The Falconer (Elizabeth May) (33 page)

Chapter 34

W
hen faced with the probability of death, hours speed by like minutes.

I’ve spent the night and morning building and bolting metal until my eyes hurt. My weapons are loaded, in perfect working condition, laid out in my dressing room. My arsenal is diverse, every weapon lethal to the fae, but it still isn’t enough.

There’s one more person I have to see before everything begins. My father sits at his desk, writing. It’s such a familiar image, how I’ve always come to picture him. I take a moment to memorise his features. The dark hair that spills onto his forehead, his brow always creased into a frown of concentration. Those green eyes of his – the only thing we have in common – are narrowed as he composes his letter.

I wonder what he and I would be like now if he had ever shown me any affection, if he had let himself love me just a little. How different would we have become?

‘Father,’ I say.

He glances up without a hint of a smile. He looks surprised to find me there. ‘Aileana. Come in.’

I sit in the leather chair across from him. ‘What are you working on?’

‘My accounts,’ he says, putting the paper on top of a neat pile on the desk. ‘I believe the earl will be quite pleased with your dowry.’

It takes me a moment to realise he’s talking about Gavin and I almost wince. ‘I’m glad.’ The lie comes out easily. It has to. This is our goodbye and I want to do this right.

‘I’ve sent word to have the country estate prepared for you and your husband after the wedding,’ he says.

Your husband
. I clasp my hands together so hard they ache. ‘Splendid.’

‘I appreciate you being reasonable about this.’ He starts to write on another paper. ‘Especially after our conversation the other day.’

What you want isn’t important.

‘Reasonable,’ I say. ‘Of course.’

Of course I’ll be reasonable about spending the rest of my life with a man I don’t love. He’s the only possible choice that won’t destroy my life and make me absolutely miserable. But what I want doesn’t matter, does it, Father? Placate me with a country retreat, but we both know it doesn’t mean a thing.

‘I do want to apologise for my absence this week. I’ve been settling matters for Galloway.’

He makes it sound as though he’s only been absent recently. The truth is, he’s never been there for me. Not for my entire life. I certainly don’t expect that to change.

‘Since you are here,’ he continues, ‘I should tell you that I’ll be leaving town today, so I won’t be able to attend the ball announcing your engagement. I have some business to conduct in the country. I’m sure you understand.’

I clench my hand in a fist. He keeps speaking as if my opinions don’t matter. As if
I
don’t matter. God, doesn’t he care about me, even a bit?

No. He’s leaving, just like he always does. He probably sought out the first opportunity he could to get away from me again. I should be glad he’s going. One less person I have to worry about if everything goes wrong. But I can’t forgive him for never being there when I needed a father most.

‘Oh, I understand.’ I can’t control the bitterness that creeps into my voice.

He doesn’t even hear it. ‘I shall return for your wedding, of course.’

‘That would be
lovely
,’ I say. This time, the acerbity of my comment is all too clear.

Father frowns and sits back in his chair. The leather squeaks under his weight. ‘Are you well?’

No, I’m not. I’m close to breaking and screaming. I wish I could tell him that I don’t give a damn about the wedding, and that I want him to look me in the eye just once because it might be the last chance he’ll have.

‘Do you ever think about Mother?’ I ask, before I can stop myself.

Father inhales sharply and looks away. ‘Not now, Aileana.’

‘Why not?’

He shoves another piece of paper in front of him and scrawls violently. ‘It’s not an appropriate topic of conversation.’

My fingers clench harder. They’re so red now. ‘Why not?’ I repeat.

‘You may go.’ Father never looks up. His pen scratches the paper so hard it’s almost carving into the wood beneath. ‘I don’t care to discuss this with you.’

I stand and grip the chair’s arm. ‘But I do. Look at me.’ When he doesn’t, something breaks inside me. Desperation and hurt and an entire lifetime of being ignored by my absent father. ‘Damnation, Father,
look at me
.’

For the first time in a year, Father raises his eyes to meet mine. They are cold and guilty and . . . sad.

Just as quickly, he averts his gaze. ‘You look so much like her.’

His voice almost cracks and I stare at him in shock. I’ve never thought about my resemblance to Mother. I’m a tall, awkward creature with a mop of copper curls that never stay put. My mother was beautiful. When she moved or walked, she glided, feather-light. Her hair was always neatly styled and her skin was perfect alabaster. She never had any freckles, unlike me. She called mine angel kisses.

He lost her and now he’s left with a daughter who will never, ever be her. I’m a pale echo of the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world. I’ll always remind him of what he lost. What we
both
lost.

I say the only thing I can. ‘I miss her, too.’

‘I know,’ he whispers.

Our grief destroyed and recreated us. We should have grown closer after my mother died. Her death made me realise just how swiftly we can lose the ones we love, gone for ever in an instant.

I turn to leave, because if I don’t, I’ll try once more to run into his arms and grip him tight, the way I used to when I was a child. He’d always push me away. Always. ‘Goodbye, Father,’ I say instead, turning to leave. ‘Enjoy your trip.’

Later that night, I sit with Kiaran beside the fire in my bedroom, he in the leather chair, me on the settee. I’m exhausted after hours spent trying to figure out the key to the seal as we worked on our weapons.

‘Is this our goodbye?’ I ask.

I’ve said too many goodbyes today. Earlier, I watched Father get into his carriage and leave, just as he said he would. I’ve never felt more alone.

‘I don’t say goodbyes,’ Kiaran says, staring into the fire.

‘Too difficult?’

His mouth quirks up. ‘Only the ones worth saying.’

‘What will they do to you?’ I ask. ‘If you’re trapped in the mound with them, will they—’

‘Kam,’ he interrupts. ‘Don’t ruin this.’

I stare at him, watching a strand of hair slide onto his forehead. He reaches up to push it back with his long, graceful fingers.

Stay with me
, I almost say. I don’t know why the thought of losing him fills me with grief, but it does, and it won’t abate. I’ve lost too much already. ‘Leave the battle before I activate the device,’ I say. ‘Like you did before. I’ll trap them, and we can hunt the others together – the same as we always have.’

‘This is the downside of immortality, Kam.’ He looks at me then, studies my face. ‘Nothing stays the same. Everything changes. Except me.’

‘There must be more than a few people who wish for that.’

‘Because they don’t understand what it truly means.’ He stands and rests his hands against the chimneypiece. Firelight outlines his body, swathing him in golden light. ‘Do you know why the
sìthichean
crave human energy above all else?’

No.’

‘Because it burns so brightly. Humans pulse with vitality and an unending, compulsive need to cling to life. One taste lets us bask in mortality we have no other way of experiencing.’

‘Have you ever wished you were human?’

He glances at me. ‘Now
that
,’ he says, ‘is something I’ve never been asked before.’ I wait for him to continue, but he straightens and says, ‘I have something for you.’

‘An answer to my question?’

He smiles. ‘A gift.’

‘A gift?’ Kiaran doesn’t give me gifts. I’m immediately suspicious. ‘What is it?’

‘Flowers.’

I blink. ‘Really?’

‘No. Shall I go and get it, or would you prefer to ask more questions instead?’

Two minutes later, he returns with a small trunk tucked under one arm and something shining in his fist.

He tosses the gleaming object to me. It’s a lightweight gold disc in the shape of a star, only slightly bigger than my palm. Beautifully crafted, smooth metal with delicate etchings similar to the ones on the seal. My word, it’s magnificent.

‘Those symbols mean it’s charged with my power,’ Kiaran says. ‘As long as I’m alive, you’ll have my abilities at your disposal.’

I look up at him, surprised. He’s giving me his power? ‘Won’t that weaken you? Why would you do this?’

‘If circumstances had been different, you would have been properly trained to use your own innate abilities,’ he says. ‘As it is, we’ve run out of time. Don’t worry about me.’

Kiaran holds out a hand and the disc rises from my palm and floats to him. With a wave of his fingers, power flares and the star transforms into two matching weapons, knives with long, narrow blades that look a lot like the ones Kiaran carries on our hunts.

I grip the knives, testing their weight and finding them surprisingly light. The blades are silver, thin and slightly transparent. The gold hilts are decorated with symbols that wrap around them in a vine-like pattern. I run my thumb carefully along a blade. Perfectly honed. They are the most exquisite weapons I’ve ever held.

He takes one from me and tosses it high into the air before catching it by the hilt. ‘See how easily it can be thrown? It also blocks
sìthichean
power.’ He throws it again, only this time it hovers in the air above his hand and compresses itself back into a star-shaped disc, identical to the original, but smaller. He passes it to me. ‘Here – touch the other blade to it.’

I connect the star and the remaining knife. Power flows from the objects as they melt together to form the larger star. The metal is smooth in my palm again.

It’s so astonishing that I almost forget myself for a moment. ‘Thank yo—’

‘Don’t say it!’ he tells me.

I let out a frustrated breath. ‘I’ll never understand why none of you likes to be thanked.’

Kiaran gestures to the star-shaped disc. ‘That fits into your next gift.’

He opens the trunk and lifts out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Carefully, he peels the white fabric away to reveal magnificent gold-plated armour. There is a breastplate, a backplate, and two metallic vambraces decorated with what look like shining silver veins.

On the breastplate, over the spot which will protect my heart, is a star-shaped outline. Kiaran takes the disc from me and presses it into place. It clicks softly as it settles there.

The breastplate gleams in the firelight, and those silver veins shimmer. And humming through them, especially when I reach down to trace my fingers over the symbols on the star, is the unmistakable sensation of Kiaran’s power. It tastes of the same sweetness and natural things and every element combined. Pure, beautiful wildness. And it’s mine. Kiaran has given this to me.

‘This won’t protect your mind from
sìthichean
influence, so Sorcha can still use your memories against you. But the armour will amplify the connection to my power – you’ll be as strong as me.’

‘MacKay,’ I say softly. But I can’t continue. I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t know what to say.

His eyes meet mine. ‘Shall we practise using them?’

I nod. I know this will be his last lesson.

Chapter 35

T
he following afternoon, I stand in front of the oval mirror in my bedchamber and try to focus on donning my armour. My hands shake when I reach into the trunk.

I position the gold plates against my arm and buckle the leather straps underneath that run from my wrist up to my shoulder. The fae metal is warm through my long sleeves and so light and flexible that it’s hardly noticeable when I move. When I strap on the other vambrace, Kiaran’s power rushes under my skin, a gentle current at first, soon pulsing and strengthening inside me.

The breastplate fits smoothly over my chest, small enough to fit my shape. I slide leather straps through buckles at my sides – connecting the breastplate to the backplate – and the power intensifies again. My senses become so acute that I am aware of every muscle, vein, organ and bone – every part of me and all my new abilities. This is what it must be like to be fae – to have so much power at my disposal that a single flick of my wrist can cause a storm.

But I’m not one of them. I bend to retrieve my lightning pistol, snug in its leather holster, which I secure around my hips. The miniature explosives are next. Each little timepiece is fastened to a strap that runs across my breastplate. I grab my crossbow and sling the band across my shoulder.

A whistle comes from behind me. I turn to see Derrick hovering in the dressing room doorway, wings fanning softly. ‘You look . . .’

‘Ridiculous?’ I guess.

‘No.’ He sighs. ‘I had myself a wee lady of my own once, with armour like that. She was exquisite.’

‘What happened to her?’

Derrick shifts uncomfortably. ‘She left for Cornwall. With the other pixies.’ He flutters upwards. ‘Your
sìthiche
is waiting outside. Got all grumbly and told me not to go back out without you.’

I start for the door. As I pass the dressing room, a flash of colour makes me pause. ‘Tell Kiaran I’ll only be a moment.’

Derrick grins. ‘I hope he’s annoyed. I love it when he gets annoyed. But don’t be long – the moon is getting redder.’ He leaves in a flutter of wings and light.

In the dressing room, peeking from underneath a pile of soft, pastel silk dresses, is my mother’s tartan. Derrick must have removed it from the trunk last night.

My eyes prick with tears as I bend to pick it up. I admire the plain fabric, the simple design of light and dark wool, as I draw it to my face and inhale its scent. I swear I catch the faint sweetness of my mother’s perfume. Lavender with a hint of rose. I hug the tartan hard and shut my eyes. I drag in another breath, but the scent is gone. Maybe I imagined it.