Page 71 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“He did it on purpose. He wanted to make me out to be a beast too,” Ruskin says plaintively.

“Maybe he did. I know his words must have hurt, but you must try not to care what others think of you, my dear,” Evanthe says, pulling him closer. “There will be many people in your life who won’t see you clearly, who will say things about you that aren’t fair. They do the same to me all the time.”

“They do?” Ruskin asks, looking up at her with doubt. “But you’re High Queen.”

“All the more reason for them to gossip about me. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what I think about myself. If I know I can respect the choices I make, and who I am, then I have no reason to pay any mind to what others say.”

As she talks, the feeling I’m receiving from the memory shifts, morphing from sorrow into a mixture of comfort and hope. It’s strong, and I know this moment is important to Ruskin as I watch him absorb his mother’s words. It makes me think about all the times in his future when he will have to lean on this advice—all the difficult decisions he’ll have to make.

I turn my attention to the vines of shadow winding their way around the chamber of this memory. When I cut them back this time the effect is more dramatic. The shadows writhe and snap away from my sword, but the blade glows brighter, banishing not just the vines I’ve cut, but the shadows wrapped around the adjoining chambers too. Just with a few violent swipes, I find I’ve cleared the area of shadows as far as I can see. Triumph surges as I realize my guess was right: if I focus on freeing the more powerful memories, it helps loosen the shadows’ grip on the other memories too.

The realization gives me fresh momentum, as I chase after the retreating vines. Memory after memory flashes past me, until I’m hit with an unexpected wave of excitement. Stopping, I spot my own face again, and recognize the room in Albrecht’s castle where we first met. My voice echoes back at me:

“I found a way to alter base metals into gold. It’s my own special process. No one else knows how to do it. I can make you more.”

The intense excitement flares again. This was the moment Ruskin realized I could be the answer to his problems. I find my attention drawn to my face. I can remember him studying me with interest in this moment, and I’m surprised to see that from this angle my expression looks more determined than frightened. I remember being so terrified…but apparently, I hid it well. There’s something else to Ruskin’s excitement too, a flare of attraction. He liked the look of me right from the beginning.

I cut and slice with my blade, sending the shadows running, and move on. I’m lucky—or maybe Ruskin’s mind is just arranged in a way that puts certain strong memories together—because I find more than a few powerful episodes close by, mostly relating to me: the first time we had sex, the first time I told him I loved him, when I accepted our bond… Each one is more powerful than the last, and slicing at the vines in these chambers has my blade burning bright as the sun, the light driving away the shadows for what seems like miles.

Not all the memories are so sweet, however. The vines have congregated around a group of rooms roiling with darker, more violent emotions. When I step into the first chamber, I feel the violent sting of his anger as I watch him face down Cebba outside her labyrinth. I’ve seen this scene from another perspective, of course, and locate myself crouched by the bridge. I look like I’ve been through hell, streaked with blood and mud, and yet I only have eyes for the fae siblings, exchanging insults as they size each other up.

“You really are a terrible leader, Cebba. How you ever thought you could rule is beyond me.”

Ruskin’s words to Cebba sound so rational, but I can feel how hot his rage burns within his soul at the sight of her.

After that, the shadows take refuge in the darkest, most distant parts of Ruskin’s memories—the ones he buried deep long before he entered Interra. It nearly takes my breath away when I hit up against a wall of anger sharper and more brittle than the others. It slices through me like an icy knife as I focus in on a regal, high-ceilinged corridor I think I recognize. But it’s not from the Seelie palace or Unseelie Court. I frown when I realize it looks like one of the hallways of Albrecht’s castle. Except the man cowering on the ground in front of Ruskin, wearing a crown, definitely isn’t Albrecht.

“What have you done?” the man sobs. I can see clearly the whites of his eyes as they swivel wildly around the corridor, demented with fear. One of his arms is bandaged at the wrist, a clean white stump where his hand should be, and I notice the front of his robes—odd, old-fashioned looking things—are soaked in blood, though it doesn’t seem to be from any injury of his.

“What I promised,” Ruskin replies. His voice is frighteningly lifeless, devoid of anything like humanity. It’s obvious this cannot just be about some deal he struck with the human. The biting coldness of his demeanor suggests something far more sinister, and a creeping feeling nags at me as I wonder what crime this man has committed.

“Y-you killed them all,” the man stutters, as if he can’t believe his own words. His face twists in horror and disgust. “You’re a monster…a demon from hell.”

“I’m the monster? Is that what you told yourself as you drove iron into my mother’s body? When you used her offer of friendship as an opening to capture and torture her? Did you justify it to yourself by saying that we fae are nothing but beasts—demons? Was that what helped you sleep at night after hours tormenting her however you wished?”

The chill of Ruskin’s words settles into my chest. I understand what I’m seeing now. This is the human king who attacked Evanthe. This is his punishment playing out.

Ruskin grabs the king by the scruff of his neck and drags him down the corridor, approaching what I now see are the doors to the throne room. He pushes them open with one hand, and even though I know no one can hear me, I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the cry that forms at what I see there.

The throne room is painted crimson. Bodies line the room, figures slumped against the stone floor, sodden with the blood that splashes across the ground as Ruskin’s steps ring through the chamber. He throws the king down and the man releases a moan of such deep agony I think for a moment he’s been stabbed. But no, he’s simply staring at the corpses around him, the ones whose blood he’s already wearing.

“You will not flee the consequences of your actions,” Ruskin intones. “You will face them now, knowing neither you, nor anyone of your kin or court, will ever hurt a fae again.”

I always knew there were brutal parts to Ruskin’s past. I knew that, spurred on by revenge, he silenced the king’s court to prevent the secret of cold iron getting out. But seeing it is different.

“Please, have mercy,” the king weeps.

“This is the mercy of the fae. We do not deal in human notions of justice. You should be grateful that I have ended your line here, rather than cursed your offspring for centuries to come. Rejoice that their deaths were quick,” Ruskin says as he gestures to the bodies around them. “It was more kindness than you afforded my kin.

“Do you beg for death?” he says to the king, sounding like a judge asking him how he pleads. The king takes in the slaughter surrounding him, his face already as pale as a cadaver.

“I do.”

“Then have it.”

Ruskin raises his claws, preparing to strike.

I don’t watch the rest, turning away from the memory and trying to block out the sound of it as I raise my own arms and begin cutting at the vines. Each slash is therapeutic, allowing me to lose myself in the rhythm of my work, rather than focus on the violence playing out behind me. My attack is effective. Perhaps the sword doesn’t glow quite so brightly this time, but the vines still flee from me across the chambers of memory. I discover as I stride through the archways that most of the rooms are free of shadows now, and I thank the stars, because I can feel myself beginning to tire. This ordeal is draining me of emotional and mental strength. There’s an ache behind my eyes and in my heart. I tell myself it will all be worth it, if I can just finish my job here and see Ruskin’s eyes light up with full recognition once more when he looks at me.

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