Page 69 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“Correct, and it is from your bond in a way. Interra sensed that Eleanor was already receiving fae elements from you and simply enhanced them, gifting her more traits of our kind.”

I absorb this. My connection to Ruskin was the trigger for the changes, but entering Interra myself to rescue him was what solidified it. It makes the idea easier to swallow, because I know that I would always go to Ruskin, wherever he was, and whatever the consequences would be to me. If he were lost, I’d have to try to find him, in the same way that I have to keep breathing.

“Either way, if the bond can overcome Interra’s magic in this way, then I think we can use it to unlock Ruskin’s memories too.”

“I tried using the bond to share my memories with him before, but it didn’t change anything,” I say.

Maidar waves a dismissive hand. “Of course not. He needs his memories, not yours.”

It’s so similar to what Ruskin said to me at the time that I throw a look at him, crossing my arms. “Well, excuse me for trying to think outside the box.”

“This is outside the box,” Maidar says, opening up a book to a page with a complex-looking incantation on it. He taps the page with satisfaction. “You have to go into his mind, Eleanor. You have to find his memories and free them from Interra’s hold. And you’ll use the bond to do it.”

Maidar insists on settling us down on the floor so Ruskin and I are seated opposite each other. I feel a little silly to begin with, gazing into Ruskin’s eyes as his old tutor bustles about arranging his papers and books, explaining that this is all essential so he can make sure he gets the incantation right on the first try.

“These more ephemeral spells tend to be pernickety about pronunciation,” he says.

“But if you make a mistake, we can just start again, right?” I ask hopefully.

Maidar gives me a look like I should know better. I do, of course. It’s never that simple when it comes to magic.

“If I make a mistake, your consciousness might not end up where it should,” he says darkly. I decide not to ask any more questions. Instead, I concentrate on Ruskin’s face, taking a deep breath.

“That’s it,” Maidar says. “Hold eye contact; it will help maintain the connection.”

Half an hour ago, when I asked Maidar to walk me through it all, his instructions were sparse.

“You have to understand I’ve never actually done this before. You’ll need to rely a lot on instinct to guide you,” he said. “But you have done so before, in Interra. Listen to the bond; I’m sure that is the answer.”

I’m glad Maidar sounds confident, but it seems Ruskin still senses my nervousness, because he reaches out to touch my hand. Maidar clears his throat and stands taller.

“Ready?” he grunts.

“No last-minute objections to me rooting around in your mind?” I ask Ruskin, only half-joking.

“Just be gentle with me,” he replies. I don’t see any fear on his face, only hope—and trust. They spur me on.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say, and Maidar begins to chant the unfamiliar, elaborate-sounding words of the old tongue.

I let the repetitive rhythm wash over me as I stare into Ruskin’s eyes, losing myself in the darkness of his pupils. It’s easy enough to do on a normal day, but this time…it’s different. As I stare, the blackness seems to expand, opening up and beckoning me in. I remind myself not to fight whatever happens next, letting the blackness engulf me like a portal. The next moment I’m falling into it, the room dissolving around me.

For a few, heart-stopping seconds, I feel like I might fall forever, but in the uncertainty I instinctively reach out for the bond, grabbing hold of it like a rope. The sensation of tumbling downwards stops. The bond feels warm and solid in my hands, a physical thing. Though I can’t see what I’m doing, I remember Maidar’s advice to act on instinct. I ask myself what I want from the bond and try visualizing it: I want the bond close to me, to use it to guide me, so I wrap my body around it, shimmying down it until my feet hit what feels like solid ground.

There’s still nothing to see, though. Have I found myself in some kind of void?

But just as I think that, the bond transforms again. One moment it’s still the rope in my hands, the next, a lantern, glowing bright, so bright that it illuminates everything around me with a golden light, and I can see that I’m in the Seelie palace.

Or at least a version of it that exists in Ruskin’s mind. When I look closer I see that everything is a bit off. Corridors I’ve walked before now lead to doors I don’t recognize, and when I turn a corner, the flower-rich Seelie architecture merges with the craggy stone of the Unseelie Court. But none of it is like the ghostly echoes of Interra. The building feels real—tangible—and when I push on a door, it’s solid under my palm, just like the bond.

I step through the doorway, and for a moment, I think I’ve slipped out of Ruskin’s mind altogether and am back in our room in the Unseelie Court. Then I see the figure lying in the bed, and stifle a cry of surprise. It’s me, asleep. Some force pushes me forward, compelling me towards the bed. Ruskin is there beside the version of me in the bed, but I can’t seem to focus on him—not too closely anyway. My attention keeps getting drawn back to my own face, as Ruskin reaches out to stroke it. I shiver, struck by a sensation of overwhelming love and a fierce, burning protectiveness. I look almost exactly as I did this morning when I looked in the mirror.

This is Ruskin’s memory. That’s what I’m seeing—that’s why even though he’s here, I can’t focus on him. Because at this moment, he wasn’t thinking about himself. I’m reliving the moment as he experienced it, seeing what he saw and feeling what he felt.

I’ve felt Ruskin’s love for me before, through the bond, and while I could happily stand and bask in it now, I know this is a recent memory—perhaps even from just last night. If I’m going to find the ones Ruskin has lost, I need to dig deeper.

The room I’m in has several memories coming off it, and I continue on through the shifting structure, pressing on doors to catch glimpses of the last few weeks. There’s yesterday’s battle, pulsing with Ruskin’s rage as he spots Lady Rivera attacking me; his fear as he perches on a mountainside, watching me play bastet. I blush at the next memory I come across: Ruskin’s mouth on me, my unrestrained moans as he pins me to the bed. I feel the sharp, hot edge of his desire and find it hard to tear myself away. As tempting as it might be to relive that moment, I need to keep going. My gut tells me this isn’t all there is, and the bond seems to confirm it for me when the light in my lantern flashes a little brighter, as if urging me onwards.

Then I see the shadow. Thick, winding, tendrils of it crowd across the next corridor I turn onto. They’re twisted so densely across a door at the end of the hall that they look solid—like real vines that have grown over the wood and stone. But their essence is all too familiar. A mix of relief and alarm hits me. This must be the place—the start of where Ruskin’s memories are trapped. This is where the darkness of Interra has latched onto Ruskin’s mind like a parasite and locked his past away.

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