TOBIAH

The difficulty of Ruin scrying is that I do not know what his ability level is. Everyone is different. A large portion of scryers are only able to stay in place and observe the happenings around them. A rare few can walk in their scrying, but only after a lot of practice. An even smaller amount can walk, talk, and touch, but I have only seen that maybe two or three times in the centuries I have been alive.

But none of them were Seers and none of them were dragon riders. I truly do not know how proficient he is or how normal his proficiency might be. This is uncharted territory for me and that terrifies me on some level. He may be my mate and I sent him into darkness because he wished it.

I am duped so easily when it comes to him. That terrifies me too.

I suspect he can walk, talk, and touch, given the way he keeps twitching and murmuring. Truly, I should not be surprised—he is continuously powerful and unique, and I am unsure if it is him or his dragon. If this is what enforcers are like, it is no wonder that my father worked tirelessly to ban them. They likely killed hundreds—no, thousands—of us before we were able to colonize. Not… that we should have colonized at all. Perhaps it would have been better in the long run if they had beaten us back.

Shatterjaw hovers, watching Ruin and I closely while I watch Ruin nervously. He may be among the most powerful types of scryer, but they are also the most vulnerable because they attract unwanted attention from spirits. A living, breathing, untethered spirit would make a wonderful meal for the hungry dead.

"This doesn't seem…" Shatterjaw suddenly speaks into the silence, looking at me critically. "…safe."

I snort.

"Because it is not, Captain."

She scowls.

"I don't understand why you let him talk you into this," she says with a frown, and I raise an eyebrow.

"I do not control Ruin," I say, cocking my head. "Curious that you think I could sway him."

She huffs and looks away, her hand on her sword.

"You could convince him to topple the entire government," she snaps.

I blink at that.

"I… do not think so, but… he does not really do things he does not wish to do."

Shatterjaw rounds on me, glaring fiercely.

"He does. All the fucking time," she spits out. "As long as someone in need benefits, the fool will do anything… my lord."

She adds "my lord" like a scathing afterthought.

I feel sick for a long moment and bite back bile rising in my throat. She is right. He is passionate about other people, but not himself. I can draw him out of the scrying if need be, but I suspect he will just end up hating me. Yet, I also know he will once I reveal my true self. I cannot use glamour while scrying and the idea of him seeing me in all my vulnerability is simply unbearable. I know it will happen eventually—how could it not—but I do not wish to make it happen sooner rather than later.

"Shatterjaw—"

I jerk and look down. Ruin's breathing is shallow, and his skin is suddenly ashen. He has stilled his movements in a way that is strikingly unnatural. My blood runs cold as I smell his blood as it leaks from his mouth and nose, the harsh gore trailing down his face and into the ground. I am utterly stricken, eyes wide as I watch. I know what this means. A spirit has assaulted him, and he likely did not see it coming because I am an idiot who did not warn him, too caught up in impressing him.

"Tobiah!" Shatterjaw shakes me harshly. "Fix it!"

I look up into her fury filled eyes and come back to myself. She is entirely right, and I must fix this, or Ruin will be lost forever. In fact, he may be lost already. I gather myself and nod.

"Do not move us, no matter what happens," I say and swallow a cup of the Thumping Heart tea in a breath. I have very little time before I will go under. "We will not be able to find ourselves if you do."

I feel dizzy as I lay beside my mate—hells, my mate— and relax, grasping his hand.

"Shatterjaw," I say, my voice wrapped up in a distant cotton that barely sounds like myself. "Do not move us."

"Bring him back," Shatterjaw says firmly, and I try to respond, but am yanked away into a world of grays, whites, and blacks.

I am on the ground, in a field, the place entirely colorless, save for myself. The flowers are intricate and free, and this place is beautiful in a way, but I cannot be seduced by it, for I know what it means. I have been here before and it smells floral and despairingly familiar.

Ruin may not be dead, but he is dying. Whatever happened pushed him into the Corridor, the place of memories everyone wanders before heading to the afterlife. He is likely experiencing his life, one thought after another, and while he is young, sometimes people linger in the memories, stretching out their death. But I do not know if he is like that, so I stand up, feeling unbalanced, and move across the field silently. It is easy to be quiet here, because I should not be here anyway and impacting the environment is difficult anyway.

But I am desperate. I have to find him, and will drag him back, willingly or not, even though I know that he must be willing or he will stay anchored here.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I gasp and see a small house in the distance. It, too, is gray like the sky and the ground and every plant between us. I faintly hear laughter and my heart aches. I do not actually know what happened to Ruin as a young child, but I suspect I am about to find out whether he wanted me to or not.

The house is worn down and impoverished and I pass a lazy horse on the way, drinking from a water trough. As I pass the water, I suddenly stop and look at my reflection.

Unlike the gray around me, I am in glorious color, but… it is not any of my elf or human forms. It is me, as I was born as a Fae. My heart beats against my ribs harshly. I have not seen myself in decades and nothing has changed. My skin is still a rich cedar, my hair chin length auburn curls, my eyes a glowing pink, and my black horns rising from my forehead and gently twisting upwards. They are imbued with silver runes and filigree that is meant to protect me. The silver glints in the sun and I touch my cheek. I have always been lithe and tall and I wonder, with some sharp concern, if Ruin would like this form or if he would even know me.

I fool only myself. Of course he will not know me. I am fae. He thinks I am an elf. He might recognize my aura, but I doubt it. We do not even know each other that intimately. I… I must admit on some level that he is indeed my mate and that alone might be enough.

But it will not be enough to erase the hurt of my deception. Because I have hurt him with lies and pretty words, worming my way into his bed and heart under a horrific pretense of being trustworthy.

I could leave, but it would mean him dying and I cannot abide that. I cannot glamour myself because magic in the Corridor is fickle and does not yield to anyone.

I am doomed and it is a doom of my own making.

Tears fill my eyes. He will hate me. He will hate me for not telling him and he will hate me for looking like my father, because I do look like my father. I look like the worst tyrant this world has ever seen. I will never be handsome or beautiful— just an ugly visage of a murdering, thieving bastard.

I weep, trying to get myself under control, completely overwhelmed. I hate myself. I hate me. I hate it. I hate my family and their legacy of pain and suffering, and I hate that my mate will hate me.

"Excuse me?" Ruin says from behind me, and I jerk and spin around, startled. He stands a little ways away, his brow furrowed in confusion and concern, biting his lip. This is the real Ruin. He is alive. He hasn't stepped further into the shadow of death. He is as colorful as I am and looks me over, cocking his head. "Are… you all right?"

He does not seem to know me and that makes me cry even more. Once he realizes it is me, it is all over. He will hate me. Everyone does—my own people, my own family, and any who finds out I am fae, because my people are horrendous.

"I—I—I… am…" I sob out, gutted, and Ruin's eyes widen, and he steps closer slowly, as if he is afraid of me spooking and running. My glamour cannot do anything for my voice—not without pulling on intense magic, so he has heard my true voice since we met. I… think he recognizes me.

"Tobiah?" He asks softly and I am wrecked. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand and strokes my face. "You are fae after all. How?"

I do not know where to begin and just shake my head. Silence stretches and he does not show any desire to move away so I swallow and try to speak.

"I always have been," I say, fresh tears falling. "I am so sorry, Ruin. I… have no excuse, but… I am so sorry."

He shifts tentatively but does not remove his hand.

"Why are you crying?" He asks quietly, gently, as if I am an easily startled animal.

I wish I could say just the right words to encompass all of the complexity of my hiding, the need there is for me to make sure no one knows I am a fae, let alone a prince. But I cannot. I am too stuck on the sorrow in my veins that my mate might never accept me .

"I am so ugly," I gasp out. "And you are so beautiful."

Ruin smiles softly and shakes his head.

"Nonsense, darling. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he promises and kisses me gently, with the tenderness of a lover that has known me a thousand years and loves me all the more. "It's okay. I'm here. I don't mind. We can talk about it, okay?"

I swallow and cling to him.

"I… have much to tell you," I whisper, utterly overwhelmed.

Ruin nods and looks at the house, his face unreadable.

"Okay. Let's go then. I hate it here."

I look at him in surprise. Most people love the Corridor.

"Really?"

He smirks.

"Of course. You weren't here."

My love for him swells like the ocean and crashes over my heart and I start crying again.

"Come… come on…" I say and pull him close.

Everything fades and I cling to Ruin, praying he will stay safe and be here with me, where he belongs.