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“Right…I’m going to go grab some bandages,” I say. I do, but instead of applying them there in the arena, I duck into the passageway up to the changing rooms, sending a pulse down the bond as I climb the steps.

Ruskin gets the hint, meeting me there in the empty kit room. The moment I’m through the door, his hands are on me, examining my cheek and hovering over my thigh, his eyes burning with rage at the sight of the damage.

My skin heats under his touch but I gently scold him.

“Step back. I need to tie these bandages. Then I’ll be all right.”

“I saw you take that hit,” he protests. “I’m surprised you’re even conscious right now.”

“But I am,” I say, not getting into the fact that I don’t really understand it myself.

“Here, let me,” he says, taking the bandages out of my hands as I ease myself down on a bench with a groan.

“My mom was a healer, remember? I can tie those better than you.”

“Then tell me what to do,” he says, kneeling before me. Despite the pain, the sight of it is rather enjoyable.

“All right,” I relent, explaining how to wrap the fabric. He follows my instructions perfectly, barely even looking at what he’s doing as he speaks.

“Why didn’t you give the signal?” he demands. “I was waiting to channel my power.”

“Climent. He was the one who attacked me, but he also accused me of cheating last time you channeled your power to me, when we took the trial to be able to enter the Unseelie Court. I couldn’t risk him suspecting that I’m doing something similar again. It would undermine the whole point of me playing today.”

“Is that why he went for you? It’s obvious he has an agenda. He singled you out.”

I shrug. “I don’t think that’s just it, no. I don’t think he trusted us even before the trial. He’s friends with Lord Turis—he was against your parents’ marriage, so I suspect both of them are biased against the Seelie and those who associate with them.”

“But now he’s off the playing field, I can help you, correct?”

My heart sinks at the realization I can’t say yes. “I’d love your help, really,” I say, as he glowers at me, probably able to tell from my tone that he’s not going to like what I have to say. “But Turis is on the field too. I bet Climent’s put the same idea in his head about me cheating.”

“They’re going to keep targeting you, Eleanor. You know Unseelie don’t back down.” His expression is stern, but beneath it I see fear. It feeds my own, as I remember the crush of bodies and the bite of bone in my flesh. I wince as Ruskin ties the last knot on my bandage.

But this isn’t just a situation I can tap out of. Walking away might mean saying goodbye to our chances of Lisinder changing his mind about Evanthe. Which would mean terrible things for Seelie. This isn’t just life or death for me on the playing field. It could almost be a kingdom at stake.

I cling to the one bit of good news I have.

“I can end the game early if we score four times in a row,” I explain, trying to summon up some resolve. “So I need ideas.” I also need his reassurance right now. Just his touch has gone a long way to providing that, but now he looks thoughtful.

“Maidar has been telling me more about the nature of your power. It can do far more than just levitate a blade or manipulate some stirrups. Why aren’t you using the full extent of it? It’s the only advantage you have over these fae.”

“But they have magic too,” I point out, even though that much is obvious.

He shakes his head. “Even High Fae power has a tendency towards simplicity. They can start a fire, or grow a flower, or grant a wish already formulated in a human heart, but Maidar has told me the kind of magic you do far surpasses that. The average fae works with the world as it is—you reshape it. Turning one thing permanently into another, or giving it a function totally separate from its original purpose. These are complicated spells that require a level of detail and manipulation most fae could never dream of. There’s a reason the power of a High Monarch is considered so special—usually those kinds of conjurations are only possible for them. When it comes to magic, you’re overestimating the other players and selling yourself short. Use it. You’ve already seen the others do so in the game.”

I stare at him, letting this information sink in. I’ve never really considered this before, perhaps because I’ve gotten used to being around his power, which certainly surpasses mine. Did the old Ruskin know this about my abilities? That I was more capable than most High Fae? He must have, but he never spelled it out to me so explicitly. Perhaps he thought I’d be overwhelmed, being told I’m more powerful than even the High Fae. Or maybe he thought I’d already figured it out for myself—which maybe I would have, if I hadn’t been focusing so much on getting my magic to do what I needed of it that I forgot to ever really compare it to other faes’. I might not be as strong as Ruskin or Evanthe, but next to the average High Fae, I suppose these days I can give them a run for their money. He's right that I should use that skill now.

“All right,” I say, taking a deep breath and considering the rest of the battle ahead of me. “Thank you.”

Ruskin captures my mouth in a kiss, and I’m glad that I’m seated, considering the force of it. His hands are on me again, encircling my waist to pull me closer. I settle into the feel of his tongue running over mine, sighing into it, savoring the sweet taste of him, overtaking the bitter fear of the impending game and chasing away the pain in my leg, even if just for a moment. The bond pulses between us, a living thing rejuvenated by the way our bodies press against each other. It’s like the power of the kiss soothes my aching flesh, coating it in a balm of warm pleasure. It draws me back to myself, reminding me of who I am, centering me so that I feel in command of my body and my mind. With his touch, I feel like I can take on anything—which is good, since I’ll need to, soon.

“Ruskin,” I murmur against his eager lips. “I have to go.”

He growls unhappily, but pulls back a little, shortening his kisses into a series of quick, soft pecks. “Don’t get killed,” he orders, in between pressing his mouth to mine.

“Okay,” I reply, as if it’s as simple as that. It takes a lot of willpower to draw away and stand back up, but I do, and that’s a good sign. I’ll need that willpower to go back and face down Turis and his friends.

Pyromey squints at me but says nothing as I hurry back to our starting positions in the arena. The atmosphere is different now. I can feel the burning heat of several angry pairs of eyes on me as I rejoin my team. Other players have been sent off, but Climent was closest to Turis, and now his other allies—the orange-haired female and the stag Unseelie—look as enraged as he does. I guess they can’t stand the idea that a human took their friend out. Where at the beginning of the game the players were simply holding back their pent-up energy, now they’re not just hungry for action, but something darker: retribution.