Chapter 23
T he sound seems to shake the very stone of the throne room, and I feel the vibrations in my chest. Destan grabs my arm.
“Did you know he could do that?” he shouts to me over the excited hollering of the court. I shake my head and look to Lisinder—he’s almost on the edge of his throne, and though his face is stern, I think there’s a gleam of pleasure in his eyes.
Ruskin leaps forward after Hartflood, the stag scrambling just out of Ruskin’s reach, its eyes wide with panic. My mind is still reeling, but the fight is already well underway again. Turis has recovered from the kick Ruskin delivered and is now using his sword to slash Clearglen free of her bindings.
Hartflood, meanwhile, seems to be panicking as he realizes he’s limited by the perimeter of the circle, unable to put enough distance between himself and Ruskin’s huge panther form to charge again. He twists back on himself to try to catch Ruskin with his antlers, but Ruskin jumps back, angling his paws to drag his claws across Hartflood’s face as he does so. The stag bucks and yaps in pain, which soon mingles with Ruskin’s own agonized roar. My stomach drops, and I see that while neither Turis nor Clearglen want to get close enough to use their swords against Ruskin, Climent has struck again with his magic, catching Ruskin in the flank.
To my relief, I can’t see any blood—just a singed ring in Ruskin’s fur. I have to assume this version of Ruskin must have a thick hide. Either way, Climent soon regrets his attack as the panther turns on him. His casting isn’t faster than Ruskin’s jaws, and Ruskin uses them to seize Climent and toss him across the circle. There the Unseelie lord hits one of the wards with a crackle of magic and a heavy thud.
Hartflood makes another half-hearted charge, but I can tell that Ruskin’s opponents are thrown by his transformation. They’re disoriented, and the stag’s attack quickly falls under the ferocity of Ruskin’s claws, as he gouges at the deer’s flank, drawing a splatter of scarlet.
Screeching horribly, Hartflood staggers out of reach, collapsing on the other side of the circle, where Ruskin seems content not to pursue him. After all, death is not the object here. He turns, lips drawn back in a snarl, and stalks towards the two fae still standing.
Clearglen is as pale as newly fallen snow. The sight of Ruskin’s hulking black form advancing on her is clearly too much to bear, and she throws her sword down with a clatter, surrendering. Turis glares at her, his hand still wrapped tightly around the handle of his blade. I’m sure he’s too stubborn to back down so easily, and my theory is confirmed when he steps forward and raises his sword, adopting a defensive stance. Defiance burns fiercely on his face.
“Give it up, Turis,” Clearglen calls across the circle to him.
“And let this mongrel taint our court with his Seelie filth?” Turis snarls. “I’d rather die.” I believe it. The conviction in his voice unsettles me in a way I don’t fully understand.
Ruskin’s voice rumbles across the circle, seeming to come more from his chest than his mouth. “That is inevitable, Turis.” His yellow eyes flash with triumph. “Your allies have been defeated, and you cannot beat me alone. So your choice is simple: would you rather die by my claws or your king’s?”
His words have a stronger effect than I expect. Turis’s face slackens, a strange calm taking over his features, and he slowly lays his sword on the ground. I gape at the sudden reversal, then it hits me. Even now, when his life is on the line, blood status matters to Turis above all else. If he has a choice, he doesn’t want the indignity of being killed by a half-blood mutt. Yet the act of surrender all but admits his guilt, and I feel the tension in the court ratchet up a notch as King Lisinder rises, waving away the wards around the circle.
“The challenge is concluded. Ruskin Dawnsong is the victor, and he is granted the right to an answer from the accused. But first, as per the rules of the King’s Justice, the marks of your challenge will be removed.”
“Why’s that?” I whisper to Jasand as Lisinder beckons forward a pair of healers I recognize from the day of the battle. “I thought the Unseelie liked to keep their battle scars.”
“This wasn’t a battle,” he says grimly. “The point of the King’s Justice is to bring serious conflicts to rest. Once it’s done, it’s done. It defeats the point to have reminders of it roaming the court for everyone to see.”
The healers make swift work of patching up each of the challengers. Hartflood is in the worst shape, the gash in his side bleeding profusely when he returns to his fae form, but the healers soon wipe it away. I’m glad to see Ruskin’s burn is also attended to, until each fae looks as if the fight had never occurred.
I’m both eager and worried about what comes next, as the fae line up in front of Lisinder. Climent looks terrified—Hartflood and Clearglen defeated—but Turis…he alone stares up at his monarch unblinkingly, his arrogance untouched by his defeat.
“Now you must answer to the crimes of which you are accused,” Lisinder says coldly. “Who among you conspired to bring Ruskin Dawnsong into disrepute, by enchanting him with a moon orb?”
“I did,” Lady Clearglen answers, her voice almost too quiet to hear. The others follow suit, echoing her words. This is the least egregious of the charges, and the court makes little noise as the group admit their crime.
“Who among you attempted to sabotage Ruskin Dawnsong at the battle at Cavalil, hoping it would result in his death?” Lisinder asks, his voice harder than before.
“I did,” answer Hartflood, Climent, and Turis. The latter’s response rings out across the cavern, confident and assured. My skin prickles unpleasantly at the sound.
Lisinder’s posture stiffens as he refers to the final charge. “And who among you conspired to murder my brother, Prince Lucan Hawkstooth?”
There is a pause, then Turis alone speaks up.
“I did.”
There are several shouts from the gathered court, and Lisinder’s hands tighten into a fist. He takes a few swift steps closer to Turis, like he might lash out at him that very second. The moment passes, and he composes himself, though it takes the court much longer to settle.
“And were the rest of you aware of this fact?” Lisinder demands of the others, once his voice can be heard over the crowd.
“We were,” they say.
As much as I want justice for Ruskin, each admission is almost painful to hear. Climent and Hartflood sound afraid, but Turis and Clearglen seem more righteously angry. None have even a hint of regret in their words. I look to Ruskin. He’s wearing his stoic mask well, but I can imagine this must be equal parts satisfying and infuriating to hear.
“You know the punishment for these crimes,” Lisinder says. The same rage burns in his voice that was present when Evanthe murdered Pyromey. “I will not waste my words preparing traitors of this court for death.”
Climent releases a sob, which Clearglen angrily hushes. Then the court is, for once, absolutely silent—so much so that when Lisinder steps up to Hartflood, I can hear the swishing sound the king’s claws make as they swing through the air.
Hartflood’s body quivers, and then drops. Just like that, he has been executed.
Without a word Lisinder steps to the side, raising his claws once above Clearglen’s head. She lifts her chin defiantly, and seconds later hits the ground with a dull thud.
Climent doesn’t wait for Lisinder to step up to him before he starts begging for mercy, his face streaked with tears. Lisinder just raises his claws and in a moment there is only one fae remaining in the line.
I have a clear view of Turis’s face as Lisinder approaches him. The silver-haired fae opens his mouth and begins to talk. Lisinder hasn’t given any of them the privilege of final words, but he speaks quickly, raising his voice for everyone to hear.
“All my life, I sought to keep my court from the poison of the Seelie. I worked tirelessly, so that the Unseelie Kingdom could flourish despite the cursed deal our king had made with the enemy’s queen. I saved Lucan from a worse fate than death. When these parasites ruin your kingdom, remember me, and how I fought to stop it.”
As Lisinder’s claws fall for a final time, all I can focus on is the look on Turis’s face. There is not a hint of doubt there. Instead, he looks proud—utterly convinced of his own righteousness.
Blood drips an uneven rhythm from Lisinder’s claws. The king stares down at his slain subjects with an expression that’s hard to read, then he draws a white handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wipes his hands clean, blotting the pale linen with scarlet. The court watches, quiet, until their ruler turns to Ruskin. The pair exchange a look, and I think they’re both realizing that they’ve shared this moment of revenge together, and yet it will still never make up for the loss of Lucan.
“Turis did not protect this court,” Lisinder says, looking away from Ruskin to address the rest of us. He speaks quietly at first, but his words grow in volume as he goes on. “He weakened it. We Unseelie address our problems head on, face to face. Turis worked in the shadows, and that is because he knew that he sought what he wanted, rather than what was best for us all. It is alliances, not murder and deception, that help keep us safe. Today I am happy to say that I am an ally of my nephew, the true ruler of the Seelie Court, and I will support him against the usurper Evanthe, when he needs it.”
There are cheers of agreement from the crowd, loudest from Elias and Wistal. While not everyone joins in, there are no violent objections to Lisinder’s words. Ruskin bows to Lisinder, who bows in turn, acknowledging Ruskin’s status, and I feel a surge of hope. This is more than we expected from the challenge.
“Why do you think he changed his mind?” I murmur to Destan.
“I think he was genuinely shocked when Ruskin accused Turis. He didn’t expect such treachery in his own court. Maybe it convinced him to set an example,” Destan replies.
It makes sense. Lisinder perhaps realizes now that pandering to the uglier opinions in his court has only gotten him murder and betrayal, rather than a more secure position with his people.
Servants see to clearing away the blood after removing the bodies. The last traces are wiped away as members of the court start to rise to leave the chamber. I’m still bewildered by the twists and turns of what I just witnessed, but aside from a few downcast faces, the mood of the rest of the court doesn’t seem negative. A challenge was issued, justice was served. I suppose for the Unseelie it really is a simple as that. I don’t linger too long on reading their expressions, however, instead striding down to Ruskin with relief in my heart.
“Are you all right?” I ask, first and foremost. When he nods, I let the fire spark in my eyes.
“And when, exactly, were you going to tell me about that particular party trick?” I say, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him, instead crossing them in front of my chest. “It would’ve gone a small way to me being less terrified.”
He has the good grace to look a little sheepish. “The transformation is new, and I didn’t think I would need it, fighting one on one. Until now my ability to call on it has been somewhat unpredictable…Maidar’s only helped me achieve it once properly before.”
“ Maidar knows about this?” I ask, realizing the sneaky old fae has been keeping secrets for the both of us.
Ruskin strokes a soothing hand along my arm. I’m annoyed to realize that it works, his touch automatically unwinding some of my tension.
“The ability first started showing itself during our experiments, but it only came in flashes, and we weren’t sure what it meant at first. But it seems in my attempts to unlock more of my Unseelie side, I did in fact gain something.”
I think back to the times I encountered him in the middle of one of Maidar’s spells. In hindsight, I could see the beast within, struggling to get out. It seems that maybe this is Interra’s gift to him—losing his memories might’ve been a curse in some ways, but it allowed Ruskin the freedom to explore this other side of himself, and gain a new power. Evanthe’s experience is double-edged too—she’s more powerful thanks to Interra gifting her some of its darkness, but that darkness has driven her sanity from her.
And me?
Destan meets us on the way out of the cavern, along with the fae I now consider our Unseelie friends: Jasand, Elias, Wistal, and Vaccia. Vaccia congratulates Ruskin on his strategy, while Jasand and Wistal exchange notes with him on the transformation process. Destan falls into step beside me as we let the others walk a little further ahead, deep in conversation.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and we exchange a look of weary relief. Neither of us found that easy to watch.
“Just about. You?”
Destan shrugs. “At this point, I’m rather used to people trying to kill Ruskin, he just so rarely goes looking for it.”
His tone is joking, but his comment resonates with me. When I look ahead, Ruskin and the Unseelie appear confident and at ease together, all of them so at home in this world of brightest light and darkest shadow. To live in Faerie, in either court, is to live on the constant knife’s edge of existence. But the expression on Turis’s face still lingers in my mind—he was so sure of his choices, that his scheming and murder were right and just, even necessary. How could he and all his followers be so ruthless that killing their own prince seemed preferable to living in a world at peace?
And that’s what I’m afraid is my cursed gift from Interra. It made me stronger and less vulnerable than ever before, but with it, I feel like I’m trading away my humanity. I’m not just more willing to accept the violence of this world—I’ve even started to contribute to it. And I know this won’t end without more blood on my hands. Then again, maybe that’s just my destiny. My true name means “sword,” a weapon for the Unseelie. And weapons are made to be used.
Ruskin looks over his shoulder, searching for me. Small lines appear between his brows when he sees me hanging back with Destan, and he nods a goodbye to the Unseelie before striding back to me.
“Walk with me,” he says softly, extending his hand.
“I think I’ll go see if Dreidana’s busy,” Destan says airily, before ducking away down a side corridor.
Ruskin raises an eyebrow, watching his friend go, but then turns his eyes on me with a concerned look.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “I’m sorry about keeping the transformation from you, but I genuinely didn’t think I would need it today, and I wanted to wait for the right time to show it to you.”
I shake my head, dismissing his apology as we reach our room. “I’m not mad about that, not really. In fact, I’ve been waiting to tell you about some changes of my own too.”
In our room I explain my discovery about being able to eat and drink fae food, repeating Maidar’s explanation about our bond being used by Interra to make me strong like a fae—to heal like one too.
As I talk, I watch Ruskin’s face shift into an expression of utter joy. I’m barely finished before he pulls me in for a bruising kiss, his hands encircling my waist, holding me tight.
“Do you understand what this means, Ella?”
I think of all my fear of losing myself, but I guess he doesn’t mean that. “What?”
“When I fell in love with you, I knew I would love you forever—but I also knew I couldn’t keep you with me forever. You were fully human, and so the years we had together could only ever be vanishingly short. But our lives are truly tied together now. You’re strong as a fae, your body can be nourished by our food. This must mean that you now have our lifespan too.”
I blink at him, trying to process what he’s saying. Why didn’t this occur to me before? Of course, I knew Ruskin was hundreds of years older than me, but I suppose I never really considered what the future held. Well, when would I have had time for those questions? I’ve been too busy fighting for my life—for both our lives. But now the future looks very different.
“You mean I’ll live as long as the fae? As long as you?” I ask. I suddenly feel unsteady, like the floor beneath me is moving.
“Yes, my love,” Ruskin says, brushing my hair back from my face. “We can be together, forever.”
The rush of emotions I feel is so confusing, I do the only thing I know will soothe me—I cling to Ruskin, kissing him until he fills my senses. I want the way his skin moves against mine, the way he smells and tastes, to be the only thing I have room to think about.
But even that relief can only last so long. We make love, and afterwards we both sleep, but while Ruskin breathes peacefully beside me, I awake every few hours. My nightmares haunt me with images of the blood-soaked throne room I saw in Ruskin’s memory and the spray of crimson as my own hands snuff out fae lives with ease.
I love Ruskin with all my being. I couldn’t stop loving him any more than I could stop breathing. Part of me is filled only with bliss when I think that I could spend the rest of my years—hundreds and hundreds of them—by his side. Perhaps no number of centuries would be enough.
But he is not the only thing that comes with accepting a life in Faerie—life as a fae, or whatever strange fae hybrid I’ve become. It also comes with shadow and blood. Styrland may be brutal in its own way at times, but it’s my home…isn’t it? I look over at Ruskin, knowing that he’s become my home too. It feels all too possible that I’ll be pulled between the two until I’m left in pieces, not unlike the bodies that fill my dreams.