The Vanishing Throne (16 page)

“Well,” Aithinne says. “It's nice to see some things don't change.” She leans in toward me. “They've been fighting like this for
thousands
of years.”

“Don't you dare say it like that,” Derrick snaps, suddenly angry again. “Like this is some petty rivalry. You know better than that and so does
he
.”

Aithinne goes still. “Aye,” she whispers. “I do.”

What on earth just happened? Everyone is silent after that. Kiaran stares at Derrick with that unfathomable gaze, like he wants to say something—but he won't. Whatever it is, his regret isn't enough.

“Kiaran—”

“Don't, Kam,” he says stiffly, and steps toward his horse to grab the reins. “To prevent any future reunions like this one, I'm going to ride ahead and let the others know you're not dead.” He speaks to me without his eyes meeting mine, because it's a damn faery half-lie and he knows it. “Aithinne will bring you the rest of the way.”

Aithinne steps aside as he swings his lithe body up on the horse, settling neatly in the saddle. “Kadamach, you don't have to—”

“I do,” Kiaran says shortly. “The pixie and I have never kept good company, and he can block you from being detected by Lonnrach better than I can.” His eyes flicker toward me and I wish he would show his emotions again. “I'll see you soon.”

Nudging the horse, he rides off—so fast that when I blink, he's gone through the fog as if he were a ghost. The rest of us are quiet, only the hum of Derrick's wings between us.

“Would someone mind telling me what the bloody hell that was about?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Derrick says shortly. “But I'm glad he's gone. If he gave you that calf-eyed stare one more time, I was going to vomit up all my honey.”

Calf-eyed stare? Surely not.

Aithinne is gazing sadly in the direction her brother went. Despite everything I've gone through, I still feel as if I'm piecing together the long past of the fae, their relationships, their enemies. It's such a vast, extensive history, so convoluted.

“I think we should rest here,” Aithinne says softly. “I find I'm not in the mood to continue our journey just yet.”

Before I can reply, she strides off into the fog.

After listening to Derrick tell me about the abandoned pixie kingdom, my eyelids begin to grow heavy. I eat the wild rabbit he caught and cooked for me, and settle next to the horses in the empty meadow. Derrick rests on my stomach, his wings fanning softly with the even movement of his breath.

It's a myth that faeries don't sleep. Every so often, Derrick would fall asleep like this, with his body curled up just below my ribs. He looks so peaceful with his wings twitching, a soft smile playing on his face. I often wonder what he dreams about.

Aithinne has been gone for hours. Derrick suggested we wait and use the opportunity to rest before riding the full day tomorrow.

I pass the time by watching the sky overhead. I lie on the bundle of my coat, Derrick's warmth around me like a fire, soft and soothing. I watch the stars peek through the thick clouds,
brighter and more numerous than I have ever seen them. With no city lights here to dull their shine, they stretch vast, the sky reflecting the dimmed colors lingering from the sunset.

I scratch my fingernails over a mark at my forearm and let the memory of my mother's voice wash over me. For the first time in so long, I can hear her vividly, without immediately thinking of her death.
Can you name them, Aileana? Here now, repeat after me. Polaris. Gamma Cassiopeia. The Plough
.

I remember her face. How delighted she was when I identified each constellation correctly. I picture the memory so vividly as I close my eyes. How she used to say,
Aye, and this one?
until I finished my recitations perfectly.

A shout echoes in the distance and I start, listening hard. There it is again—not a shout: a cry of pain. Derrick remains fast asleep on my stomach; when the fae sleep, they sleep heavily. Hardly anything wakes them.

I pick up Derrick carefully and set him down closer to the horses, grabbing my coat as I leave to find the source. The field is illuminated only by starlight. The high peaks of the mountains in the distance are dark, clouded, and foreboding. The mist makes it difficult to see much as I make my way through the clearing in the direction of the sound.

I grip the hilt of the blade at my hip. If a faery comes at me quickly through the fog, I need to be ready.

The meadow is silent now, still but for the light breeze on the air. I hear another gasp, this one closer. I clutch the hilt tighter as I cross a stream, careful to keep my footsteps light, quiet. The element of surprise could be what saves my life.

But then I see a figure lying in the grass, the familiar dark hair and gleaming pale skin. I release my weapon and sigh in relief. It's only Aithinne.

Just as I start to relax, I hear her groan as if she were in pain.

“Aithinne?” I step closer, coming to a halt just before I reach her.

“Don't,” she says in a whisper that cuts me deep. “Don't come near me.”

A memory strikes me before I can resist. Aithinne and me on the banks of the Water of Leith, her hands clenched into fists. Her blood dripping rapidly onto the rocks below.
Drip drip drip drip
.

Don't. Don't come near me
.

Another ragged gasp from Aithinne snaps me from my memories. I reach for her. “Aithinne.” I shake her shoulder.

She grabs my wrist and flips me. Suddenly, I'm on my back in the wet grass, the wind knocked out of me, and Aithinne is leaning over me. Her eyes are wide and unfocused.

“
Aithinne
!” I shout her name, but she seizes me by the throat.

Her hand tightens, squeezing hard. My sight is covered in bursts of stars as I struggle to draw in air. Desperately, I use what coordination I have to grasp my
seilgflùr
necklace and press it to the skin of her wrist.

The hiss of her burning flesh lasts only for a moment before Aithinne releases me with a startled yelp. “Falconer?” Her face twists into a grimace. “You smell like
him
.”

I roll in the grass to put some distance between us, pressing my cheek to the cold, wet earth. My vision is still clouded over and it hurts to swallow.

You smell like
him.

I'll never get the scent of Lonnrach off me, his venom out of me. It wasn't enough that he marked me. Now he's in my blood, too. It doesn't matter that I escaped, that I ran. I'm still not free of him.

At my stricken expression, Aithinne reaches for me. “Here, let me—”

“No,” I tell her. My voice comes out in a croak. “No healing.” I couldn't handle it, not the pain. Not right now.

Aithinne pulls back, but I don't miss the hurt that crosses her features. “I'm sorry.” She opens her mouth, and I swear she's going to say something else. Instead, she whispers again, “I'm sorry.”

I draw myself into a sitting position next to her. “Bad dream, I take it?” I say, my voice raspy.

“They're all bad,” she whispers.

We are silent again as I contemplate my thousands of questions. The first few drops of rain splash on my nose and I pull the coat tighter around me. The mist has cleared, making the cold more penetrating. The meadow stretches vast before us, framed by silhouetted mountains on either side. It truly feels as though Aithinne and I are the only two people in the entire world.

“What do you dream about?” I ask softly. She curls her fists and I grasp her hands tightly in mine. “I'm not asking
what happened to you in the mounds,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice calm. “I'm asking you what you dream about.”

She glances at me, the white of her breath visible against the dark night sky. I hope I'm giving her a way to tell me what happened while thinking of it as a dream rather than a memory.

“He kills me,” she whispers. “In my dream. A thousand different ways. More. First just to see if I'll stay dead”—she's tugging at loose threads of her trousers and they begin to fray at her knee—“then to make me scream.” She tugs harder, the fabric splitting. “Then to break me, make me beg—”

Did he do this? Like mine?

Worse. He did worse
.

I press my hand to hers. “It's a dream,” I say. When emotion almost cracks my voice, I swallow. “Only a dream. He's not here.”

I recall the strike of Lonnrach's teeth, the precise amount of pressure it took to get eighty-two perfect impressions into my skin. How he'd bury his fangs a little deeper each time so it was more painful.

After it was over, he'd look over my mark with pride. The more it bled, the wider he smiled.

I shut my eyes. Aithinne and I are quiet for what seems like hours. We both fight against our memories. I put mine away in a little compartment in my heart; I shove it in and lock it up tight. Even so, I can still hear the echoes from deep down.

That's what prisons do to you. That's what it means when someone else carves away a piece of your soul until the shape of him fits inside. You can bury it, but it's always there.
He's
always there.

Aithinne suddenly speaks. “It's a different death every day,” she continues. “Some worse than others, but all of them are agonizing. They—”

Her hand grasps mine so hard that I swear the bones almost break, but I don't cry out. I won't. “You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.” I keep my voice calm, so she never knows how much she's hurting me.

It's not all right. What he did to you is not all right
.

“Then without specifics,” she says numbly, “they all participated, but he did it most.”

I fight against my emotions. I try to control my reaction so she won't see it. But the rage within me rises, heats, and burns through my veins.

She was trapped with almost a thousand enemy fae in those mounds.
A thousand
. I can't help the ache that spreads through my chest, the memories of Lonnrach that rise despite how tightly I locked them away.
He did it most
.

I hate him. I don't think I've ever hated anyone more.

“After,” she continues, “he waits for me to heal. It always heals. Sometimes I wish it didn't.”

It always heals
. Her injuries, her deaths. No wonder she utterly froze on the path in the
Sìth-bhrùth
when I asked her how she bore her memories. I swallow, trying to calm my thoughts.

I've pictured Lonnrach's death a thousand different ways. The last thing I'll say to him. The last thing he'll say. At my cruelest, I'd always hoped he'd beg for death at the end.

“Did they bring you back deliberately?”

“No,” she says. “Only Kadamach and you can kill me.” I glance at her sharply. I'm about to ask her to explain, but she turns to me. “Why didn't you take my offer?”

My offer
.

I can help you forget. What Lonnrach did to you. The place he kept you
.

My murderous thoughts dissolve. Violent Aileana fades to the background again and I can finally think clearly. I remember the
daysweeksmonthsyears
of the mirrored room, how they spanned together until they had no beginning and no end. How Lonnrach became my one constant. How I measured time by when he showed up, and by how long it took me to heal after he left. That despite everything, I became so broken that I asked him to
stay
.

“I never want to forget what he did,” I say. I can't hold back the emotion in my voice. “I'll never let anyone make me that helpless again.”

Aithinne stares at me for the longest time. “I feel the same,” she tells me.

I release my breath and say nothing. I don't tell her how much I'm struggling with my anger over what Lonnrach did to me. I don't tell her that letting go is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, because I've spent hours upon hours envisioning the precise way I'd watch him die.

I want it to be me. It has to be me
.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Lonnrach isn't my kill; he never was. He's Aithinne's.

“We'll make him pay,” I promise her. “I'm going to help you.”

She presses her hand to mine and I understand.
Together
.

W
E TRAVEL
the next day until the sun is low on the horizon. Deeper into the Highlands, the ground is entirely covered in snow. It glitters from a fresh fall, clinging to branches. It crackles under Ossaig's hooves as we pass through the trees. The air is so crisp that it singes my cheeks.