The Vanishing Throne (27 page)

Kiaran doesn't seem fazed. “I don't believe you.”

It's amazing how calm they both are. Before any battle, I feel electric. My heart slams against my chest and I can barely stay still. Energy heats my skin, melting the ice there. It brings me to life. Not like before, not with vengeance or anger or rage, but with purpose. I want Lonnrach's soldiers to see me like
this
, not the girl whose memories he stole. When Lonnrach catches word of who killed them, I want him to know that it was Aithinne and me together. That he never broke us.

My blunderbuss is already in my hand, loaded and ready to go. Its wide spray injures groups of fae more effectively than a sword would in an initial attack. I'll save the blade for closer combat.

Over Aithinne's shoulder, Kiaran catches my eye. I see a mirror of my anticipation there. Aye, he loves this part as much as I do. The calm before a squall.

We wait until the Seers draw closer. The three men stop short, their metal fae horses protesting at their forceful halt. “What do you think you're doing?” Daniel's face is flushed, a bloody gash across his forehead.

My anticipation calms me. This must be the way Kiaran and Aithinne feel: No emotions, just a readiness.

I want this
. It's such a simple thing. There's no room for fear or panic. Only the way the weapon fits in my hand, the way my body lights up at the thought of battle. How different it is from the insatiable hunger to kill.

“We're here to save your arse,” I say. “Get to the city and stay there. We'll hold them off so they can't follow.”

Lorne growls deep in his throat—and it isn't a pleasant sound. “You're barking mad,” he says. He gestures to Aithinne and Kiaran. “These two are immortal; if they want to fight their own, let them. Ladies have no place on the battlefield.”

Aithinne looks amused. “Says the man
running
from the battle. Ye're feart, Seer?”

Lorne looks away. Aye, definitely afraid.

“Lorne's right.” Daniel holds a hand out to me. A truce; he's offering to protect me. “You shouldn't be here. It's not safe.”

To Daniel and Lorne, a human facing an army of faeries—especially a woman—is condemning herself to death. Daniel is trying to save me, the way he did Catherine.

Before I can answer him, Gavin says quietly, “Let her.”

Daniel turns his head in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“She's not what you think she is,” Gavin says. Daniel and Lorne look at him like he's gone positively mad, but Gavin's gaze doesn't waver from mine. “Make sure you come back this time. I doubt I'll be alive in another three years.”

Gavin turns his horse to go, and Daniel and Lorne reluctantly follow. I'm sure they've left people behind before. I had to learn that lesson myself: You can't save everyone.

Kiaran, Aithinne, and I watch the faeries make their way down the snowy hill. When they see us, they let out deafening howls that echo across the field.

A war cry. The same one Lonnrach bellowed when Aithinne and I were in the
Sìth-bhrùth
.

They come for us, stronger, faster than I remember seeing them in the Queen's Park. This is the moment before our two groups meet, a space between heartbeats when we are all still and quiet and ready.

“Dismount,” Aithinne says.

Kiaran slides off his horse and I follow. In a human battle, staying on our horses would give us the advantage of height, but against the fae . . . redcaps would be able to cut through them in seconds. Aithinne's power is thick in my mouth as she sends the horses off. They flee toward the trees in a blur of hooves; I simply blink and they're gone.

“Steady,” she whispers to me this time. “They're going to make a move for you by breaking this section of the crag. When they do, stay still.” She sounds like she knows what she's doing, like she commanded an army once.

“Well. All right.”

Her smile is fierce. “Don't worry; I think I'm going to be great at this.”

“You
think
?”
Oh, god, I'm going to die, aren't I?

I follow her line of sight and watch the fae come for us. They are a blur of ice and wind, horses with
daoine sith
riders, faeries beautiful and deadly and powerful.
Cù sìth
and redcaps at the front—the brawn, as always.

“Remember,” Kiaran says to me, “they're stronger than when they escaped the mounds.”

The redcaps collectively raise their hammers and slam them into the ground. The earth cracks and splits open.

Damn. I try to be still, even as Kiaran and Aithinne roll out of the way. The ground beneath me begins to buckle into the sea.

I don't move. Even as my legs tremble and my stomach drops. Even as the chunk of rock holding me breaks away from the edge of the cliff. Then I'm weightless, plunging toward the violent sea below. I bite back a scream as the redcaps and a dozen other fae dive as one to capture me in the descent.

They're not fast enough. Before I can blink, Aithinne leaps beside me and pulls me painfully against her. We're spinning, twisting in the air within a gust of powerful wind. She's controlling it, preventing our fall with power so strong that I almost heave.

Then we're thrown out of the whirlwind and we hit the ground. My teeth click together and I stop myself from rolling off the newly formed cliff. I look over just in time to see the dozen fae who had leaped after me crash into the rocks below.

I have barely a moment to appreciate Aithinne's brilliance before the other fae are on us, dismounting and running. Kiaran, Aithinne, and I race forward. I'm relaxed, honed, ready for a fight.

I stop just before the fae reach us, aim the blunderbuss at a group of
sìthíchean
, and fire. The weapon slams back into my shoulder. Black powder swirls in the air, the scent noxious enough to burn my nostrils. The blast throws a few fae from their horses, the scrap metal and
seílgflùr
burning into them right through their clothing. Blood blossoms all over their bodies. They don't even scream as they die.

I sense power all around me. God, the taste of
daoine sìth
power is so strong, pricking along my skin, heavy down my throat. A strong mixture of burning iron and snow and salt. I fire the blunderbuss again and hit more of them.

The scrap metal breaks more fae skin and blood splatters across my shirt. I suddenly feel transported back to Edinburgh, when I savored the elation of a kill. The way their powers press against me and flow through veins, calming. Soothing.

Lightning crackles across the sky and storm clouds gather overhead. The air is electric, heavy. The
daoine sìth
are creating this, controlling it. Their power bursts upward and the clouds open, sending down rain and ice. Hail pelts me, sharp enough to slice open my cheek. The sweet tang of blood wets my lips. Lightning bolts flash and hit the ground around us, burning through the snow, again and again.

I try to dodge, but there are too many bolts—just as I recover, another strikes. Another. It feels as though the entire
island shakes and trembles from the force of their combined powers.

“Kam!”

Kiaran slams into me just before another bolt hits. His body rolls on top of mine, and I look over his shoulder to see a crater formed, about ten feet deep. That could have been me.

He whispers a word that makes me smile: “Together.”

I holster the blunderbuss and slide my sword out of its sheath. Kiaran and I fight alongside each other, a waltz of battle that is beautiful and smooth. We are masters. It's just him and me, the way we always are. He cuts through the fae, swift and graceful. When they try to counterattack, he blocks it and sends their power straight back and I move in to finish the job. My blade slashes and cuts and kills.

It's as if we're extensions of each other.

We continue our dance. I grip his hand, and he flings me through a group of fae and I strike. He whirls me, and I slaughter again. His power wraps around me like a warm breeze over autumn wind. He tastes of spring. He tastes of the ocean and something else, wild and desperate.

When the fae try to ambush us—to break us apart—I sheath my blade and hitch the blunderbuss to my shoulder again. I fire off another shot, the spray wide and forceful.

The wind and rain around us worsens into a monstrous storm of pitch-dark clouds. The temperature drops and freezing rain continues to pelt us so hard that the water is in my eyes and numbing my skin. The wind comes in gusts of such power that I'm nearly slammed back by the force of it.

Kiaran counterattacks with his own power, but it's not enough—he can't do that and fight at the same time. When fae rush him, his control over the weather drops. I'm picked up off my feet and flung through the snow toward the edge of the cliff.

Aithinne is by my side immediately, dodging and slicing and cutting. After a moment's recovery, I'm right by her side. For a moment, I feel as though I am back in the Queen's Park the night of the Wild Hunt, a graceful creature, as faelike as I was that night. I dance as if I am in a ballroom, my feet swift in the snow. My sword hand slices and swipes as I dodge.

And I feel it all. The keen sense of their powers within and around me, like smoke in my mouth, like cold air in my lungs. I would have savored it once. I would have basked in the kill, the vengeance.

Now, it's simple necessity. It's Aithinne and me screaming to the world—to Lonnrach—that we're alive. That we can still fight and kill. That we're not shattered. I battle like a declaration:
I'm not running
.

Then I see
her
. The midnight black of her hair, flowing around a face so beautiful that it's scarcely real. Those glittering green eyes meet mine and her lips curl into a smile.

Sorcha
.

Time stops. It is only me and her. I feel her power, thick as blood on my tongue, forcing its way down and down.

She's in my mind, controlling me against my will. She issues a single command:
Stop
. My sword hand pauses midair, and the fae around me—except for Kiaran and Aithinne—halt
too. As if we are all statues, still as stone. The battle has completely stalled in the wake of Sorcha's influence.

She leaves a tantalizing pulse across my temple, as if to say:
I have you
.

I hate her.
I hate her
. I try to push her out, but she's strong, so strong. I'm just like the others, unable to fight against her power no matter how hard I try.

When Kiaran sees her, his hand tightens on his blade. “Sorcha.”

Aithinne stops right beside him, breathing hard. “
You
.” She exhales deeply. “I can't recall if I mentioned it, but every time we meet, I quell an urge to punch you in the face.”

Kiaran casts a look at his sister, as if to say,
Agreed
.

Sorcha just smiles at Aithinne, revealing her sharp teeth. “Believe me, the feeling is mutual. But is that any way to treat someone who's here to help you? Again?” She glances at the other fae. “I only have a few minutes to cloud their memories, so don't waste my time.”

“Oh, this again. It's even less convincing than it was the first time.” Aithinne shakes her head, and finally notices I'm like the others, unable to speak.

She crooks a finger at me and her power is there, intertwining in a warm current that breaks through the icy control of Sorcha's power. Aithinne tastes of smoke, of black powder and blood and flame.

Sorcha resists her, holding on so strongly that I have to bite my tongue so I don't cry out. Aithinne's power wraps tightly around Sorcha's, overwhelming it. Burning through it.

Suddenly, I feel myself released from Sorcha's powers so fast that I nearly pitch forward. I gasp for breath and am finally able to look around. All the other fae are frozen. Their eyes are iced over, gazes fixed and unmoving—like statues in the snow.

Kiaran still has his blade out. I notice how his hand tightens around the hilt. “Why are you
really
here, Sorcha?”

If I hadn't been paying attention, I would have missed the way Sorcha's gaze lingers on him. “What if I told you I was on your side, Kadamach? That I wanted you to defeat my brother?”

“I wouldn't believe a damn word you said.”

Sorcha tuts, but her eyes never leave him. “We were friends once.” She looks at him from under her lashes. “More than that. You trusted me.”

Friends
? They were friends? Even Aithinne makes a gagging sound at that.

Kiaran's face shutters completely, that cold detached gaze dropping into place. “Is that what you thought? Or have you simply forgotten how skilled I am at pretending?”

Lonnrach's words flash in my mind.
He made you think he cared about you. Kadamach doesn't give a damn about anyone
.

Sorcha's lip curls. She attacks with her power and I can taste it—overwhelming, nauseating. Kiaran blocks it with his hand, a thin slash of blood appearing across his palm. In the blink of an eye, it heals over.

“You can't deceive me, Kadamach,” Sorcha says bitterly. “Not while you're bound to me.” Kiaran's jaw tightens, but he
doesn't say anything. “It's because of our bond that I'm warning you. My brother seeks to take the Seelie and Unseelie thrones.”

“
Please
. He doesn't have that kind of power,” Aithinne says. I hear the tightness in her voice, the fear not quite concealed by nonchalance. “And he's not Seelie any more. He has no claim to—”

“When he finds a way to steal the Falconer's power”—she gives me a small, arrogant smile—“he'll be one step of the way there.”