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Ruskin’s chest is bare and unblemished. Not a hint of gold remains.
I release the sob I’ve been holding back as he sits up, throwing my arms around him, then sobbing some more, because the movement sends pain lancing through my ribs.
“I don’t understand,” I say, still holding him. “What happened?”
He lifts his hand to my back, rubbing comforting circles on it.
“Cebba cursed me to bear a heart of gold, unless I could find someone who could change it,” he says.
I think of the words we exchanged right before the glowing began and sit back in disbelief.
“That’s what broke the curse?”
There is always a loophole. That’s what you have to remember about fairy magic. Like a riddle with two answers, the answer that comes to you first isn’t always the only one. A heart cursed by magic doesn’t have to be cured with magic. It can be cured—changed, altered, healed—with love.
“It’s you, Ella. You broke it for me,” Ruskin murmurs, his hand on my cheek. Then he kisses me, and despite feeling fractured and exhausted, it’s like the glow that just vacated Ruskin lights up inside of me instead.
He stands and offers me a hand, gently raising me up and noticing my wince as I move.
“My brave, brilliant Gold Weaver,” he says, his brows knitted in sympathy. “How could I have ever underestimated you?”
I smile. “Happens all the time.”
His eyes fall on Cebba, and his expression darkens.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning towards her still body.
“For what? She had to die.”
“But she was still your sister.”
He leans forward and pulls the sword from her chest.
“Only in name,” he says. Ruskin twitches one of his fingers and the clearing comes alive, the trees surrounding it leaning their branches down in a flurry of leaves, the ground sprouting a horde of roots and vines. It feels like the entire forest has wakened to reach for the center of the clearing, where Cebba lies. The roots and branches wind around her, shrouding her so she’s hidden by a coffin of twigs and knotted wood. Then the army of plants retreats, slithering away across the ground, taking Cebba’s body with it.
The entire process lasts for less than thirty seconds, and I blink at the scale of the magic I’ve just watched, so much faster and stronger than the roots and branches Ruskin managed to call forth before. My guess is that now he’s no longer hampered by the curse, his High King power has reached a new level of potency.
“Where did you send her?” I ask.
“Back to the palace. There are still certain customs to be seen to. Rituals for the dead.”
I nod, glad that he might get some closure. “And them?” I jerk my chin towards the labyrinth. None of Cebba’s followers have managed to extricate themselves from it yet. I wonder if I’d still be lost too, if it weren’t for Ruskin.
He waves his hand and trees crawl forward to block the exit—the entrance too, I assume.
“They’ll keep. I’ll send someone out to collect them in good time. Right now, I’m more concerned with getting you back.”
I ask myself if it’s that obvious that I’m on my last reserves of strength, then I realize I’m swaying slightly where I stand.
“I think that would be a good idea,” I mumble, the aches and tiredness sweeping through me anew now I’m focusing on them.
Ruskin steps forward and lifts me into his arms. I don’t protest, can’t even find the energy for a witty comment. Instead, I lean into the firm warmth of his body as he begins to walk. I’m done now. No more running and fighting. I can rest at least. I let the swaying motion soothe me as he carries me back to the palace, lulling me into a much-welcomed sleep.
“I don’t understand how she got past the banishment magic so soon. I thought you said it would last for a while yet?” Halima’s disgruntled tone draws me from my sleep, surprisingly welcome in its familiarity.
“I don’t either,” comes Ruskin’s voice, sounding more concerned than I’d expect. “But she hinted the stone had something to do with it. ‘It gave me a little more than curses,’ she said.”
“Do you know what that means?” Destan’s voice joins them.
