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It’s about as evasive as he could be, and irritation sparks within me.
“The same reasons that you have for refusing to tell me why I’m here? Why I’m even trying to complete your impossible assignment?”
I don’t expect him to answer properly, but I still want to tear my hair out when he skips right past my questions.
“So why aren’t you doing it?” he asks, his voice clipped. “Tell me what you were doing wandering out in this forest. Wasn’t Lord Zastel’s fate enough to show you how dangerous it is?”
“I was working!” I bite back. “I need bluecup flowers and I thought I’d find them here.”
“Bluecups?” The word is accompanied with that soft expression of surprise once more. I can’t keep up with this man and his shifting personality.
“I’m trying something,” I say, not particularly wanting to get into the intricacies of it with him. I don’t like sharing my work with people who don’t care about it—actually care about it, and not just what it can do for them. It’s too painful—the way they look right through you when you’re baring your soul, showing them the thing that consumes your days, that occupies your thoughts. It hurts to see, every time, how little it matters to them. It feels like they’re saying the same thing about me: You don’t matter.
“And yet you still came here alone?” He shakes his head. “I thought you were supposed to be clever.”
God, he’s so aggravating.
“Obviously I didn’t,” I say, trying to put as much disdain as I can into the words. “I came here with Destan.”
“Did you now,” he replies, his voice coolly dangerous.
“It’s not his fault that you found me on my own,” I hasten to add. “When he heard the Hunt, he went to head them off, but they found me first. He was trying to protect me.”
By now I’ve seen enough to believe that Ruskin wouldn’t punish Destan badly for me getting into danger…but I don’t want to take any chances. Aside from Fiona, he’s the closest things I have to an actual friend in this place.
Ruskin nods, as if he understands the reasons behind my staunch defense.
“Bluecups don’t grow in Faerie,” he says.
My shoulders slump a little, but I nod my understanding. “I thought that might be the case.”
To my bemusement he uses the one leg he has up on the tree branch to stand, smooth and sure as if he were getting up off the floor. He steps down on to the next branch, then the next like they’re stairs, then turns and holds out a hand to me.
I take it, but immediately lose my footing trying to do what he’s just done. He reaches out with a sigh and pulls me to him.
All the confusing tension rushes back into my body as he takes me in his arms. One elbow is hooked under my legs, the other arm reaches around my back, his hand coming to rest at my side, right at the edge of my breast. My dress fabric is thick, and yet I still feel the places he’s touching me burn beneath the material.
He descends the tree, making the final leap and landing on the ground gently enough that it feels like it rose up to meet him. After the shock of the chase, being held like this, next to a body so solid and warm, is actually quite nice. Involuntarily, I release a little sigh of contentment.
The arms around me stiffen. When I look up, Ruskin’s jaw is tight and he looks down at me from under hooded eyes. I shift in his hold just a little, but it seems to bring Ruskin back to the present. He sets me down on my feet and I quickly step away, straightening my skirts.
Ruskin clears his throat.
“I’ll go to Styrland and get you some bluecups. Your work shouldn’t be delayed. How many do you need?”
I’ve already thought about this.
“Two bunches should be enough. Will it take you long to go back?” I wonder if it will occur to him that I’m fishing for information about how to reach the human realm from here. Either way, he answers as vaguely as ever.
“Not long. The journey back to Faerie is longer.”
“Through the forest?” I ask, looking around as if the gate to Styrland and the Kilda might materialize right in front of me.
“Yes. I was coming back from Styrland when I sensed the Hunt…and you, as it happens.”
So he wasn’t hiding from the Hunt up in the tree, he was waiting for me. Or maybe a bit of both. He’s not afraid of them, I’m sure of that. It seems more like they’re a headache he can’t quite banish for some reason.
“What were you doing in Styrland?” I ask, almost out of habit. Like I said, I’m nosy by nature.
