The Vanishing Throne (42 page)

“Very well.” I wave him away from the coat and pick it up to drape the fabric over my shoulders for a moment. I try not to cringe at how it smells. What on earth did I rub up against on that beach? “There. Now I stink of sea creatures. Happy?”

Derrick flies up and sniffs me. He still doesn't look terribly pleased even as he settles beneath my hair. “It'll do. I suppose.”

I sigh. “Are you going to weave more power around the wards? We probably ought to leave tomorrow.”

“Aye. I might have to do it a few more times before then to make sure it'll hold.” He flutters toward the door, then pauses with a grin. “Want to come with me?” At my expression, he says, “You died, you were brought back, and you aren't the least bit curious to see what other gifts came with the Sight?”

“Of course I am.”

After that metal flower I created, I want to test the limits of my power. I want to see what I can do to Lonnrach when I see him again.

I peer at myself in the mirror, expecting to look just a wee bit different. Perhaps more faelike. I do, after all, have the blood of the Seelie queen in me. Alas, I'm the same freckled ginger I was yesterday and not even a hint more shiny.

“I don't feel any different,” I say.

“Of course not,” Derrick says. “You were already born with power, you silly human. It just needed to be woken up.” He flies to the door. “Well?”

“I promised Gavin I'd be down a half hour ago.” I lean toward him and whisper. “Come get me in fifteen minutes just in case I need to be saved.”

“From whom?” Derrick flicks his wings. “Don't tell me you're already fighting with Kiaran after you and he had—”

“For god's sake.” I glare at him. “Not
Kiaran
. Daniel. Or possibly Catherine. I still haven't told her we're leaving yet.”

Derrick sputters a laugh. “You haven't . . . ? Oh, I can't
wait
to see that.”

I glare at him. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Thirty. I plan to eat everything on the food tables.”

“You can eat them in ten. I'll give you twenty-five, just in case you need to go outside and vomit it all up.”

He looks satisfied with that. “Deal.”

I nod once and step out of my room. I'm immediately engulfed in the aroma of pine and mince pies and fire and the spices from mulled wine. I'm struck by memories of home, celebrations in the Assembly Rooms, the ballrooms illuminated by firelight. At the time, I thought them so mundane, so dull and exhausting. I never stopped to enjoy the scent, the heat of the flames, the glittering ballroom.

Lanterns float around the buildings, illuminating some of the darkest wynds between the tall tenements. And whatever shadowed closes the lanterns miss, lights strung from window to window more than make up for it. The city is a glowing place, vibrant and beautiful and bright.

An orchestra performs in the center square, fiddlers playing a tune I remember from my stays in the country. People are dancing around the bonfire in the middle, a happy jig with clapping and laughter and skirts swishing. They all look so happy, so joyful, as if nothing terrible happened beyond these walls or in their pasts. I admire them for it.

Derrick flies past me with a shout of glee. “If you'll excuse me, I believe I see some mince pies that need to be in my mouth posthaste.” With a wink, he swoops down and attacks the pie table with vigor.

I shake my head with a smile and lean against the railing. I hum the tune played for the reel below, swaying with the music. If I close my eyes, I can pretend I'm at the Assembly Rooms back in Edinburgh, listening to the dancers clap and laugh and chatter. The fiddles play on, the music jaunty.

It makes me wish I didn't have to leave. My time here may not have been ideal, but listening to this—hearing people laugh and dance and play instruments—I missed this. When I was imprisoned, I thought I would never see another human again. I didn't hear music. There was no joy or voices, except those in my memories.

If I leave tomorrow, I don't know when I'll have this again.

“Do you intend to go down or just watch?” a voice says.

I whirl to find Gavin behind me on the balcony, holding two steaming mugs. He's dressed just as I remember him—the perfect gentleman. Black trousers and a silk waistcoat, his dark blue cravat perfectly knotted, his overcoat immaculately pressed. I recognize those clothes. He wore them the night of the battle, when he was supposed to escort me to the Assembly Rooms to announce our engagement. Even his hair has been tamed, pressed down formally. All in contrast to his scars, imperfections on an otherwise immaculate, gentlemanly appearance.

It's Gavin's scars that serve as my reminder that he's not the man he once was. Neither of us are the same.

“Would I be welcome if I did?”

Gavin hands me one of the mugs. The scent of mulled wine fills my senses, the heady spices of it, the sweetness. God, I love that scent. Mother used to call for mulled wine in the library during winter. We would drink it next to the fire and play chess or solve puzzles as it rained outside. Those were comfortable days, safe days. My mother used to sip her wine and declare it
perfect
every time.

“Of course you are,” Gavin says, his voice interrupting my memory. “Just because you're leaving doesn't mean you're unwanted.”

“Daniel's premonition scared him,” I say. “I don't blame him for not wanting me here.”

“Aye,” he says softly. “But that doesn't mean I don't wish you would stay.”

“Maybe after I kill Lonnrach. But before that . . . I wouldn't risk it.” I rest my arms on the balcony, looking down at where Catherine dances with her husband. “I still don't know how I'm going to tell Catherine.”

“It's easy. You just say the words.”

Daniel vacates his spot in the quadrille to twirl Catherine in a move that is completely out of step. She laughs.

“Easy?” I laugh bitterly. “What about when she learns I have fae blood in me?”

“Aithinne told me everything while Derrick stitched her up. About the kingdoms. About you. Do you know my first thought?”

“What?” I'm afraid of what he'll say.

Gavin shrugs, a quick smile passing across his face. “That it made a hell of a lot of sense.”

I smack him on the arm. “You cad. You scared me on purpose.”

His smile vanishes. “Aileana. It's just another thing that makes you who you are. Like your eye color or hair color or the freckles on your nose.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you think it somehow makes you less of her friend? Less worthy?” His voice drops lower. “Less human?”

I look away. I can't help but think of Kiaran's words last night.
Every day I wonder when your human life will end and it scares the hell out of me
. I may have faery blood in my veins, but one day he'll lose me.

“No,” I whisper. “I've never felt more human.” Because
Falconers always die young. Always
. And I've already cheated death once. So has Gavin. “You never told me what you saw through the veil.”

Gavin stiffens. I see the reflections of the floating lanterns in his eyes, so bright and beautiful. The fiddle music below slows to a waltz, a song that makes my heart ache.
Cuachag nan Craobh
. “The Cuckoo in the Grove.” I haven't heard it in years, not since I was a child.

“No,” he says softly. “I didn't.”

“It's all right.” I watch the people below, how they spin and spin and spin in the waltz. Their laugher doesn't fit my sudden somber mood. “You don't have to.”

I wonder if, given the choice, I'd keep what the Cailleach showed me a secret. Maybe I'd keep all those memories about
Kiaran buried deep in the cavernous part of my heart, where my grief is stored. I wouldn't have to remember his murders, his
gifts
.

I could kiss Kiaran and he could touch me and whisper words to me and I could pretend that Kadamach was a separate person altogether; a doppelganger, a devil. I wouldn't have to acknowledge that part of him is still there, and the only difference is that Kiaran lost his powers, chose a human name, and had thousands of years to bear the mark of each life he took.

Gavin and I are both quiet now. He watches the dancing below and sips his mulled wine. The tension in his body is clear in how tightly he grips the handle of the mug.

“Did you ever hear the story of Thomas the Rhymer?” he asks suddenly.

I shake my head. I remember the name, but I never read the story. I stopped reading the human faery stories after my mother died. They were the stories that taught me that iron would protect me. That all I had to do was cross running water and I'd be safe. That if I stuck to the city, the faeries would never find me. There is truth, and there are the lies humans tell themselves to feel safe from the fae. And those lies nearly killed me.

“Sir Thomas claimed the queen of the fae took him into the
Sìth-bhrùth
for a time. When he returned, he had the gift of prophecy.” Gavin sounds bitter, as if he's memorized the story and hated it more each time he read it. “He foretold of
war and death in poetry.” He looks at me then, his eyes haunted. “I read it when I came back with the Sight. I wondered whether Thomas got the whole thing wrong. If he thought he'd gone to the fae realm, but he'd actually died instead.”

Gavin stops, and when it doesn't seem like he'll continue, I lean forward. “What?”

I wish I could take that memory from him. I wish I could take all the bad ones and lock them away in the same place I keep mine.

He gulps his wine. “True Thomas was a lying bastard. If he saw a fraction of the things I saw through the veil, he wouldn't have written poems. He would have wished he'd stayed dead.”

Do you wish you had stayed dead, too?
I almost ask him the question, but then think better of it.

Gavin stares down at the dancers. “I saw them, you know,” he continues raggedly. “All the people I never saved from the fae. I watched them die, their corpses weighing me down until I couldn't breathe. I had to dig my way out of them.”

I hesitate, then take his hand. It's an utterly familiar gesture, one I'm not certain I should make. Then his fingers tighten around mine, and I feel calluses that weren't there before my time in the
Sìth-bhrùth
. His smooth gentleman's hands have become rough, hardworking survivor's hands.

“I didn't tell Aithinne everything,” I say. “I left out the way they all screamed for me. Everyone in Edinburgh who died.” I touch Gavin's face then, his scars. “You are far braver than I. You saw it happen. I wish I could have spared you that.”

It's as if Gavin doesn't hear my words. That haunted look never leaves his face. “You speak of bravery,” he says. “I've never felt brave.”

I smile. “You don't need to feel it for it to be true.”

I finish off my mulled wine. The drink flushes my cheeks, reminding me of the days when I didn't fight faeries and was just a girl in white dresses.

I could be that girl again, just for a few hours. Just for tonight. “So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “I've quite forgotten my manners, haven't I?” He puts out his hand, palm up. “May I have the pleasure?”

“Always,” I tell him.

The balcony lowers us to the city below, and Gavin escorts me to the center square. No one stops to look at me and stare. No one makes me feel unwanted or uncomfortable. There is no tension among the dancers, no craned necks or whispered words about my mother's death. I have no past here, no reputation to uphold. No title to honor.

Gavin and I begin the steps of the schottische and I am struck by memories of the two of us as children dancing around his drawing room. I am the girl in white dresses again. I laugh and I whirl and we weave in and around couples. The heady taste of the mulled wine has gone to my head and the
lights are dizzying. This isn't like the schottische I'm used to, so formal. This is a country dance, a joyous dance, with fiddles and clapping and laughter.

“I haven't seen you laugh like that,” Gavin says as the dance ends. “Not since we were children.”

I smile at him. “I could say the same for you.”

He takes my hand, bows, and presses a quick kiss there, and it says everything. Forgiveness, remorse, regret. Hope.

Someone behind us clears his throat. I turn to see Daniel standing there, unsure. His clothes aren't anywhere near as fine as Gavin's, but he's still well dressed, handsome. I suspect the fae had something to do with all the fine clothes here tonight.

“Lady Aileana, might I speak to you?” He glances at Gavin. “You don't mind, do you?”

I stare at Daniel in surprise, but it's Gavin who speaks first. “Of course not, old chap.” He smacks him on the shoulder. “I'll just have to find another partner, then, won't I?”

Daniel offers an elbow to escort me. I take it hesitantly. He leads me to a quiet corner of the square, next to the steaming mugs of mulled wine, and he hands me one. I sip it, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't. As if now he doesn't know what to say.

“I'm sorry for the way I've behaved while you were here,” Daniel finally tells me. “I wanted you to know that.”

“Did Catherine put you up to this?”

Daniel peers over at his wife. Gavin cuts between her and a partner and dances his sister around the other couples. “I
haven't told her yet.” He notices my face. “I see you haven't either.”

“Frankly, I've been avoiding it,” I say. “I doubt she'll be happy with either of us.” Especially me. The last time I left Catherine to keep her safe, she nearly died. “I was going to tell her tomorrow, just before I leave.”