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“May these halls echo with their names forever!”

“And may we do justice to those names,” Lisinder says, bowing his head. With that he concludes the ceremony to pay tribute to those who died in the battle of Cavalil. The holding feast was a celebration, but this was a more somber affair, with all the court gathered. With such a serious mood, I worried it wasn’t the right time or place to move forward with Ruskin’s plan. But he assured me that this was precisely the kind of event where the Unseelie would choose to bring up matters of honor.

Still, seeing the court all together, my nervousness returns. Doing this here, in front of so many people, is a bold move. I try to remind myself that the Unseelie favor the bold, as Ruskin gives my thigh a quick squeeze, then stands. We’re seated in a privileged position beside other members of Lisinder’s kin. It makes Ruskin’s sudden movement draw attention instantly. I feel Destan tense where he’s seated on the other side of me, and a ripple of muttering starts up among our neighbors.

“Stars help us,” Destan murmurs. I can’t help but think we’re going to give him an ulcer one of these days. Ruskin won me over to his plan eventually, but Destan was less easily convinced.

Ruskin raises his voice to ensure he’s heard by everyone.

“Your Majesty,” he addresses Lisinder, who looks surprised but intrigued, leaning an elbow on the arm of his throne.

“What is it, Nephew?”

Ruskin looks utterly calm, almost bored, but I know how important this is to him.

“I would like to take this opportunity while the court is gathered to right a wrong that has been festering in your kingdom. I wish to invoke the King’s Justice.”

As I expected, the Unseelie seem more excited than concerned by this turn of events. They do not shy away from confrontation, and I can see Elias a row ahead of us, wriggling in his seat like a child whose been promised a special treat.

“A petition for the King’s Justice has to be seconded by a member of his council before it’s even considered,” points out Lady Flardryn, sat a few rows behind us.

“A council member like Lady Thorn?” Elias replies with a note of triumph before I can even open my mouth.

“Exactly,” I say, nodding gratefully at him before turning to Lisinder. “I second the petition, Your Majesty.”

Lisinder sits back in his chair, stroking his beard.

“Do you know exactly what the King’s Justice involves, Nephew?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Ruskin says.

Ruskin had first explained it to me several days ago, when we were still lying in bed and he was trying to convince me this was a good idea.

“The King—or Queen’s—Justice is a tradition by which you can challenge someone you believe has wronged you.”

“Don’t the Unseelie do that all the time anyway?” I asked.

“Yes, but those challenges could have cascading effects. Challenge the wrong person and you’ll wind up starting a blood feud between families. You might even get ostracized from the court as a whole. This challenge can only be approved by an Unseelie monarch, but it gives the challenger the right to confront whoever has wronged them and ask them to answer for their crime without fear of retribution from anyone else.”

I asked a question, suddenly feeling silly it had never occurred to me before.

“But if fae can’t lie—for the most part—why bother with the challenge at all? Why not just ask them outright if they’re guilty? If they say yes or no, you have your answer, and if they avoid answering you at all, well, you have your answer too.”

Ruskin shakes his head. “You can’t have everyone running around forcing their neighbors to incriminate or exonerate themselves at every sleight. It would be chaos. And besides, the Unseelie might be more direct than the Seelie, but they can still find a way to trick you with the truth. Only under special circumstances can you truly be certain that yes and no mean nothing more and nothing less than yes and no.”

“So no one ever just comes out and asks someone to confess?”

“In the Unseelie Court, you must have significant evidence before you’d ever ask for such a thing. Something we don’t have in this instance, my love, even if we were happy to upset the Unseelie Court and make an accusation with no insurance policy.”

“And what happens in this challenge, exactly?” I grabbed hold of his arm, suddenly assuming the worst. “It’s not a fight to the death, is it?”

“It is a fight—after all, this is the Unseelie we’re talking about—but the intention isn’t to kill each other, no,” he said.

If no one ever died in the challenges, he’d have said so. Hearing that death isn’t the intention hadn’t really made me feel better. Clearly they still happened, at least some of the time.

“And what do you get, if you win?”

“The truth. That’s when you get your answer. If you’re the challenger, then the accused must directly address your allegations. After that, the monarch can mete out punishment as they see fit.”