Page 27 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“I definitely have more of a brain for alchemy than these kinds of games,” I mutter.

“They’re not games,” Destan scolds. “Games are just for fun. These types of interactions serve a definite purpose.”

“To test me?” I ask. “Like when Lisinder tortured Hadeus?”

“Yes, something like that. It’s about revealing your true intentions and character.”

The difference is, when asked, Lisinder was much more open about his intentions than I think a member of the Seelie Court would’ve been. Plus, despite what Destan says, I’ve seen Seelie be cruel just for the fun of it. A question occurs to me that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.

“Back at the border, when you questioned Hadeus…” I search for the right way to bring up how shocking it was to see someone who spends an inordinate amount of time worrying about whether two colors clash suddenly become a ruthless torturer before my eyes. “You seemed to know what you were doing,” I conclude.

Destan grimaces and examines his cuff.

“Yes, it’s a side of me I don’t like to dabble with very often. Just know I learned my ways out of necessity rather than any real desire for violence.”

“And where did you learn it?”

“Halima,” Destan says sadly. “Well, her and her contacts. After Evanthe was attacked, it was a difficult time. There were threats everywhere—an endless number of people looking to take advantage of the situation and remove Ruskin from the picture. Of course, being Ruskin’s best friend, Halima subjected me to the utmost scrutiny. When she realized I was a loyal fool, she became even more worried. If I was going to be Ruskin’s right-hand man I needed to develop certain skills.” He sighs. “Anyway, it turns out I have a knack for interrogation, which proved useful at that time. But nowadays I only really flex that muscle when the situation truly calls for it.” He wrinkles his nose. “It’s just so messy.”

I examine my friend, looking at him in a new light. I don’t believe messiness is the only reason he dislikes using his talents, but I also never really thought of him as being a threat to anyone before. I suppose that’s part of Destan’s skill set—people underestimate him because he doesn’t seem tough. It’s something he and I share.

Now we’re heading into a room with the toughest of individuals and planning to make friends.

The servants show us the way to a grand dining room, large enough to house the whole court. The long tables seem hewn from the rock itself, decorated with shining platters of silver and gold.

I look around for Lisinder, but it seems that like Ruskin, the High King of Unseelie doesn’t dine with his court every night. Instead, rows of animal eyes, horns and pointy teeth—most of them unfamiliar—await us. I can feel Destan shift beside me, but I lift my chin, remembering to look strong.

Pyromey stands and beckons to us with pointed nails.

“Come sit by me, Lady Thorn,” she says. “I can make sure all your food is bland and human before you eat it.”

The joke might be at my expense, but it doesn’t seem mean-spirited, and despite her fierce looks, she was one of the cousins Ruskin identified as sympathetic to our cause. This invitation now would seem to confirm that, so I gratefully accept.

The Unseelie make space for us beside her, and as we sit I notice Jasand—another distant relative of Lisinder’s—seated opposite us. Beside him are two of the biggest fae I’ve ever seen, male and female, both with hair hanging in hundreds of braids down to their elbows, and bovine horns protruding from their temples.

“Magna Lunis, Lord Jasand,” I say, nodding at him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And may its light bless you,” he says, making it sound so perfunctory he might as well not have responded. I glance at Destan to see if he noticed the dismissiveness. He gives me a confident nod, as if to say, ‘Allow me.’

“So, Lord Jasand. That’s an unusual name. I don’t know much about Unseelie ancestry, but could that be a derivation of Jasandir, after the famed diviner of the Xavien age?”

“Doubt it,” Jasand grunts, taking a deep swig of his wine. “It’s old tongue. Montish dialect.” Jasand takes a big bite of the lamb leg he’s eating. “It means ‘slaughterer of cowards.’” The words are slightly muffled by the meat being pulverized between his teeth, but I think Destan gets the gist.

“My, how interesting,” my friend says, the light in his eyes dimming.

I notice other familiar faces down the table. To my distaste Climent, the fae who accused me of being a cheat when I first came to court, is here, with his friend Turis. They are both ignoring us so far, but I suspect they’re fully aware of the presence of a human and Seelie fae at the table.

I cast about to try to restart the conversation, remembering what Destan said about bringing the conversation around to Ruskin. Maybe if I can remind some of them how they’re related, we can get there.

“What about your parents, Lady Pyromey?” I say airily while cutting into a potato. “Are they still living at court?”

She laughs, a hissing sound to match her viper eyes.

“They’re dead,” she says. “Killed in the Great Divide. I’m older than I look.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Great. Reminding everyone how awful the war was probably isn’t the best approach if I want to get them onside.

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