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He places his hand over mine, so both our palms are resting over the heart in question. I swallow, the weight of his words settling upon me. I knew I’d unlocked something with my gold discovery, some explanation that pieced together part of the puzzle that was Ruskin, but seeing it all now together my picture of him is dramatically altering. Of course, I must’ve seemed like an answer to prayer—if fae prayed, that is—like a gift dropped by fate into the hands of a desperate man. Not only had I crossed his path, I’d actually been asking him for help, begging for a bargain. In return why wouldn’t he try to secure the well-being of everything he knew and held dear? Even, understandably, his own life.
Because Ruskin was dying.
The idea hits me sideways. It’s only now that I realize Ruskin is most certainly someone I don’t wish dead.
“And so how strong you are, how much power you have…that’s the only thing keeping the curse from winning right now?”
It’s only when his gaze narrows that I realize that it could come off as probing for weakness.
“I just need to know how much time we have,” I say.
He nods, a little sigh escaping his lips, but I hope he doesn’t miss the “we” in my question.
“The curse has taken two hundred years to progress this far, but the spread of it to the beasts and flora is a bad sign.”
“The court doesn’t know what’s behind it?”
He shakes his head. “No one knows about the curse and no one knows I’m High King. They still think the land is connected to my mother.”
I understand better now what so much of his public mask is about, why he had to give the Wild Hunt permission to reform even though he despises them. He can’t afford for any of the High Fae to get too restless when he has much bigger problems to contend with. Unleashing the Wild Hunt on the feral animals was just about throwing them a bone so they didn’t go digging any deeper, somewhere they might uncover his secrets.
“But they know you’re more powerful than them, don’t they?” I ask. “Where do they think the power came from, if not from your bond with the land?”
“They believe it’s a result of my deals. I always had a knack for channeling one form of power into another.”
“But then isn’t some of your power coming from your deals? Or are you using it for something else?” My mind races as I tried to figure out how this all fit together. “Are you using the extra power to keep the worst at bay?” I don’t want to say, “keeping you alive.” I can’t.
He shifts and breaks my gaze. “Yes. At least, what would be worst for the kingdom.”
It at least lends some reasoning to the famous activities of Ruskin Blackcoat. Does it excuse all the deals he’s made, all the lives he’s ruined? Maybe not. But it does explain them. And at the end of the day, does he truly bear all the blame? Looking at him now, he doesn’t look at all like the manipulative trickster I imagined all my life, toying with humans as part of some sick game played for his amusement. I always knew that the humans who made deals with the fae were desperate. It never occurred to me that the fae might be desperate too.
“Rus,” I say, drawing my hand from his heart to his face. It sends a thrill through me even now, being able to touch him easily like this, especially when he leans his cheek into my touch. It’s like he’s been treading water for so long, unable or unwilling to tell anyone he’s drowning, and now he’s finally reached out to me, asking me to pull him from the water. Who would I be if I ignored that outstretched hand?
“I’m going to help you fix this.”
Chapter 23
It feels a little counter to the desires of other parts of me, but I start buttoning Ruskin’s shirt up. The evidence of his curse is already fading, secreted back away behind his illusions.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding bemused more than anything as I tuck the shirt into his pants, resisting the urge for my hands to explore lower.
“Making you look decent. We’re going to talk to Destan, and Halima too, probably.”
He takes hold of my wrists, stilling them.
“No, they can’t know.”
“Why not?” I scrunch up my brows, ready for this fight. “Don’t you trust them?”
“With my life, but?—”
“Exactly. It’s your life we’re talking about here. Think about the time we could’ve saved if you’d been straight with me from the start. I understand you didn’t know me, couldn’t be sure it was safe, but what’s your excuse for leaving your two closest friends in the dark? Doesn’t it occur to you that you might have found a solution sooner—or at least would’ve found the last two centuries easier to bear—if you’d shared some of your burdens with them?”
His jaw flexes with what I assume is denial. Even I can’t quite believe how hard I’m pushing him. But it needs to be done. We have work to do, and now I realize the scale of what’s at stake I’m terrified we—I—will fail if we don’t work together as a team.
“Their ignorance is what makes things easier,” Ruskin argues. “These challenges are my burdens to bear. Other people just…complicate things.”
“Things already look pretty complicated to me,” I shoot back. But then I soften, knowing I can’t wipe away a lifetime of Ruskin holding back with a few well-placed words. For all I know, those tall walls he’s built have kept him alive in this crazy place.
