Page 8 of The Realm That Falls to Her

The agony ebbs and I feel the cool air of the Unseelie Kingdom on my face again.

“We need to go faster,” I tell Destan.

We gallop to the gate and I clutch tight to Destan in case the bond overwhelms me again, as I explain my theory to him.

“Ruskin told me once about the differences between gates and water portals—how one is permanent and the other fluid and unstable. It’s why you can’t use them both to travel between realms and travel within them.”

“So?” Destan calls back to me over the sound of hoofbeats.

“So, you know how to make to water portals, right?”

“Yeeees,” Destan says, drawing out the word as if he doesn’t like the direction this is taking.

“Then I figure that if we try to open a water portal on the same spot as an existing gate, it will destabilize it. I think that’s part of what happened to Ruskin and Evanthe.”

“Maybe,” Destan says.

“Think about it. Evanthe’s magic must have confused Ruskin’s portal, destabilizing it. We’ll be doing the same, but with more intention. If a gate to another realm crosses with a portal that stays in this realm, the end result should send us somewhere in between: Interra.”

Destan is silent until the gate looms into view. It makes for a striking silhouette against the skyline, made up of hundreds of pieces of carved bone and antler lashed together. They form an arch about three times the height of me. We’re still a way off, but I can’t see anyone for miles, and it occurs to me the Unseelie must not use this gate much. It leads to Styrland, and they don’t seem to have much interest in going there.

“Eleanor,” Destan says quietly as we draw closer. “What do you actually plan on doing once we’ve opened this portal?”

“I’m going to go through it and find Ruskin,” I say, like it’s obvious. The determination in my voice masks what I don’t want Destan to hear: the fact that I know very well how dangerous that might be.

“There’s a reason no one tries to go there. You don’t even know what might be waiting for you on the other side.”

“Ruskin. Ruskin will be waiting for me.”

“And what if you don’t find him?”

“I will. I’ll use our bond to guide me.”

“What if you can’t find your way back?” Destan snaps, increasingly frustrated.

“If I can’t find Ruskin, maybe I don’t want to come back.”

“Eleanor.”

“What?” I reply, my voice rising with conviction. “It’s true. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I didn’t do everything in my power to reach him. You don’t know what it’s like.” I close my eyes, letting the ache of the bond wash over me, like a thousand needles scraping beneath the surface of my skin. “It hurts, being separated like this. I have no other choice.”

Destan slows the horse a few yards from the gate. When he dismounts, then helps me down, I see his face is full of sorrow.

“I have to do it, Destan,” I say more gently. “I’m sorry.”

He nods. “I was thinking my job was to keep you safe, but I’d forgotten that’s not how things work. You saved Ruskin. Not just from Cebba’s curse but from himself. He was drowning before he met you, slowly and silently. I could see it happening, but I didn’t know how to stop it. Then you came along. I’d be a fool to try to stop you trying to save him again.”

I give Destan a hug, which he accepts more willingly than I expect, his arms tightening around me.

“But if you’re going to go in there while I’m stuck out here keeping the portal open, then you need an exit strategy.”

The idea comes from Ruskin. He made me trace a thread of silver to find him once before, and I realize I can replicate it now, creating a tether that will help me find my way back to Faerie. Destan pulls out the tunic of fine chainmail he removed from Hadeus earlier. It should cover at least a mile if I unspool the links and stretch the metal thin. I choose not to think about what I’ll do when the metal runs out. It’s the best choice we have for now.

“And what about the water for the portal?” Destan scans the area. “I can’t make one out of nothing, and we’ve got barely enough left to drink as it is.”

I grab Hadeus’s sword and concentrate, reforming the metal until the end is wide and slightly curved at the edges. I hand it to him.

“Start digging.”

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