The Vanishing Throne (18 page)

“They can control humans easily. Why should I believe you?”

I'm beginning to understand that whatever he's been through has made it so he doesn't trust anyone. Not even me. “Because I'm a Falconer,” I say simply.

Gavin's expression doesn't waver. “That
baobhan sìth
has got into your head before. Being a Falconer didn't stop her then.”

My lips close and my fingers curl into fists.
Being a Falconer didn't stop her then
.

He's not wrong. It didn't stop Lonnrach, either. Not from getting in my head and stealing my memories as if it weren't difficult at all. Kiaran once told me I hadn't come into my full abilities as a Falconer; even though I could fight the fae and move just as fast, I couldn't see them without
seilgflùr
, and I still struggle to resist their mental influence.

The only difference between me and any other human who returned from the
Sìth-bhrùth
is that my Falconer abilities have given me the power to withstand more physical damage. That meant Lonnrach could torture me longer and his bites would be nearly healed before his next visit.

It always heals. See? It always heals
.

I push down the memories that threaten to rise. “How can I reassure you?”

Gavin calls for Derrick, who flies from his perch in the nearby trees, leaving a trail of gold across the air. “Is the hugging done, because I can't—wuh. Did someone kick a kitten? What happened?”

“I'm taking her to the underneath,” Gavin says tightly. “Go get Daniel.”

“No,” Derrick says sharply, his halo suddenly tinged in red. “I don't believe I will.”

“It needs to be done,” Gavin replies. “You
know
why.”

At that moment, I swear the forest goes silent. The trees are entirely still around us. And even the breeze has paused.

Derrick stares at Gavin for the longest time, as if considering what he'll say. “She's not like the others. She's—”

“A Falconer,” Gavin replies, his gaze rising to meet mine. “I know.”

Oh, for god's sake, enough of this. “
She
is right here,” I snap, “and
she
would like an explanation.”

“It's a test,” Derrick says. He flies over to my shoulder as if in solidarity against Gavin. His wings tap my cheek. “An unpleasant one to prove you're not under
sìthichean
control. You're not doing it.”

Gavin glares at him. “Aileana is still a human. She's been influenced by the fae before, and there are no exceptions.
You're
the one who made that rule. Remember?”

Derrick's wings flick my skin painfully fast. “We're making one
this time
, you—”

“
I'll do it
.” I almost shout the words. Thank goodness, they both immediately cease their bickering. Derrick's wings stop tapping my cheek. “I'll do it,” I say again more calmly. “I have nothing to hide.”

After a moment's silence, Derrick whispers in my ear. “You don't want to do this. You don't have to.”

The way he states it can only mean one thing:
This will hurt
. I shut my eyes briefly before saying, “If this is what it takes to earn his trust again, then I do.”

Derrick sighs. “They won't let me in there with you, but I'll have Daniel come get me when it's over. All right?” He flies off my shoulder and hovers in front of Gavin. “Aileana's test won't be like the others.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her being a Falconer will make it worse. I'm not leaving until you promise me.” Derrick crosses his arms. “Once. No more.”

“Fine,” Gavin says tightly.

Derrick nods. “And I want you to know that I loathe you right now.” He flies off before Gavin says anything. His halo illuminates the entrance of the cavern for only a moment before he disappears into the darkness.

“I take it I'm not going to like this,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “What, exactly, does it entail?”

You went through
daysweeksmonthsyears
with Lonnrach. You can endure this, too
.

Gavin waits until the flutter of Derrick's wings fades before he speaks, his features softening slightly. “One of
them
will need to test your blood.”

I try to control my instinctive response, my urge to back away. My blood. My tainted, faery-venom-filled blood. What if that affects the outcome? A sudden flash of Lonnrach's face crosses my mind. His whispered words, a promise of pain.
I just need to use your blood to see
.

I have to take the risk. If I don't, Lonnrach will find me again. I'm not ready to fight him off, not yet.

As if he senses my thoughts, Gavin says, “If you really are the girl I grew up with, then I'm sorry for this.”

I
'M BLINDFOLDED
with Gavin's kerchief. He quietly leads me through a long hallway, then down so many steps that eventually I lose count. His hold on my hand is gentle and patient. I descend slowly so I don't trip, trying to listen for some indication of where we're going.

The only sound other than our footsteps is the steady patter of dripping water. The temperature grows colder as we go further underground; the musty scent of the rock is overwhelming.

When we reach our destination, Gavin has me sit on one of the damp rocks. “Give me your hands,” he murmurs.

I do as he asks and before I can respond, he clicks heavy shackles over my wrists. A sense of dread fills me. “What are you doing?”

“I told you that you wouldn't like this,” he says. He touches my shoulder; a tender touch, as if he regrets what's about to happen. That's the Gavin I know.

“Wait—”

He walks away, his footsteps disappearing back up the stairs. When no one else comes, my body begins to shake with cold and fear. I can't see anything through the blindfold, and having my hands bound threatens to bring back too many memories.

It's one test. Only one. You can get through it
.

“Gavin?” I call. I wait. Somewhere behind me water drips to the ground with a sharp
thwop
—other than that, I don't hear a damn thing.

It remains quiet for the longest time and I can't take it anymore. I shake my head hard to loosen the blindfold. It inches down my face. I try again, again—throwing back my head—until the blindfold slips to my mouth. Then I use my teeth to tug it the rest of the way and the material slips free.

I'm in a cavern, musty with dirt and humidity. I'm propped against rocks that look like none I've ever seen. A shaft of moonlight shines from an opening at the top, illuminating the sparkling inclusions in the walls. They glisten like stars trapped in clusters, bright and shining. I'm able to lower my palm to my side to feel how smooth it is, like volcanic rock shaped, buffed, and smoothed to perfection.

“I see you've slipped the blindfold,” a voice says.

I look over, straining my eyes to see. I didn't even hear him come in—unless he was there the whole time, watching me. He's standing just beyond the moonlight, where it's too dark to see anything but his outline.

I can just make out his tall form, leaned against the boulders on the far side of the room. After a moment, he steps into the circle of moonlight and I'm able to see his face.

The man has ruggedly handsome features—a nose that's been broken before—and he's even more muscular than Gavin. He's seen battle, that much is obvious. One of his eyes is covered with a patch.

“I take it Gavin won't be returning,” I say.

“Correct. He'll be drinking himself to oblivion, I imagine,” the man says, his eye shrewdly assessing me. “It's a bit of a tradition whenever we have to do this.”

His rolling accent is distinctive; I recognize it from the time I accidentally wandered from my parents' side and into one of the more impoverished areas of Glasgow. Father spent an entire afternoon berating me for that.

His cadence and pronunciation is different from the accent spoken by my affluent peers in Edinburgh and Glasgow. Our speech lessons from childhood were deliberately intended to curtail the Scottish brogue so we sound more like those in English society; it is meant to be a mark of our wealth and status. Unlike mine, each word of his is spoken with a thick burr.

“You must be Daniel,” I say, trying to sound cordial. “Is there a formal name I may call you?”

“Nothing formal,” he says gruffly. “Not here. You're going to want to be able to curse my Christian name.”

I feel a twinge of fear. The shackles are already biting into my skin, dredging up unwanted memories.

I try to calm myself. “If it's all the same to you,” I say, “I'd prefer a surname. If you please.”

Being concerned about etiquette when I'm shackled to a wall in a dark cave might be a bit silly, but at least one thing I can control about this situation is what to call him.

“Mr. Reid, then,” Daniel says with an exaggerated bow. “
My lady
.”

I ignore his sarcasm and lift the thick chain that secures me to the rock. “Is there a reason I'm shackled to this wall like a prisoner?” My voice is steady, calmer than I feel. “I'm here willingly. I won't run.”

Instinctively, I give the shackles a slight tug to see how well attached they are. If I could pull them out just a little—if I had even that small level of control—it might quiet the thoughts. Already my pulse is uneven, panic rising.

“The shackles aren't to keep you here against your will,” Daniel says, a catch in his voice that I don't understand. “They're so you don't hurt yourself.”

I'm about to ask what he means when he whistles once between his teeth, a shrill sound that reverberates through the cave. I go entirely still, holding my breath, waiting, dreading. My pulse is stuttering; heat rises in my cheeks.

Something rustles at the back of the cave. It sounds distinctly like a flutter of wings. A taste settles on my tongue, soft and sweet as honeysuckle. Then a light, even brighter than Derrick, flies to Daniel. It stops to hover in front of him. Those tiny wings on its back snap and flutter as it says
something in its language, its voice as lyrical and flowing as chimes.

The faery's halo is too brilliant to reveal its features, but it's smaller than a pixie, no taller than one of my fingers.
Teine sionnachain
, a will-o'-the-wisp. The wee creature is exactly how Kiaran described them. They're rural dwellers with an inherent dislike for city lights and noise. I've never seen one before. They've always stayed on the outskirts of the city, hidden in trees or caves.

Daniel nods in my direction and addresses the faery. “You know what to do,” he says.

So my companion is a Seer. That explains the missing eye; a faery must have taken it.

Whatever he's told that wisp to do . . . I begin to struggle then, tugging hard at the chains. They groan with my efforts. I pull again, but there's no give in the rock, not even a grinding to indicate I've loosened it.

I can't be at the mercy of any faery, not like this. Not ever again.

“Wait,” I say. I can't form a coherent sentence. I can't
think
. “
Wait
, don't—”

The faery flies to me and I yank at my shackles, straining away from the creature.
Damnation
.

“Be still,” the wisp says in that voice like chimes.

It lands on my thigh, its light fading to reveal a wee humanoid creature with pointed ears and wide black eyes. Its skin is dark and smooth as onyx, glistening with what looks
like flecks of mica. Golden-veined wings like a dragonfly's fan behind its body.

The creature looks harmless. I know better. Even the smallest fae are capable of killing a human or causing plenty of damage.

If you really are the girl I grew up with, then I'm sorry for this
.

The wisp lays its hands on my thigh, and its power flows over me like warm rays of sunshine. “I like this one,
taibhsdear
,” it sings to Daniel, petting my wrist. “She smells like fire. Can I keep her?”

“We have a truce,” Daniel says. “Your kind doesn't get to keep humans.”

The faery pouts. “I could offer you something for this one. A wish,
ma thogras tu
. Whatever you desire.”

“No,” he replies sharply.

The faery lowers its lashes, but not before I see the flash of anger cross its features. It doesn't like being commanded by a human. What kind of place is this, that a faery would do anything for a Seer? That they would have such an agreement?

“Gavin said there were no exceptions to this test. Why?” I say. My voice shakes. I hate that it shakes.

“We made the mistake of indiscriminately allowing human survivors into our last location,” Daniel says, watching the wisp in displeasure as it moves to stroke my arm. “We won't make it again here.”

I start as the wisp turns over my palm and licks my hand, wrist to fingertip. “Tastes like ashes,” it murmurs. “Like burning.”

I freeze. All I can think of is Lonnrach's lips against my skin, his mouth smeared with my blood.
You taste like death
.

I squeeze my eyes shut, only for a moment.
You're not there. You're not there. You're not his
.

“I'm not under control of the
sìthichean
,” I tell him. “I swear I'm not.”

“Gavin said you were in the
Sìth-bhrùth
. Three years, our time.” I'm so unaccustomed to Daniel's rolling accent that it takes me a moment to understand him.