Page 29 of The Realm That Falls to Her

It’s the kind of answer Jasand was clearly expecting, because he snorts. “Then how is the court properly represented to them? How do they know what their subjects’ needs or troubles are?”

Destan stutters, seeming unable to give him an answer.

“Well, here in Unseelie we believe the strongest and bravest among us should have some say in those matters,” Jasand says.

“They’re not the only members of the council,” clarifies Vaccia, “and their time on it is often short, but it is good to have new voices in the mix.” At this, she throws a dark look down the table that I don’t quite understand.

I knew the Unseelie valued the bravery and strength, but apparently it goes even further than I thought. On the other hand, though, I suppose that it wouldn’t seem so odd to have a great warrior or general among your advisers. When you don’t have any more wars to fight, apparently you need to create a way to measure those traits. A physical contest is as good as any.

Plus, it gets you the ear of the king—the ability to influence matters of state. If ever there was a way to get Lisinder to reconsider his stance on supporting Ruskin, surely this is it.

“And anyone can sit on the council, as long as they’re on the winning team?” I ask.

“Yes,” says Pyromey with a slight smile. I suspect she knows exactly why I’m asking.

“Well, it sounds like fun,” I say, lying through my teeth.

The large fae waves his hand. “Not for the likes of little humans like you.” He smashes his hands together. “You’d be crushed.”

“Don’t be rude, Wistal,” Vaccia says. Noting their matching size and horns, I realize that they’re probably related. Vaccia definitely had an “annoyed older sister” note in her voice.

But I’ve already survived an Unseelie test when I took the trial to first enter the court. Surely a game couldn’t be worse than that? And I’m stronger now.

“I’m not your average human,” I say, staring Wistal down defiantly.

“Er…Eleanor…” I hear Destan murmur two seats down from me.

Pyromey nods. “You’ve got that right. She hardly even looks that human, does she?” She eyes me thoughtfully. “When you first came in I thought for a moment?—”

“The point is, you don’t know what I’m capable of.” I cut Pyromey off before she can make a comment about the changes to my face. I don’t want to think about whatever strange thing Interra did to me right now.

Vaccia shakes her head. “That may be, but it is a challenging game.”

“Yes,” says Destan, sounding relieved. “It may be best if?—”

“Why not let the human play, if she wants to?” comes a slimy voice from down the table.

I look up to see Climent’s head tilted towards us, his lip curled in a sneer.

“After all, she overcame the trial last time she was at court, and none of us would’ve predicted that. I know we were all expecting her to die screaming, with the manticore’s venom burning her from the inside out as the beast devoured her.” He stares at me, daring me to call out the clear relish in his voice as he imagines my grisly death. I just return his stare. “And yet she survived, and without help from anyone else, isn’t that right, Lady Thorn?”

I bite back a sharp retort, reading between the lines. Climent knows I’m Ruskin’s naminai now, so he likely suspects I cheated in the trial. He wants me to know that I’m playing a deadly game.

“That’s right,” I say, ignoring the thudding of my heart as I tell the barefaced lie. “You’ve seen that I can hold my own, even by the standards of this court.”

“Bastet is one of our greatest traditions,” says Turis. I shiver at his voice, which is cold as ice—matching his gaze. I get the feeling if I stare too long into his gray eyes, I might freeze. “It helps decide whose blood runs with the great strength of the Unseelie, and who is weak and inadequate. We cannot have anyone unworthy advising our king. It would be too easy for their inferiority to infect the court. Bastet ensures those people are cut off at the knees before they overstep.”

There’s a bang and a scraping noise, and I jerk my head round to see Jasand’s claws buried in the tabletop, while Pyromey’s hand is on the table knife she’s just slammed down. Both are looking at Turis like they want to gut him. But the silver-haired fae’s expression remains unchanged, except for a slight brightening that tells me he got the reaction he wanted.

“If the human believes she is worthy…” he pauses, as if to let the absurdity of the idea sink in, “then let her try to prove herself. I’m sure we’ll all find it most entertaining.”

His eyes bore into mine and my stomach twists uncomfortably. I’m not stupid—I know they’re trying to goad me, but I also know such a clear chance to gain some influence in this place might not come by again.

“An Unseelie wouldn’t hesitate to accept the opportunity,” Climent says, making no effort to hide his malicious grin. I don’t know exactly why they seem to want me dead, but they’re doing little to conceal it. At the same time, I’m realizing that I need to take more definitive action if I’m going to get these people to ever listen to me about Ruskin and Evanthe. Sitting around making small talk at a dinner table isn’t going to do it.

“Fine by me,” I reply, staring back unblinkingly. They exchange a smug look between each other, before turning away, descending into conversation with someone sat beside them. The sudden dismissal makes it abundantly clear that they’ve got what they want from me, and now are done with the interaction.

“What was that about?” Destan quietly asks the fae beside us, looking deeply worried.

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