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“You have questions about what you saw?” he asks, tilting his head curiously.

“Maybe. But I get the feeling you might not know this.” I recall the way my magic twitched as I watched the fight between Ruskin and Evanthe in Interra, sensing there was something there for me to latch onto. “I got a glimpse of…something unexpected.”

He props himself up on his elbow, giving me his full attention, and watching me expectantly.

“There’s dark magic inside her, we were right about that, but there’s also iron. I missed a piece—or rather, I think Cebba’s magic hid it from me, because it’s wrapped all around it—a shard larger than the rest, buried in her heart.”

It was different, seeing the metal from inside a memory, with my magic and Ruskin’s working together. The light of the bond illuminated Evanthe until her chest is almost translucent, veins and arteries visible against the orange glow—but the jagged shape of the metal stood out, darker than the rest, not allowing any light to touch it.

“She still had her iron powers miles from the rose garden, all the way in Cavalil. I think that’s only possible because she’s carrying the source of it with her, protected by Cebba’s—and now maybe even Interra’s—magic.”

I see Ruskin’s face shift to a look of determination. He understands what I’m saying.

“You think targeting that shard could be a way to beat her?”

“I think it could be. If nothing else, removing it might at least weaken her.”

He nods. “You’re on the king’s council now, and he’s seen Evanthe’s power in action. He has a sense of how dangerous it can be. If we have a firm plan to neutralize that danger, he may very well back us.”

I grimace. I’ve only just got all of Ruskin back, and already we have to turn our minds to war. “I have to say, I’m not loving the idea of fighting another battle so soon, even if we did win the last one.”

Ruskin’s face darkens. “There’s something I need to tell you too. In the battle at Cavalil, that older fae, Lord Turis, and his friends from the bastet game tried several times to sabotage me.”

I sit straight up. “What?”

“I wasn’t sure the first time. We were fighting near each other, almost side by side, when a pair of Seelie fae came up behind me and almost cut me down. It seemed strange, because the way Turis and Climent were positioned, they should’ve seen the Seelie approach, and warned me. But they said nothing.”

I ball my fists into the sheets, my anger simmering.

“And then later on, his teammate—Hartflood, the one who can transform into a stag—charged past me, and all but shoved my horse into the path of a Seelie spell. I only just managed to block it with a well-placed tree. Luckily, we were close enough to the border for my magic to work quickly.”

The rage boils over. “I’ll kill them,” I say. “I’ll choke their bodies so full of metal their own mothers won’t recognize them. I’ll?—”

Ruskin lays a soothing hand on my arm, and I abruptly come to a stop. I blink, surprised at myself, and yet still so full of fury at the thought of anyone daring to lay a hand on Ruskin.

Ruskin pulls me down to kiss him, and the press of our still naked bodies distracts me from some of my anger.

“I forget how terrifying you can be when you want to.” He says it jokingly, but I feel a guilty twinge. Perhaps there’s some truth to it. “They didn’t hurt me,” he goes on, sitting up and pulling me into his lap to stroke his fingers along my spine. “But it’s clear that they wanted to. Which should hardly come as a surprise, if Turis is the one responsible for my father’s murder.”

“They have to be dealt with,” I say. I can tell he’s trying to soothe me with his touches, but I’m determined not to let go of my ire. “I won’t sit by and watch them plot against you, Ruskin.”

“I agree, especially as they targeted you as well. It took all my strength not to end them after the bastet game.” His hands tighten around my hips possessively.

“But what do we do? Apparently, Turis has a lot of influence at court and Climent and Hartflood are actually related to Lisinder. I don’t think we can just waltz in and accuse them of attempted murder—or even actual murder—can we? If we do that, we could lose whatever good standing we’ve built up.”

“I’ve thought of that. My mother always made sure I was well-versed on the Unseelie Court’s protocols. Probably because she thought it was good for diplomacy.” I feel him shake his head at irony. “Now that I have all my memories back, we have a well of information on the Unseelie and their traditions that we haven’t been using.”

“Like?”

He actually hesitates. It’s so unusual for Ruskin that a weight instantly settles in my stomach, and I twist around to meet his gaze.

“Like what, Ruskin?” I repeat.

He sighs. “You’re not going to like it.”

Chapter 22

The throne room of the Unseelie Court reverberates with the shouts of its members, their chants bouncing off the rugged walls.