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“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.”