Page 107 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“What are you saying?” I ask. “That you think I’m meant to be here?”

“I’m saying that it feels like all your life you’ve been looking for the answer to a question you didn’t know to ask yet. Maybe you’ve found it here.”

I bite my lip, thinking about how he instantly recognized me at Albrecht’s castle. “And it doesn’t bother you that things will change? That I’ve changed?”

He shrugs. “You’ll always be Nora, my dear. Taking this step won’t change that.”

I pull Dad in tight, squeezing him until he pokes me to let him go. He’s helped me more than he can know. Chasing away my doubts with his kind, wise words.

Ruskin comes in with Destan, his eyes fixed on me from the moment he enters. He looks ridiculously gorgeous dressed for battle, his broad shoulders accentuated by his tunic, his black, wavy hair pushed back to emphasize the strong lines of his face. I tug at my dress and shrug apologetically at him, but he just smiles, his eyes lighting up.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he says. It’s silly, but it makes me blush all the same. Then I see the bundle of yellow in his hands—a bunch of marigolds, my favorite flower. He hands them to me, his fingers brushing against mine, and I know that even if Evanthe stormed through the doors right this moment, nothing would stop me from marrying Ruskin.

The ceremony is an efficient, spartan thing—unsurprising, since General Sunshard is officiating as the highest-ranking officer in the contingent. But I don’t need a fancy service. And having her there is a little like having Halima with us. As we go through the ceremony, I focus on Ruskin’s eyes, and when I have to say my responses, I repeat the words without looking away.

We near the end, and there’s still one key thing we haven’t done yet.

“I know you don’t really exchange these in Faerie,” I say, reaching into my pocket. “But this marriage is fifty percent human, so we have to have some human traditions.”

I pull out a pair of rings. I had to make them quickly, but I like how they turned out: ridged gold with flecks of black shot through. Ruskin examines it intently as I hand him mine.

“I made them using the pendant you gave me, remember? I found it in my old room.” The single rose petal I’d gilded was a little tricky to rework, but my magic had managed it in the end. Ruskin originally gave it to me so that if I ever needed him, I could find him, and him me. It seems like a fitting gift for a wedding day.

He slides it onto my finger, and I take his hand, putting his on. Then the ceremony is over, and Dad is kissing me on the cheek and Destan is clapping.

I’m a little dazed. I think I expected something magical to happen—some recognition of what we’ve just done—but of course Ruskin and I are already tied together magically in every way that matters. This is just the icing on our non-existent wedding cake.

I just have time to get my dress off and hug Dad goodbye, and then we’re meeting our army in the courtyards of the Seelie palace. As we ride out, I consider that I’ll be spending my wedding day fighting for the lives of everyone around me. Ruskin catches my eye, smilingly showing me the ring on his finger, and I correct myself.

I’ll be spending my wedding day with my husband. That’s good enough for me.

Chapter 32

Ithought Irnua was peaceful when I first laid eyes on it—the dark waters of the lake contrasting with the green, moss-laden ground. By now any sense of peace is long gone, chased away by the violence of Evanthe’s ambush against us all those weeks ago.

But none of that prepares me for the battlefield we find today. From a distance, the earth is covered in a black, moving mass, like a swarm of ants. As we ride closer, those shapes transform into soldiers, striking up against one another to a chorus of clashing metal, underpinned by screams.

I can see what must be the Unseelie army on the other side of the field against the backdrop of the mountains, their animal fighters helping me confirm what side they’re on. And then, closer and with their backs to us, is Albrecht’s army, half a mile from the edge of Lake Irnua. My heart sinks at the sheer number of soldiers in dark, iron armor. I know Styrland doesn’t normally command an army on this scale, and I wonder where on earth Albrecht found all these men. More than half of it must be made up of farm boys and tradesmen, surely. Inexperienced, barely trained, brought here to act as little more than fodder.

“We’ll surprise them from the rear,” General Sunshard says to her lieutenants. “Gather your soldiers and choose a position—northeast or southeast. If we advance on both sides we can drive them harder against the Unseelie forces, trapping them. Remember, humans are neither as fast nor as strong as fae. Avoid them piercing your armor, and you should be able to bring them down.”

The lieutenants nod, turning to relay the orders to their troops.

“Wait,” I say.

I’ve been watching the army intensely. The General is right, the human forces shouldn’t be a match for the fae, even with the cold iron. And yet even from this distance, Albrecht’s army looks strong, capable, colliding with the fierce Unseelie warriors with breathtaking force. Impossible force. No one in Styrland can fight like that, I’m sure of it. It doesn’t add up.

“There’s something we’re missing here. Hold on.”

I close my eyes and reach my magic out across the plain, dancing through the vague shapes of bodies clad in armor, my magic sparking as it hits upon weapons of cold iron and steel. So much metal that it takes me a minute to realize what’s lacking.

There aren’t any bodies in the armor.

Row upon row of soldiers march across the battlefield towards the Unseelie, but they are simply puppets—suits of cold iron with nothing inside but the stench of Evanthe’s dark magic. As I watch, one of the iron soldiers’ helmets is knocked by an Unseelie blow and goes flying, but the suit of armor simply keeps advancing, mowing down one Unseelie after another. An ursinian lows, the sound reverberating through the metal around it, and dips its head to swipe its antlers through the iron soldier. It works to take that one down, the suit flying through the air, scattering into several pieces that don’t rise again. But then there’s immediately a dozen more behind it to take its place. The Unseelie must have taken their cue from the forces they fought at Cavalil, since they are protected by lead armor, but what can protect them from these sheer numbers?

I’m about to tear myself away from the images, when a familiar shape plows through the front line, the unusual shape of his metal-tipped horns standing out to me. Wistal, in his huge bull form, snorts and tramples iron soldiers beneath his hooves. But he releases an almighty bellow when an iron soldier lodges a lance in his side. Turning to charge at the enchanted armor, he misses the soldiers gathering on his other side. They work in unison to scale his flank, piling on top of him until he disappears under the weight of them.

I want to shout out his name, and try to crush the soldiers with my magic, but it happens too fast for me to do anything, an awful powerlessness crashing over me. A hand touches my shoulder, gently shaking it, and the sensation yanks my mind back from the battlefield.

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