The Vanishing Throne (7 page)

Maybe Lonnrach and I are the same. Maybe I'm just as bad as he is, just as monstrous and beyond redemption. It's the only explanation I have for why I sink my fingernails into her skin until I know it hurts. For why I would have put the blade to Aithinne's throat if I had a free hand to reach for it.

For why I find satisfaction in seeing her wince. “Tell me,” I say, the threat clear in my voice.

There's no fear in her gaze. I've never met a faery who didn't feel at least a bit threatened by me when they discovered I could make their impenetrable fae skin bleed. “I said I can't.”

“Don't toy with me. It's a simple question. Catherine. Gavin. A pixie named Derrick. Have you heard those names?”

I sink my fingernails in deeper. I ignore my sudden memory of the Violent Aileana in the mirrors, how gleeful she'd be. How she'd smile at me now in pride. I tamp down my disgust at my actions and hold fast. “And no faery riddles, either. I am in no mood.”

The light is dimming. Invisible paws shuffle in the dirt around us. The heavy, hungry gaze of predatory fae settles on my shoulders. They breathe together as a collective, and it's as if we're inside a living forest. The air around us heats from it, growing sticky and wet. But I can't release Aithinne now. Not yet. Not until she tells me.

“The light is going out,” she says, no emotion in her voice.

I glance up at the last vestiges of the stars. If I don't release her the
mara
will attack us, and I'm still weakened from Lonnrach's imprisonment. I swear in frustration and release her.

Aithinne swiftly creates another light and tosses it. The shadows around us disperse again, their agonized wails filling the silence. The
mara
return to watching from the darkness, their growls impatient, resentful.

Aithinne holds out her arm, blood welling from the cuts my fingernails left.

I stare at it.
We're the same, you and I
.
Lonnrach's words echo through my mind, a cruel taunt. I step back and press my palm to my neck, to the last marks that bound us together. Still bleeding. Still sore.
We're the same
.

I marked Aithinne, too. Even as I watch her wound heal over into smooth, unblemished skin, I still would have done
it. I wonder if when Lonnrach took out pieces of me, he filled up the hollow inside with fragments of himself.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper. I can't tear my eyes away. “I'm so sorry.”

Aithinne watches me carefully for the longest time, understanding in her features. This time, she tries her words more deliberately. “If what I say gets back to Lonnrach, he'll hunt them down. He has spies everywhere. Kadamach won't let me share anything to protect—”

Her voice suddenly chokes, a horrifying sound, as if she almost let something slip. She doubles over, face contorting in pain. “My vow,” she manages to gasp. “Written on my tongue.”

If what I say gets back to Lonnrach, he'll hunt them down. He has spies everywhere
.
Kiaran is practical, occasionally to a fault. He knew I'd demand answers that might potentially put people in danger—especially if they're hiding from the fae army.

“He made you vow not to tell me?”

She nods. “It was too broad. I can't reveal most things about the outside, or even speak around it—”

“I know,” I say as my initial anger calms. “I'm aware of how faery vows work.”

No wonder she almost choked on her words. A fae vow is something never to be taken lightly, or uttered on a whim. Kiaran once made a vow never to kill humans. If he ever breaks it, he'll die slowly, painfully. For Kiaran to make Aithinne say one . . . the situation in the human realm must be dire.

My memory of ruined Edinburgh flashes. I can practically smell the falling ash before I shove it to the recesses of my mind and shut the door.
Don't think about it. Escape from Lonnrach first
.

I force myself to speak. “Let's get out of here.”

A
ITHINNE AND
I keep a steady, brisk pace through the trees for the longest time—like hours, it seems. I imitate the movement of her body to avoid the shadowed metal limbs of the trees, the razor-sharp branches. They tug the bottom of my shift, ripping the material.

I take another step and flinch as a branch slices through my leg in a long, thin cut, superficial but damned painful. Blood wells around the wound and drips down to my feet in a stream.
Damnation
.

The high wails of countless
mara
suddenly echo through the forest.

“Wait,” Aithinne says sharply. “Don't move. The
mara
have sensitive noses. If enough of them smell your blood, they might risk getting burned by the light.”

The
mara
stalk through the shadows, between the creaking branches. I start when something moves out of the corner of my eye.
Hell. Oh hell
.
They're getting closer. Even with the light
above us, they're moving into the shadows between stars, edging nearer. Waiting, waiting.

Something nips near my feet with hot breath and I grasp the hilt of my sword. A growl comes from my left, and I have the blade out without thinking. My muscles tremble in response, but I ignore it. “Run or fight?”

Aithinne's smile is a fierce thing, wild. “Both.” She has her blade in her hand before I can blink. “Definitely both.”

I pause. “I'll be damned. You really are Kiaran's sister.”

A single breath later, she leads the way and we both take off running. Like before, I mimic the movements of her body to avoid the sharp branches. I'm not graceful. My limbs are clumsier from lack of use, but I urge myself through.
Keep going. You can do this. Keep going
.

The last lights over the trees are beginning to fade; one by one they burn out like candles being snuffed. The rustling in the trees grows louder, more urgent. A howl resonates from somewhere to my left. The
mara
are running with us, waiting for their chance.

Aithinne stops just at the edge of our remaining circle of light. She grasps my hand and deliberately turns me so she can press her back to mine. “Fight as many as you can,” she says in a low voice. “Then you run, and let me distract the rest.”

I nod once, wiping the sweat from my brow. My breathing is uneven, weak. I'm trembling, queasy from our run. I'm too close to escaping to care.

Then the last stars finally fade, and we are pitched into darkness.

I listen to the shadows, to the rustle of fur and bodies around me. Hot breath blasts against my face and I cringe at the stench of it.

Teeth snap. I strike with my blade, catching skin and fur. A high wail of pain fills the shadowed silence. Then the galloping of feet, dozens of them, right toward me. The
mara
move the way shadows descend upon a forest near nightfall—precisely that quickly.

I don't hesitate. My blade whistles through the air, cutting, slicing. I fight the way Kiaran always taught me to: by instinct. Every single one of my senses is honed, alive from the deprivation of my sight. The taste of
mara
power, of smoke and heat, burns my lips and my tongue—an indication of how close they are.

My muscles remember how to fight. My body battles as easily as breathing. Though my strikes are less refined, less smooth, I make up for it with sheer tenacity. Each kill only energizes me until I'm finally keeping up with Aithinne. Her back remains pressed to mine, her breathing in cadence with my own.

We are an impressive team.

Claws slice open my arm and I grit my teeth. My blood sends them into more of a frenzy. Just as I cut one down, another comes at me, then another.

I arc my blade and fur catches and gives beneath it. Blood splatters clear across my face. The powers of dead
mara
flow inside of me, thick like the sweltering heat of summer's warmest day.

Normally, I'd revel in it. I'd cut each of them down with a bursting euphoria, but not this time. I don't feel that urge, that pleasure with a kill. Only necessity and the need to survive.

The realization slows me down for only a moment, but that's all the
mara
need. One of them latches on to my arm, teeth sinking in just above my wrist. I gasp in pain, slashing downward to sever its head in a single quick stroke. Its teeth rip across my arm as it drops to the ground.

“Get ready to run, Falconer.”

The ball of light Aithinne produces is enormous, the size of a carriage wheel at least. The
mara
surrounding us yelp, seeking shadows outside its reach.

Pulling back her arms for leverage, Aithinne launches the light up to the sky. It explodes, stars shooting all around us. They illuminate the forest, revealing large creatures with dark fur and shining eyes and teeth like knives. Their screams are piercing as they flee, leaving behind the hideous stench of burning fur.

Aithinne gestures to a parting in the trees. “That way. Don't look back.”

We're running again, pounding through the forest. I hate how weakened I am, how my entire body is aching from such a short battle. The effort it takes to avoid the sharp branches only makes it worse. Fabric along the bottom of my shift tears, the spikes scratching through. I wrench myself clear and dart after Aithinne.

The guttural roars of the
mara
echo around us. I realize then just how badly the cuts on my arms are bleeding. The scent is probably driving them mad.

The lights above us are twinkling out, fading fast. We pick up speed, our legs pumping. My muscles burn from the strain, my chest aching.

“
There
,” Aithinne gasps.

Just up ahead is a dim light beyond the trees. Almost there.
Almost there
. Darkness is falling around us. The heat from the pursuing
mara
is slick down my back. They are growling, panting, their heavy paws pounding through the trees behind us.

Hurry hurry hurry
. The lights on either side of us are completely snuffed out, with only the glow up ahead to guide us. I map my escape. I memorize the path through the trees where the spikes are absent.

I push myself harder, ignoring the strain in my legs, the pain of it.
Almost there
.

The last stars go out. Something claws at my leg, catching skin. I don't lose course. I stay on my mental route. Just as I feel the heat of the
mara
unbearably close, I leap for the forest exit.

My body slams into the ground, and I roll through the grass. I close my eyes hard against the sudden daylight, not even opening them when I hear the yelp from a
mara
in pain behind me.

Moments later, others growl from the forest. They let out low whines and whimpers of frustration.

Don't worry. They'll keep to the shadows
. That means I'm safe. Finally.

I lie on the ground, breathing deeply. The trees around me groan, the leaves fluttering in the cool breeze. I never want to move again.

At the stomp of boots on grass, I ease my eyes open. Aithinne leans down with a grin. “You didn't die. See? I told you it was easy.” She offers me a hand and I take it, rising unsteadily to my feet.

“I've been bitten by some demonic woodland creature. My legs have been shredded by razor-sharp trees. We almost died.
Easy
? I'm getting you a damn dictionary.”

I inspect my bleeding arm. The cut bisects five of the marks Lonnrach made, and I feel inexplicably proud of that.
Good
. Replace the old, bad memories with new badges. Start over.

“A dictionary,” she repeats. “Is that a type of dessert?”

For the love of
—“It's a type of book that explains the meaning of words.”

“Oh. That sounds terribly dull. I was really hoping for dessert.”

I'm hoping to end this rescue with my sanity intact
.

I stare at the beautiful scenery around us. The meadow is up high on a ridge, a muted landscape with even more extreme chiaroscuro than the area around the fissure. The clouds are black and heavy with rain.

Every part of the land is rugged. Near where we stand is a waterfall that drops from the crags to the canyon below. The river at the base of the canyon is dark; it resembles descriptions I've read of dried lava, right down to the rough texture created by the rapids.

It looks like a scene painstakingly etched by an expert hand. As if the artist had delicately stroked the charcoal
pencil to get the texture just right. The shade just right. Each detail etched in fine brushes.
The
Sìth-bhrùth
was once full of a thousand different colors your human eyes have never beheld
.

This place must have been even more magnificent before the color faded. From the expression on Aithinne's face—the longing, mixed with sadness—she thinks so, too. Her gaze is unfocused, as if she's remembering the way it was.

“What did it look like before?” I can't help but ask. “Was it beautiful?”

“It was always beautiful,” she says, rather mechanically. “That was never the problem.”

“What was?”

Aithinne seems to shake herself, closing herself off the same way Kiaran does. “Lots of things.” She looks over at me then. “You're bleeding again.”

Without warning, Aithinne seizes my arm. Before I can ask her what she's about, she swipes a finger across my arm wound and licks the blood off with a quick dart of her tongue.

“Ahh!” I stare at her in shock. “You licked—you just—my god, I want the last five seconds of my life back.”