The Vanishing Throne (30 page)

“Just what, exactly, do you intend to do that you don't want Catherine to hear?” I ask him.

Daniel's expression hardens, as if he's offended by the question. “Just talk.”

“About what?”

“You'll see.” He motions me to go inside.

Steeling myself, I cross the threshold. The moment I'm inside, it changes. A blacksmith's workshop? Aye, it is. The
kiln that heats metal is in one corner. All over the wooden tables and the floor are pieces of metal, wee pinions and spindles, and some larger, half-put-together mechanisms.

An anvil lies in the corner, a hammer and chisel beside it. It smells like coal fire in here, like the small garden cottage I used for my own metalwork back at Father's estate. When we were in the city, I had to pay someone else to do the work for me.

Just looking at these things makes me want to build again, to take mechanisms apart and put them back together to make something new. I miss the feel of oil on my fingertips and working with metal on sleepless nights. I miss the sense of pride that comes with completing something and discovering it works precisely as I intended it to.

I tentatively touch the anvil, feeling the marks in the metal where the hammer has hit. I look up at Daniel. “Is this yours? This place?”

“Aye.” Daniel sits in the work chair, crossing his long legs at his ankles. “Made to look like my father's.”

So he's the son of a blacksmith. Before the Wild Hunt, Catherine would never have been able to marry a man of his station. Marriage wasn't for love, but for property. It was something a lady
settled into
, something we simply accepted.

“It must be comforting for you,” I say, trying to be polite, “to have something that reminds you of him.”

I'm not certain what place I'd create that would give me fond memories of my father. Aye, his death still aches when I think about it; I'm still guilt-ridden over what
should
have
been between us. Not even when I was a child did Father embrace me or offer me kind words. His words were always clipped, abrasive, spoken simply to get me to leave. Even into adulthood I still possessed the childish hope that he would come to love me. He never did. That's something I'll always carry with me.

Daniel laughs bitterly. “That's not it at all. My father was a mean son of a bitch.” He opens his collar to tap the scar below his collarbone, a star-shaped mark from a bullet. “I remember
him
here. That's how I died and came back with the Sight.”

Christ, what can I even say to that? I almost tell him I'm sorry. Somehow, it doesn't seem good enough. “Why do you create this place, then?” I ask him.

“It reminds me of what I had to do after I came back from the other side so my father wouldn't kill my mother, too.” His one eye settles hard on me. “What I'm still willing to do to keep the people I love safe.”

“I take it you're referring to me?” I say lightly.

“You're not human,” Daniel says suddenly. Not an accusation, but a statement of fact. “And don't pretend you don't know what I mean. Tavish watched the battle, and I know what I saw from the hills.”

You're not human
. Not quite human, not quite fae. I don't fit into either world, not in Catherine's or even Kiaran's. At least before all this, I had the comfort of falsity around me. I could
pretend
I was normal, just another debutante. I could wrap myself in lies and no one knew I was living a falsehood.
I don't have that cocoon of dishonesty to protect my secret anymore.

“Mr. Reid—”

Daniel puts his hand up to stop me. “No. I don't need an explanation. Just answer one question: Are they looking for you?”

I raise my chin and meet his gaze directly. “They are.”

Daniel swears softly. “I was afraid of that.” He closes his eye. I'm surprised when he doesn't immediately open it. Instead he taps his fingers against the table. Not a thinking rhythm, but a deliberate
one two one two
rap.

“I've been waiting for more than three years,” he murmurs.

“For what?”
What's he doing
?

“For the girl whose gift is chaos.”
Tap tap. Tap tap
. “Death is her burden. Wherever she goes, it follows. They say she can either save the world or end it.”

My chest tightens. Each word he says is like a blow, each one more painful than the last.

They say she can either save the world or end it
.

Me
. He's talking about me. “
They
?” I finally manage a word, spoken in a strangled breath.

Daniel eases his eye open. It looks glassy, unfocused. “I don't know where the voices come from, and I don't particularly give a damn. That's just what they say.”

“Do you see the future? Like Gavin?”

“No,” Daniel says. “I don't have visions. I just hear whispers—about
you
. First more than three years ago, and
then in the cave they started up again.” He studies me closely. “Whenever I look at you, they don't stop. They just grow louder.”

Death is her burden. Wherever she goes, it follows
.

I'm the girl whose gift is chaos.

“When exactly did they start?” I ask him, though I already know.

“Before the fae destroyed everything.” He hesitates before asking, “I take it you were there that first night.”

I understand what he's really saying.
You were supposed to prevent it
.

No wonder Daniel didn't want me in his city, why he's spoken to me with hostility ever since my arrival. He knew exactly who I was. I'm the girl who let the cities fall. I'm the girl who ended the world.

I'm the girl who will bring death and destruction with me. Always.
Always
.

“I was,” I say. My breath shakes as I exhale. “So you want me to leave.”

Daniel is quiet, as if he's considering his next words carefully. “I've treated you unfairly. You didn't have to save my life, and I won't forget what you did for me. I'm in your debt. But I can't put the people I love in danger by letting you stay.”

I don't want to do that, either. The people he loves are the same ones I love. I've already done enough damage to their lives. Lonnrach is looking for me, and he won't stop until he finds me, takes my powers, and kills me.

“That's why you didn't want Catherine listening?”

“No. I didn't want her to hear my premonition about you. She'd tell me it doesn't matter.” He pushes his dark hair back in frustration. “I had to convince
you
that it does, because you can get her to see reason.”

I think I see where this is going. “Don't tell me you want me to lie to Catherine.”

“That's not what I'm asking,” he says. “I'd never lie to her. But she would handle it better if you told her why you have to leave.” Daniel smiles. “She's stubborn where you're concerned, in case you hadn't noticed.”

I nod, trying to consider what I'll say to her. I already sent her away once because I feared for her life. I'm responsible for Catherine being on that road when the fae attacked, and Daniel was there to save her, not me.

Death is her burden. Wherever she goes it follows
.

It'll follow me here. Lonnrach will find me and kill them all. And I may not have the power I need to protect her—

Kiaran's words flash in my mind.
They say a crystal from the palace is still here, hidden somewhere. Full of old magic
.

“You should know,” I say quickly, before I stop myself. I decide to trust him, to risk the little I know. After all, he saved Catherine's life. I'm still grateful for that. “They're not just looking for me. The fae want something else, too.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“A crystal that's hidden somewhere on the island. Have you heard anything about it?” He shakes his head and I say, “I have to find it before the fae do, but Derrick will insist on
coming with me. He won't be here to hold the wards if they attack.”

“What are you proposing?” he asks.

“Give Derrick time to strengthen them before we go.” He hesitates and I add, “A few days. That's all I'm asking.”

“Fine.” He sounds reluctant. “A few days. And then—”

“And then I'll leave.”

T
HE NEXT day, I stand at my window watching the snow fall outside in the fake Edinburgh again. Only a few days. I'm not certain where I'll go or find shelter. The pixie city hasn't been much of a home at all, but the illusion of my old bedroom—my old house—makes me regret leaving.

Just for a few hours, I'm tempted to pretend it's real, that I'm back
there
again. That I'm in my old life before the battle, when everything seemed so much simpler.

Derrick flies to my shoulder, startling me with his sudden presence. “Listen to me,” he says sternly. “This is
my
home. You're not leaving. Say the word and I'll toss the Cyclops out on his arse.”

I've been waiting for more than three years
.

For what?

For the girl whose gift is chaos
.

Death follows me; it has followed me since my mother's death. I am a conductor trying to avoid a bolt of lightning in a thunderstorm.

“You won't,” I say softly. “His premonition wasn't wrong, Derrick. And I still have to find the crystal from the old kingdom. You know I do.”

“That could take
ages
,” he whines. “My ancestors buried everything. Hell, they buried the trophies of their victims. There are a million skeletons on this island. Lonnrach will have to dig those all up first.”

“And what if Daniel is hearing the whispers again for a reason?”

“
I don't care
,” he snaps. His halo is burning bright red, flickering like flames. “I finally have my closet back. I have you back. He's ruining
everything
.” A pause. Then: “Do you think Catherine would be offended if I lopped off one of his ears?”

I transfer him to the palm of my hand, holding him up so I can meet his eyes. “Is that what this is really about? Losing your closet?”

“Of course.” He blinks up at me, wide-eyed and innocent. He's anything but innocent. “What else would it be?”

“Kiaran told me, you know. About your family and your home.”

Derrick's glow immediately dims to nothing, and his wings tuck in. I hear the wee hitch of his breath and he looks away. “Did he.”

Derrick lost his kingdom and everyone he loved, and when I leave he'll be forced to choose between me and the home he just got back. I don't blame him for clinging to the things that have become familiar. Such simple things. His closet, the mountain of dresses. Me. This room.
I've been sleeping
in my own version of your closet for the last three years and it never smelled the same
. Even though this room is fake, I had to be here to make it real for him. That's what family does: They bring home with them. Derrick and I have become family.

I stroke my fingers down one wing, then the other. “I wish I could hate Kiaran for you,” I tell him. “As much as you hate the
baobhan sìth
for taking my mother from me.”

“I don't want you to,” he says. And there's such hurt there. No matter how long ago he lost his family, that pain still burns inside him. “I've had thousands of years to mourn my family. But know this: there's not a day that passes when I don't believe Kiaran is so far beneath you that he should crawl over glass at your feet and be thankful that someone decided he was worthy of kindness.”

“Then what changed your mind?” I ask him seriously. “About wanting me to kill him.”

Derrick is quiet for the longest time, wings fanning softly. His golden glow is slowly returning. “I see the way he looks at you.”

I swallow, afraid of his answer. “And how is that?”

“Like he wishes he was mortal.”

He flaps his wings to glide above my palm. “Back to sewing, then. Calms the nerves. I'll weave another spell around the wards tonight, but tell that one-eyed fool that when I leave, good luck finding another
sìthiche
to do the sewing.” With a huff, he barrels into his closet and shuts the door behind him with a loud thump.

Like he wishes he was mortal
.

No, I can't focus on that now. I look out at the snow again, and this time, I've decided. I'm going out there to see the city as I imagine it before I'm exiled to an uncertain future of being hunted by the fae.

I square my shoulders and pull aside the panel next to the window. The button that detaches this part of the wall is there against the wooden paneling. Right where I installed it in my real room—a hidden escape so I could sneak out of the house at night to hunt.

Holding my breath, I press it. A portion of the wall lowers like a drawbridge to the garden, its metal gears clicking as it descends. I shiver at the frigid blast of cold air and the snowflakes and wait as the teak panels along the detached wall flip up into steps.

As I descend into the garden, I close my eyes and imagine the weather slightly warmer, the rain and wind softer. The weather turns precisely as I had envisioned, just chilly enough for me to keep my coat on.

Rain patters against the leafless branches of the trees as I cross the grass to the back gate. It opens and closes with a creak of the hinges, just as it always did. My fingers linger on the metal as I step out into the street. The street lamps along the lonely road are all lit, the wet cobblestones glistening in the light of dusk.