The Vanishing Throne (45 page)

Someone catches me around the waist with a whoop. Aithinne. “You did it!” She looks so proud of me. “You were magnificent.”

I melted the
mortair
, using my powers just like a fae. Not a human.

Human enough
, the Cailleach's voice whispers in my mind as I open my fist and stare at the single metal claw. It has punctured my palm and drawn blood.
Human enough
.

Kiaran shouts my name and I look up just as more
mortair
leap through the top of the structure and land on the other side of the square. And not just
mortair
, but other fae, too.
Redcaps and
cù sìth
and
daoine sìth
, all pushing against Kiaran's power. Oh god, I can't fight that many.

“Time to run,” I tell Aithinne. And I'm on my feet, splashing through the water. “Kiaran, let go!”

A wall of water comes crashing down. We all run, the massive wave pouring through the city at immense speed behind us. Aithinne leads the way through the streets as we try to stay ahead of the current.

Water rushes around our legs, slowing our movements, but we keep going, keep running. I hear the clicking and pounding of mechanical limbs behind me and know the creatures are after us, pursuing through the water.

My clothes stick to my skin, limiting my movements and making running harder. My body is freezing, my limbs cold and tired, but sheer will keeps me going.

Aithinne leads us through a tunnel, down another narrow passage with light at the end. In a single burst of power, she collapses the portion of the cave behind us. The current of water stalls, but it's leaking through the rock; soon it will give way.

Keep running
, I think.
Keep going
.

That's when I see Daniel, Catherine, and Gavin still in the tunnel, Derrick buzzing frantically around them. “They're hurt,” Derrick says, reaching me. “The water came in through the other exit.” I barely have time to take in the gash on Catherine's forehead, the way Gavin's leg is bleeding.

Catherine flounders and Kiaran snatches her up in his arms.

“Through the other passageway!” Daniel shouts.

Behind us, water explodes into the tunnel, bursting the rock dam apart. If we slow even a little, it'll drown us all. We're not going to make it. I think of the light, of the powers unleashed with my first death, and I make a decision.

I stop to confront the wall of water.

“
Kam, don't
!” I hear Kiaran shout behind me.

I glance at him, then at Catherine in his arms. “Save her like you saved me.”

And I turn to face the water, the mechanical creatures running with it, and whisper, “And let me give you more time.”

I unleash my power again. All the light I have inside of me becomes a force that hits the wall of water and the mechanical creatures with such force that I slide backward on my feet. I try to push again, but I don't have the strength this time. Not enough.

Human enough
, I think.
Too human
.

I try to focus on holding back the water and the faeries behind it. I grow lightheaded; the pain of using that much power builds and builds until I cry out. I collapse onto my knees, and the first streams of water break through and rush around me.

I look back to make sure my friends are almost to the end of the tunnel. Almost there. Almost. I only have to hold it a little longer.

The water is rushing around my shield of light, faster and faster. Blackness seeps in at the outer edges of my vision and
is starting to close around me in shadowy tendrils.
Just a little longer
.

Then I sense another presence there. Aithinne. Standing right next to me through it all. She grasps my hand, and through my fading sight, her uncanny eyes meet mine.

“I don't want you to die young,” she whispers. “Will you let me show you?”

I nod, the only movement I can manage.

Her power rushes through me, a torrent that fills me up and makes my veins burn with white-hot fire, like I'm being ripped apart. And all I can hear is the Cailleach's voice in my head, whispering
human enough human enough human enough
.

“You're resisting,” Aithinne says. “Let all your power go.”

I feel my body sway with exhaustion. My human body. My body that was never meant to hold fae power or wield it like this. For a human, my body is strong. For a human, my body is exceptional. But it isn't enough to hold Aithinne's power. It is a shell of mortality. An exhausted thing of skin and bone.

I sway forward. Aithinne's hand tightens around my palm. “Just breathe. Let everything go,” she whispers. “You're doing this. You can finish it.”

And I do. I let the light funnel out of me and I feel like it breaks my bones apart. Like my skin is burning. Like I am detached and without shape or form. The mechanical creatures howl, burn red, and disintegrate to ash.

And the darkness finally closes around me.

I
CATCH THE
scent of a fire, hear the crackle of wood, and feel the heat of the flames. I press my fingers to the ground—the barest of movements that I can make—and realize I'm lying on a thick blanket of wool that is soft against my fingertips.

All I recall is stumbling out of the cave with Aithinne. The others helping us through the forest as my vision spun and spun and spun. I don't remember collapsing once we found somewhere to rest for the night. I don't even remember closing my eyes.

My entire body hurts. My eyes are so tired and heavy that I have difficulty opening them. And when I do, I see trees towering above me. They are snow-tipped, with skeletal branches that creak and groan. Snow falls on my eyelashes, my cheeks, cooling the heat there.

A rustle comes from somewhere close by, but I can't turn my head. Catherine's face is suddenly in my field of vision,
her brow creased with worry. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you'd . . . well. Well, you know.” She glances over her shoulder. “She's awake.”

Suddenly, a giant ball of light comes hurtling at me. And there's Derrick, at my neck, his wee hands pressed to my skin.

He curls there, warm wings against me. “You intend to be a martyr, don't you? That's the only thing that explains you
staying in the cave with the giant wall of water
, you bloody insane human.” He's tangling himself in my hair, wings flicking my ear. “Let me just say: You're lucky you're like a damn cat with nine lives, or you'd be seafood. Welcome back!”

I swallow. My throat is dry, painfully dry. “What happened after we made it out of the cave?” My words come out as a croak, a barely understandable wheeze. “I don't remember much.”

“Not a lot. You destroyed nearly all of the fae in that tunnel, so we escaped through the forest while the others regrouped. You and Aithinne barely made it here and now you both look like hell.” He shrugs.

I manage to turn my head—an excruciating movement—to see Aithinne beside me, still asleep. She's been bundled up even more than I have, her slight form lost in a sea of blankets. Her skin is pallid. Her eyelashes are kissed with snow and her lips are blue.

I don't want you to die young
.

Aithinne has helped me so many times now. She could have let me die, and she'd have all her strength back, all of her powers as the Seelie queen. She'd be that faery at the bonfire,
tall and proud and terrifyingly beautiful, able to silence someone with the flick of her wrist. She could have let that wall of water come at me, stepped back and taken her role as monarch again. But she didn't. She didn't let me die.

Whatever power I lost . . . it made me feel a little more human
.

Ignoring my aching muscles, I reach under the wool to grasp her hand. Even under the warmth of fur, her fingers are icy to the touch, limp in mine. And when I press my skin to hers, I feel her power there as surely as I feel my own. Blood to blood. Like to like. As though we are extensions of each other.

Derrick's wings are flicking painfully hard against my sensitive skin. “I don't understand how they found us with the wards up.”

“Lonnrach would have destroyed the whole island until he found it,” I say. “It was only a matter of time.”

I wonder if the Cailleach helped. I didn't think she'd have the power to extend her influence through the veil again, not if my mother was the last Falconer she helped kill. But maybe she tried one last time.

I look at Catherine. “I'm so sorry. About everything.”

She looks at me sharply. “It's not your fault.”

I almost tell her that Lonnrach only knew the city was on Skye because he pulled it out of my memories. I was naive enough to believe the wards would keep everyone safe. They were never safe, not really. Not while Lonnrach still lives.

Catherine looks at the fire again, her eyes narrowed with anger. “The truth is, they've merely been biding their time until the day they find us and kill us all.”

My eyes grow heavy again, and I close them briefly, then ask, “The others? What about them?”

Catherine shivers and covers herself with her own blanket, wrapping it closely around her. She's wearing her underthings; her ballgown must have been soaked and torn from the run. My own trousers and shirt appear to be dry now; thank goodness for small favors.

“Daniel, Gavin, and . . . and . . . Kiaran”—she says his name as if she's saying it for the first time, as though it's a word that doesn't fit in her mouth—“went to scout the area. To make sure it was safe. The fae spread out not too long ago.”

I remember Lonnrach's words in my mind, the malice of it, the joy.
Found you
. I shake my head. “What about the city? Everyone else?”

“Some took the ship and left with our fae allies. Didn't wait.” She stares off into the distance. “That was always our plan from the very first. If we were ever attacked by the fae again, we'd take the tunnels, board the ship, and get out to sea. Even the fae can't open a portal on open water to attack them.”

Derrick's wings flick against my cheeks. “That's because they don't need to. I just hope your humans don't run into any sea-dwelling
sìthichean
. Private creatures, like pixies. Not a part of the kingdoms. Loathsome things. They smell, have poor manners, and eat people.”

Catherine stares at him blandly. “My, you certainly know how to reassure a lady, don't you?”

“Oh, I know
precisely
how to reassure a lady.”

Catherine narrows her eyes at him, then focuses her attention back to me. “We were the only ones left behind, so I think almost everyone made it out.” Her expression grows distant, sad. “I only saw a few of the older ones. I don't know that they . . .” She swallows hard. I notice then that her eyes are wet. “I suppose we'll just have to find someplace else, won't we?”

She says it so lightly, as if she's trying not to care. But I see the truth she's trying to hide. No home again. We are all orphans, all wanderers. Seeking a home until we're plucked off one by one, or killed together.

We all go quiet. Because, really, what does one say after loss? Catherine has been through this so many times before—finding somewhere, staying there for a short while, only to have it be destroyed. And people die every time.

I reach out to Catherine, a movement that feels like being pricked by thousands upon thousands of tiny needles. My hand lies on the blankets, palm up. An offering. An apology. A request for forgiveness. She slips her hand in mine and squeezes tight. My sister not by blood but by bond. Aren't those the best kind of sisters, anyway?

“I'm sorry, Derrick,” I whisper. “You lost your home, too.”

Derrick curls into the space between my neck and shoulder where the thick wool and the heat of my skin meet. His wings are like silk against me. “Lost it before,” he murmurs, in a voice I can barely hear. “I've lived without it for thousands of years. I'm sure I can trudge on.”

He tries for nonchalance, but I can hear the wistfulness in his voice. All of his things were there. His closet. The tapestries he wove of his victories. His former life now lost to the enemy. “Too many sad memories there, anyway.”

“And happy ones,” I point out, thinking of his tapestries.

“You know perfectly well how tainted those can become,” he says quietly.

There's nothing I can say to that. He's not wrong. “Where are we?” I ask.

“Leitir Fura,” Catherine says. “Or, at least, somewhere near it. Father used to keep a journal of his travels up here, and I often read them. The ashwood didn't use to extend this far before the fae came.”

Before the fae came
. I look at the scars on her wrist, how they snake up her arm in dozens of half-moons and long scratches.
Before
, when Catherine didn't have to do whatever it took to survive.

“We'll have to move again soon,” Derrick says. “I can hide us for now, but if we stay in one place too long they'll find us.”

Catherine nods, her eyes on the fire. “Of course.” I hear the slight catch in her voice. She sounds unsettled, unfocused.

“Catherine?”

She doesn't look at me. “It was silly of me, wasn't it?” Her voice is carefully controlled, but I hear the hurt beneath it. The longing. The sadness. “To hope that we'd finally—” She blinks and looks down at our clasped hands clasped. “They destroy everything, don't they?”

Her eyes meet mine, and I see the fire there. I recognize it as surely as if I were looking into a mirror.