The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (21 page)

Only then do I notice the taste of earth and nature that has become so familiar. Then there’s a knock at the door. ‘Kiaran?’ I say in surprise.

Kiaran saunters in and shuts the door behind him. I might have been more shocked if I weren’t so ill. First, that he came
here
to see me, and second, that he doesn’t even have the decency to announce his arrival in the proper fashion.

‘Still alive,’ he says, leaning against the door. ‘I’m impressed.’

He has a different wardrobe from when I last saw him at the Nor’ Loch, but it’s still expensive gentleman’s clothing. Immaculate black trousers, white dress shirt, black overcoat. No hat. That might be too proper for him. All his clothes are soaked through, his hair clinging to his forehead, but he doesn’t even appear to notice.

‘What are you doing here?’ Rethinking that, I put up a hand before he can respond. ‘Actually, don’t answer. Just get out, MacKay.’

I should be more furious than I am that he kept my heritage from me, that he never told me about the seal or the danger the city was in. But I can’t summon the anger I would have felt. My father has just laid out my entire future for me, and stolen what little choice I had left. I’m in no mood to deal with Kiaran right now.

He doesn’t appear to be at all surprised by my reaction. ‘I came by for a visit.’

‘I don’t want you here.’

Without any preamble, he strolls over to the fireplace, picks up one of the small vases from the chimneypiece and inspects it. I almost tell him to put the bloody thing down and explain himself, but I bite my tongue and watch him. He doesn’t look remotely uncomfortable being in my home, or touching things without asking permission.

‘That’s unfortunate,’ he says. ‘Your pixie told me you accept visitors during the day.’

Damn Derrick. I should never have sent him to Kiaran last night while under the influence of honey, the little traitor.

I sip my tea and watch him study the ornaments as though he’s never seen such things before. ‘I recant what I said. I give you permission to cut out his tongue.’

‘What a generous offer,’ he murmurs.

‘Didn’t it occur to you,’ I say, ‘that I have a butler who will happily announce your presence? Being invisible doesn’t give you leave to sneak inside someone’s home. It’s called courtesy, MacKay.’

Kiaran sniffs one of the vases. I frown. What is he doing? Is this some strange faery habit I’m not familiar with?

‘Your butler,’ he says. ‘Large chap with the beard? I introduced myself to him, told him I was here to see you, and then I compelled him to go away so he wouldn’t interrupt us.’

‘I’ve noticed that’s becoming a habit of yours.’

Kiaran holds up the vase. ‘Why do you have empty pots on your chimneypiece?’

‘They’re decorative.’

He regards it with what might be disappointment, but it’s too difficult to tell with him. ‘Seems a waste. Do you know, they’re quite useful for storing viscera.’

I choke on my tea and cough. Then, unable to stop myself, I bend over and keep coughing. My throat is thick and swollen and it’s painful to swallow. I put up my hand in indication of an apology.

‘Are you ill?’ Kiaran asks, setting the vase on the chimneypiece.

I nod and recline against a pillow when the spasm passes, wiping the dampness from my burning forehead with a kerchief. ‘I fell into the Forth.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a well-thought-out plan.’

‘There were
sluagh
.’

Kiaran is quiet for a moment. ‘Ah.’

‘Ah?’ I snap. ‘I nearly die and that’s how you respond?
Ah
?’

Kiaran shows no response to my outburst. He regards me calmly, detached as always. ‘I told you to keep the pixie with you,’ he points out, sitting on the settee across from me. ‘You look terrible.’

‘We don’t all possess indestructible fae skin,’ I say.

I almost expect him to smile. He taught me to wear my cuts and bruises with pride, was the first one to call them my badges of honour. Instead, I see the briefest flash of . . .
something
in his eyes. Guilt? It’s gone before I can truly tell.

It’s odd and uncomfortable when Kiaran displays any kind of emotion. I’ve become used to him as cold, impassive. But every so often he expresses something deeper and I wonder if his emotions are really that fleeting, or if he just wants to deceive me into believing they are.

No, I can’t think about that. There I go, treating him as if he experiences emotions the same way humans do. ‘Why are you
really
here?’ I ask bluntly, despite how impolite it is. ‘It isn’t just to visit.’

‘If you must know, I came to make sure you weren’t dead.’

I almost cough up my tea in shock. ‘My goodness, MacKay. Were you worried about me?’
Please say no like you always do, so I won’t make the mistake of humanising you again
.

Kiaran’s expression betrays nothing. ‘Do you pine for my concern?’

‘Certainly not.’

He looks amused. ‘No? Then what
do
you long for?’

Vengeance is what I desire most, the only thing I’ve craved strongly enough to kill for. After all, it’s the oldest motivation in the entire world. People might think it’s love, or greed, or wealth, but vengeance gives you life. It strengthens you. It makes you burn.

I don’t answer him. Instead I ask, ‘What about
you
?’

Kiaran smiles. This time I can’t tell if it’s genuine. ‘Looking for something redeemable in me, Kam?’

‘Looking for the reason you hunt.’
What stirs those fleeting emotions that I so rarely catch?

‘Shouldn’t my enjoyment of it be reason enough?’

Except that’s not it at all. I’ve watched Kiaran kill. This is as personal for him as it is for me. But if he doesn’t want to tell me why, we have far more pressing matters to attend to than our own vendettas.

I reach for the tea and sip to soothe my aching throat. ‘We need to find the seal before Tuesday, MacKay.’

Kiaran moves to sit next to me, alarmingly close. Though I know he doesn’t care at all for the rules of society – indeed, he doesn’t even appear to be aware of them – I can’t help but be a wee bit startled when he acts with such familiarity. Old habits die hard and all that.

‘We’ll find it,’ he says. ‘But make no mistake, we’ll have to fight to close the seal again. We’ll have to prepare for war.’

I almost stop breathing. To the
daoine sìth
, conquest is never their only goal. Kiaran told me that they were known for slaughtering the strongest of their enemies, keeping the rest alive to feed on. They call it the Wild Hunt, and it almost drove humans to extinction thousands of years ago. If the
daoine sìth
are released, the fae have the power to decimate us all until only ashes and ruin and the weakest humans remain. I don’t imagine it was easy to trap them in the first place.

I can’t focus on finding the faery that killed my mother now, especially not after last night. The number of fae in the city will only grow.

‘War,’ I whisper. ‘How many will leave the mounds during the eclipse?’

‘There were thousands fighting in the battle before the Falconers activated the seal to trap them.’

It sounds as if
—‘You were there,’ I say, suddenly realising. ‘Weren’t you?’

If I hadn’t been watching him so carefully, I might have missed the emotion that flickers in his gaze, something almost sorrowful. ‘I was there,’ he says, very deliberately. ‘For most of it.’ And just like that, he relaxes, as if he’s realised exactly how much he’s given away. ‘The Falconers killed many, but I expect hundreds will escape from the mounds on Tuesday. Maybe more.’

Kiaran’s voice is as calm and dispassionate as ever. I almost ask about that battle two thousand years ago, how he escaped the same fate as the rest of the fae who fought. But he’s back to being closed off, and I’m certain he won’t tell me.

‘You’re just being pessimistic with that figure, aye?’ I ask.

Kiaran blinks. ‘No.’

I plunk my teacup on the table and almost spill its contents. ‘Isn’t that going to make this a rather one-sided fight? Two against hundreds? Good heavens, I’d think with the amount of power you all possess, faeries might observe some of the niceties of battle.’ I wave a hand. ‘Fight fairly and all that?’

It’s a stupid thing to say. I know the fae will do whatever it takes to destroy and conquer, and they do nothing fairly. But Kiaran doesn’t realise I’m trying so hard to pretend that I have hope, that I’m wishing for a different outcome for us all. Because for us to survive, we’ll need an army of our own. And we don’t have one.

‘We did not gain dominion over every continent by being polite,’ he says coldly. ‘Make no mistake, when the
daoine sìth
come, they will annihilate everything in their path. People will die. Your friends, your father, that blasted pixie included. They will tear this city apart and, in the end, they will burn you from the inside out. I never said a thing about fairness. I taught you better.’

God, how Kiaran brings out the monster in me. All he has to do is imply that I’m naïve and rage burns me hotter than my fever.

‘
You
make no mistake,’ I say. ‘I won’t let any of that happen.’

Kiaran’s lip twitches. His usual almost-smile. ‘Train to survive, Kam. Else you’ll lose.’

‘We’ve been training for a year!’

The almost-smile is gone. He’s back to looking at me like I’m a complete idiot. ‘You’ve made me bleed once. The other Falconers would have prepared their entire lives for this battle.’

My head starts to pound. I swipe the sweat off my brow. ‘Do you see anyone else here, MacKay? I’m all that’s left. And I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.’

I’ve failed at doing everything expected of me. My reputation, my future – both are out of my hands. I won’t allow Kiaran to let me doubt the part of me that seeks vengeance. That part will stop at nothing until the fae are decimated.

He leans towards me, eyes never wavering from mine. ‘Then show me. Prove it.’

In an instant, I forget all etiquette and manners. I disregard my illness. Kiaran has challenged me. He wants proof? I’ll show him.

I attack. Our bodies collide and we’re on the floor. We crash into the legs of the table and teacups clang together. I shove aside my petticoats for the
sgian dubh
at my thigh, and strike right for his throat.

Kiaran smacks the blade out of my hand, sends it careening across the carpet.
Damn him!
‘Try harder,’ he tells me.

Try harder?
I smash my fist into his face. I roll off him and scramble for the blade. Friction from the carpet burns my elbows. Before I reach it, Kiaran drags me back.

I deliver a hard kick to his shoulder and lunge for the blade again. My fingers close around the hilt and I launch myself at him. We slam into the wall and the bookcase next to us shakes. My blade is firmly pressed against his throat. ‘You wanted proof.’ My voice is raspy. ‘There it is.’

We breathe together, our bodies so close. I can feel the pulse at his neck and its cadence matches my own. His gaze meets mine and I swear there’s pride in his eyes. Kiaran is proud of me.

My vision clouds then, and dots flash in front of my eyes. I stumble. My grip on the blade falters and it clatters to the floor. My skin is blazing so hot that it hurts and my legs barely hold me. I cough and cough and cough, so hard that my entire body shakes.

Kiaran steadies me, his hand pressed firmly against my back. ‘Kam? Your skin is burning.’ He lifts the hand from my back and his fingers come away bloody. ‘And you’re bleeding.’

I lick my scaly, chapped lips and manage to speak. ‘We just fought. Of course I’m bleeding.’ My words are slurred, as though I’ve downed a quarter bottle of whisky.

‘This isn’t something I did,’ he insists. He tries to turn me, plucking at my day dress to get a peek at my back.

I push at his chest. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Stop being ridiculous and turn around.’

‘No.’ I smack his hands. ‘Stop this at once, MacKay.’

‘You’re being difficult.’

‘You’re grabbing at me like a vile drunkard.’ I smack his hands again. ‘What do you intend to do? Use your faery wiles on me?’

Kiaran glares at me. ‘Let me see it, Kam.’

‘I’m perfectly all right. It’s just one of my injuries from last night.’

‘It’s bad enough that blood is soaking right through whatever it is you’re wearing. Now turn around.’

I sigh with exasperation and walk to the couch. I sit with the back of my dress facing him. ‘Fine. There. Are you happy now?’

Kiaran settles on the couch with me, his body warm behind my own. ‘I need to unbutton your dress.’

‘I
beg
your pardon?’ My cheeks burn, from either the fever or embarrassment – it’s hard to tell. Thank goodness he can’t see my expression. ‘You must be joking.’

‘My powers do not extend to seeing through a lady’s clothing.’

I say a mental prayer, hoping that this ends quickly. ‘Fine,’ I relent. ‘If you must.’

When he unfastens the first button, I begin to shake. This is too intimate. Just when I think I have myself under control, that my façade is impenetrable, he does something new to shatter it. To remind me that I’m still human, and that no man has ever touched me like this.

But he’s not a man
, I remind myself.

Another button, another, then another. I try to slow my racing heart but I’m unsuccessful. I have always been taught to keep a strict, physical separation from men. Even while dancing, gloves and clothing are a shield.

Hell and blast, I should have worn a corset and chemise, but the wound had scabbed over and the fabric made it itch. Without Dona to help me dress, I was too tired to bother with the necessities.

I hold my breath as he spreads the fabric apart. His smooth, warm fingers brush my skin and I close my eyes. I hope he doesn’t notice how his touch makes me shiver. God, but I want to lean into him, to have his hands press against me. A small relief amid the pain.

He’s not a man
.
He’s not a man. He’s not a—Damnation, he certainly
feels
like a man
.