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“That’s the Unseelie realm?” I ask, pointing to the peaks.
“Behind those mountains, yes.”
I sweep my gaze around, searching for something I will not find. I know Styrland isn’t connected to Faerie like a normal border, but still a small part of me thought I might see at least a glimpse of it from all the way up here. The illogical, irrational part of brain expected to see the Emerald Forest give way to the Kilda, and the market fields, and the road to my little village by the river. But we really aren’t in the same world anymore. I’m that far from home.
“Do you like it?” Ruskin asks. He sounds almost concerned, perhaps interpreting my silence for disapproval.
“Yes, it’s amazing,” I say truthfully, though there’s just the tiniest hint of sadness in my voice, I think.
“Here.” Ruskin passes me a crystal glass of a dark red liquid, and I turn to see a table behind us, already laden with food, no doubt kept magically hot for our arrival. I sniff the wine.
“You don’t think it’s poisoned, do you?” Ruskin asks, looking amused by my suspicion.
“Just checking it’s not fae,” I say begrudgingly. “You can’t be too careful.” I take a sip of the wine. It’s absolutely delicious, in a comfortingly human way.
We sit down and its then that I notice the table is small, our legs brushing up against each other beneath it. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was by design. I’m not complaining, though. I let my thigh lean against Ruskin’s knee. The food is delicious, the view spectacular, and Ruskin looks gorgeous opposite me, somehow even more so than usual.
I don’t think I’ve really watched him eat before. We’ve always been too surrounded by others that I’ve needed to stay wary of, but now I try not to be hypnotized by the way his nimble fingers pick at a piece of fruit, or the way his lips move as he brings it up to his mouth.
I focus on my plate, and take in the bright colors and tempting aromas of my food.
“You know, most people in Styrland never get to eat this kind of thing,” I say, spearing a tender cut of beef.
“I have seen evidence of poverty in your kingdom,” Ruskin says. “It doesn’t surprise me that some people go hungry, but the climate has been good for growth, has it not? Plenty of rain, certainly.”
“It’s Albrecht’s fault. He doesn’t care a bit for the way he’s ruined our country—do you know he ships in all his food from abroad?”
“You’ll be glad to hear this food is stolen from his stores, then.”
“It’s…what?”
“The human food we get here has to be reliably sourced.” Ruskin shrugs. “Your king always has plenty of good food in his castle, so we just take it from there.”
I think of old fairy tales about mysteriously empty milk pails and disappearing pies and realize every one of them is probably rooted in truth. Then I laugh.
Ruskin smiles, even though I can tell he’s confused.
“What’s so amusing?”
“I was just thinking about the fact that the human servants here get fed the king’s food. It’s too perfect.”
“I’m glad you approve.” His eyes fall to his own plate, idly dragging a knife across it. “Is that why you took up metallurgy, to make money to pay for food?”
I examine the question, wondering if its purpose is really as simple as a wish to get to know me better.
“I suppose everyone assumed that was why. But really it was a number of things. My mind was always awake, searching for something. I used to distract my father, constantly following him around, asking questions about his fishing. Then I found my mom’s notes and they were so fascinating. Even with just her healer’s knowledge, she’d deduced and picked up on all kinds of facts about ores and metals…and yet it still felt like there was so much left to find out. I wanted to continue where she’d left off, so I started adding to them, experimenting in my own way, and I was good at it. Healing had always been Mom’s true talent, but metallurgy felt like what I was meant to do. Eventually, I started thinking I might actually be able to make a difference—not just for me and Dad, but for everyone. I suppose it helped me feel closer to my mom too.”
Ruskin had been watching me with interest as I spoke, but he drops his gaze when I mention Mom. I wonder if the reference reminds him of his own mother. Maybe the sense of closeness I get from reading my mother’s notes is the same thing he feels when he visits the rose garden.
“You’re fortunate you found something you were born for so early on,” he says.
“You can’t relate?” I ask, curious. Then I remember: “You didn’t want to be High King,”
“It’s not so much about want, I just know I’m not the right person to rule—at least not in comparison to my mother. When she brought about peace between the courts, she could’ve stopped there. Most rulers probably would have. But she always looked beyond that. She didn’t just want to keep things running smoothly, she wanted to build a better world.”
“And you?” I ask. There’s admiration in his voice as he speaks about Evanthe, but frustration too, as if he thinks her ideas are a lost cause.
“I’m not built for High King.” He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Not honorable enough.”
