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“One job. That’s all I gave you,” he snarls at her. “What kind of swordswoman can’t keep track of a single human?”
I break free of Destan’s grip and lurch towards them, determined that no one else will die because of me today.
“It’s my fault,” I say in a rush. “I ran away from her. I…”
I search for an explanation that won’t expose my half-formed plan to escape.
“I nearly ate fae food, and I thought Halima was trying to trick me because she hadn’t warned me, so I ran.”
Ruskin shoots Halima a deadly glare.
“I specifically asked you if you’d told her about the food.”
Destan crosses his arms across his chest and leans against the wall.
“But she forgot they can’t eat our food, didn’t you, Halima?” he says with a smirk.
Halima scowls. “I can’t keep track of what these humans can and can’t do!”
She turns to Ruskin and, to my surprise, continues to wear the same expression for him. “It’s not my job to babysit humans—I don’t know the first thing about them. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not some weakling who can’t even have an apple without going loopy.”
I brace myself for the inevitable explosion from the deadly dark prince, but I’m shocked when Ruskin simply shakes his head and points to the door of my room.
“Get her inside, Destan.”
Now that I know Halima really didn’t mean to trick me with the food, my concern doubles, and I push against the arm Destan’s trying to use to usher me through the door.
“Don’t hurt her!” I shout at Ruskin. Even if he punishes me for it, I can’t just stand by and watch him kill someone else—especially when Halima doesn’t deserve it.
His eyebrows shoot up and a look of surprise crosses his face. It softens him somehow, and I realize he’s wearing his “human” eyes again, easing the intimidating picture he wielded a moment ago in the garden.
Halima snorts. “Like he could do much damage even if he wanted to. He might have all the magic, human, but I’m ten times better with a sword.”
Does she really expect to get away with mocking him to his face like that? Ruskin just broke the neck of a woman who hadn’t gone nearly so far out of line…unless you counted Galaphina almost killing me, but I’d assumed her insults were more the issue.
“Don’t exaggerate, Halima,” Ruskin says, his voice taking on an imperious tone. “You’re twice as good, at best.”
Destan sighs and pokes me gently with a finger.
“Now you’ve gone and done it—they’ll be comparing sword sizes next.”
I’m lost for words, but it seems no one but me is immediately concerned for Halima’s life, and I let Destan return me to my room. It’s different. Now a huge, four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room under a streaming canopy of wisteria. I promptly collapse onto the covers, numb to the wonder of it. As the door is swinging shut, I catch Ruskin’s words to Halima, no longer hot with rage, but still carrying a smoldering intensity.
“From now on, protecting the Gold Weaver is protecting me, understand?” Through the crack I see Halima’s jaw tighten and she nods, then the door thuds closed.
I’m not sure if it’s minutes or an hour later that the door opens again, but I don’t bother lifting my head, assuming that whoever’s entered has done so with my captor’s permission. Soft footsteps come to stop by the bed and I open my eyes, only to see Ruskin himself standing over me. Half his face is in shadow, the other half unreadable as he looks down at me with a human’s eyes, the yellow in them seeming to have darkened. He’s holding a bowl of something, the smell oddly familiar.
“You’re covered in cuts,” he says.
I prop myself gingerly up my elbows, because something about being splayed out on the bed beneath him sends a prickle over my skin.
Thank goodness you’re here, I want to say. I couldn’t for the life of me work out where the pain was coming from.
But that kind of sarcasm is a dangerous game to play when I’ve just seen the consequences of pissing Ruskin off. It seems wherever he goes someone gets hurt.
I’ve been in this strange, horrible realm for less than a day, and already, I’m exhausted—and not just because of my frenzied dancing or the stinging cuts covering me from head to toe. The tension of constantly holding myself on edge, constantly waiting for the next attack, has my nerves feeling like they’re on fire. And the only one in this whole place who seems to give a damn at all about keeping me alive is the one who brought me here. The one who forced me to give up my home and come to this snake pit to complete an absurd, impossible task.
Perhaps because I’m so exhausted, that’s exactly what I find myself saying.
