that his usual sarcasm is nowhere to be found.
“What about?” I ask, standing up. “Has something happened?”
“It’s Evanthe,” Destan says, twisting the fabric of his coat between his hands. “She’s found us.”
They’re waiting for us in a chamber deep under the mountains. The air is damp against my skin, with a mineral smell that makes sense once I hear the trickle of water. A small underground waterfall streams down the rockface at the center of the room, collecting in a pool. Various members of the Unseelie Court are gathered around it. They turn as we enter, and I search the faces of the crowd, afraid of what I might find. We’ve been lulled into a false sense of security here in the mountains – a world that seems so far from Evanthe and her curse. My mind frantically tells me she can’t be here, but my thudding heart isn’t listening.
The Unseelie’s expressions are a strange mix—some look intense, filled with anger or discomfort, but others seem curious, even excited. They part as we approach, and I see that there’s a sunken pool where the waterfall meets the ground.
Lisinder stands beside the steps leading down to the water. At first I think he’s talking to himself, until I see that the surface of the pool isn’t just a reflection of the chamber ceiling. It’s a portal—the same kind Ruskin used in the Seelie Court to show me Dad back in Styrland.
Only this time there isn’t the kind face of my father looking back at me.
It’s Evanthe.
I’m caught between relief that she isn’t here in person and a spike of panic from seeing her at all. I hadn’t expected to be so unsettled at the mere sight of her. But the last time I saw her, she was trying to kill Ruskin, and the time before that she murdered Halima. The shock and sorrow of those moments, the danger and the fear, come crowding in on me now, and despite her beauty, when I look at her face, I see a monster.
But perhaps I’m the only one, because as we get nearer I can hear she’s speaking with Lisinder quite civilly.
“…And I appreciate you hearing me out regarding this matter. Were the situation reversed, I’m sure you’d do whatever was necessary for your court.”
Her voice is commanding but calm, and as her green eyes stare out of the pool I think she seems every bit the reasonable, balanced leader she pretended to be all those weeks in the Seelie Court. I want to shout out the truth, to warn everyone what lurks beneath this mask, but she’s already put the game in motion, forcing us to play along.
“I have offered my nephew sanctuary, Your Majesty,” says Lisinder. “Are you asking me to go back on that?”
My blood chills a few more degrees. So she’s asking for him to give us up. And if he does, I have no doubt that once she’s forced me to remove my protections on the founding stone and made Ruskin designate her heir, she’ll kill us both. I glance at Ruskin, but his face is inscrutable. Part of me imagines he’s picturing just how painful and bloody our ends will be. She might not know that we’re naminai , but she knows we love each other. She’ll make Ruskin watch as she tortures me…and she’ll make me watch her torture him. I can’t imagine anything more nightmarish.
Lisinder’s tone is also calm. He’s not making any accusations, and that worries me. I want Lisinder to feel angry on our behalf, defensive over the idea that Evanthe would tell him what to do, but they continue to talk like they’re discussing regular affairs of state—not whether their own blood kin should live free or be sent to our deaths. I can’t help but wonder why Lisinder invited us to witness this audience with Evanthe if he was always going to discuss our fates so openly, in front of everyone.
“I understand your predicament, but he is my son before he is your nephew, Your Majesty,” Evanthe says. “And though it saddens me to take these steps, they are necessary for the future of my court. Not returning them to face justice in the Seelie Kingdom would be a dangerous level of interference in our affairs. I would not expect such a thing from your kingdom, sir.”
Lisinder turns to scan the room, his eyes falling on us, then on his subjects.
“Your Majesty.” An Unseelie I haven’t met steps forward. She looks older, so far as I can tell, but her most noticeable feature is the scar running down her right arm. It looks like half of it has been gouged away.
“This is not our quarrel, my Lord, and I fear Queen Evanthe is right. Were we to ignore her request now, it would be tantamount to an act of hostility against the Seelie Court. Many of us gathered here know the consequences of such an act.” She stares at him meaningfully, crossing her arms, and I can feel the shadow of the Great Divide hanging over the crowd as they shift and murmur to each other.
“Thank you for your thoughts, Lady Flardryn,” the king replies. Lisinder looks to us again and I feel Ruskin straighten, moving a little closer beside me—it’s subtle, but I realize he’s positioning himself to better protect me. I know Ruskin will do everything in his power to ensure I remain out of Evanthe’s clutches, no matter what Lisinder decides. I twist my hands into the fabric of my skirts, wondering just how many people will get hurt if it comes to that.
“Well, Nephew, Lady Thorn, what do you have to say on this matter?” Lisinder asks.
I blink, surprised that he’s consulting us at all, because our answer should be obvious. He knows that we want him to ignore Evanthe and ally himself with us. But then I realize what he’s really asking for: a reason to say no to her, something that will be acceptable to his court, and to us as well. He isn’t a tyrant king who does whatever he wants. If he’s going to take a stand here, he needs to be able to justify it.
My mind races, looking for a compelling argument. It’s hard because Evanthe hasn’t made any direct threat against the Unseelie. She doesn’t seem to care about them at all, outside of whether they deny her access to us. I’m not sure whether her indifference is real or feigned—after all, she had no trouble feigning joy at her reunion with the Seelie Court, even as she secretly attacked them with cold iron. Maybe she plans to destroy the Unseelie and maybe she doesn’t. All I know for sure is that she plans to destroy Ruskin and me. But that’s not an argument to win hearts and minds here.
Nothing. I have nothing. I can’t think of a single thing to say to Lisinder to convince him to save us. My only hope is that he’ll at least give us a head start—force us out of the Unseelie Court but not directly into Evanthe’s grasp. He could wash his hands of us and still give us a fighting chance at eluding her.
Then Ruskin clears his throat, glancing at the pool where Evanthe’s face looks on expectantly. Ruskin hasn’t seen her since Interra—and has no memory of ever having seen her before that. I doubt he’s filled with the same fear as me when he looks at her.
“Don’t worry, she can only hear what I permit through the portal,” Lisinder says.
Ruskin nods.
“In that case, I’d say that hers may seem like a persuasive proposal, Your Majesty, but if I could have a moment alone with you, I think there’s a piece of the picture you’ll find more compelling.”
I stare at him, wondering what on earth he’s talking about.
Lisinder considers this, glancing at Evanthe’s expectant face in the pool.
“Very well,” he says and lifts his hand to re-establish the connection. “My lady, if you’ll excuse me just a moment while I consult with my kin.” She nods, the very picture of a gracious head of state. It chills me to the bone. Then Lisinder waves his hand, and her picture is gone in a swirl of ripples.
Ruskin looks to Destan, meeting his eyes while nodding towards me, and our friend draws nearer. Apparently, it’s a silent instruction to watch over me, and though I know I can defend myself just as well as Destan these days, I understand that Ruskin is reluctant to leave me out here among a bunch of Unseelie who may or may not want to throw me to Evanthe.
Lisinder leads Ruskin out of the chamber, and I’m both curious and frustrated as I try to figure out what move Ruskin’s about to make. The Unseelie seem to feel the same. I notice Lady Flardryn turning to her companion with an annoyed expression. I suppose that in Unseelie, you’re expected to address things out in the open.
We wait in the chamber, two minutes, then five. Destan coughs and sidles up to me. I wonder if my anxiety is written on my face as plainly as his.
“What is he doing?” he whispers, glancing sideways at our audience.
“I don’t know,” I murmur back. He looks even more distressed by that answer.
“Whatever it is, we better hope it works and that he doesn’t…” He glances around us again. “… forget to mention anything important.”
Right, because now would definitely not be the time for Lisinder to discover we’ve been hiding Ruskin’s condition from him. We need everything stacked in our favor, and I get the feeling Lisinder isn’t the type to appreciate secrets.
We get a bit of relief when they return and Lisinder’s face looks mostly neutral. Hopefully Ruskin hasn’t managed to piss him off. I’m reminded of the family resemblance now, the two men, both looking stoic and strong as they stride across the cavern floor.
“I have decided,” Lisinder says to his subjects. “Lady Evanthe may lay claim to the Seelie Court, but she is not its rightful ruler, and therefore I will not fulfill her request.”
As Ruskin returns to my side, I begin to understand what must have passed between the two. I notice that Lisinder is no longer calling Evanthe queen.
“But, my Lord—” Lady Flardryn begins to protest.
Lisinder holds up a hand. “I have considered the facts, and this is my decision. Moreover—we Unseelie are not cowards to take a route simply because it is easiest. I do not make this decision lightly. We may still hope for a peaceful outcome, but if peace is not the fate that awaits us, I know we will face whatever comes with valor.”
I look at Ruskin, he meets my gaze, and I know we’re both thinking that peace probably doesn’t lie ahead for any of us—or at least, not any time soon. If Lisinder knew that too, would he back us now? I like to think he still would, but either way, we can’t prove the scale of Evanthe’s cruelty and bloodlust to Lisinder even if we wanted to. He has to discover it for himself.
He waves his hand at the pool and the water churns, until Evanthe’s face appears again in its surface.
“My lady, I have considered your request, but I’m afraid I must decline. My nephew, Lady Thorn, and Lord Lionsvale, all remain under my protection.”
Her jaw tightens, two small lines appearing between her eyebrows.
“I urge you to reconsider, sir. My son is a subject of my kingdom for me to punish as I wish. As a monarch, you should respect that.”
“Even if I believed him to truly be your subject,” says Lisinder, and I catch the pause after this phrase, as if he’s trying to wordlessly communicate what he really knows. “What about Lady Thorn? You have no claim to her.”
I shift as many sets of eyes turn to me.
“She challenges my rule alongside my son. But more than that, her magic is not to be trusted. She has used it to attack me and to harm my court.”
I shake my head at how she can twist the truth. I’ve only harmed her court in that I’ve tried to stop her doing what she thinks is best for it, which is tearing it apart for it to be rebuilt only after a plague of death and destruction.
“My answer is final, my lady,” Lisinder says firmly. I can feel the tension in the room, pulled taut between the Unseelie, as they wait to see what Evanthe will say.
But I don’t think any of them expect what comes next.
It’s like watching a transformation. At Lisinder’s final words of refusal, Evanthe’s face changes, her smooth expression twisting into something ugly and hateful. Even when imprisoning Ruskin at the founding stone, or killing Halima, I’ve never seen such an expression on her face. It grows even more frightening when the snarl widens into a grin so wide it stretches her features. Even through the portal I can see the glint in her eye—a dangerous, manic look.
“You fool,” she crows, her voice nearly a screech, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was under some kind of enchantment.
Maybe she is.
This isn’t the old Evanthe, the mother who Ruskin idolized. It’s not even the one who woke up in the rose garden—cruel but calculating and always in control. Cebba’s magic may have pulled her into the darkness, but now it seems like it’s consumed her. If Ruskin lost memories in Interra, could the space between realms have taken her sanity as its price?
The surface of the pool ripples, obscuring her face, and when it re-forms, the image is from a farther distance than before. We can see more of Evanthe, plus a set of shadowy figures behind her. But there is one person in front of Evanthe, on her knees, whose face is deathly clear.
Pyromey.