Page 20 of The Falconer

‘I don’t, really,’ he replies. ‘But you looked like you were about to cry.’

‘I don’t cry, MacKay.’

I’m such a mess today. First that blasted moment when I almost gave in to his temptation during our fight, and now this. Where is a good ditch to crawl into when I need one?

‘If you say so,’ he says, uncrossing his legs. ‘A bit of advice, Kam. Until you can admit your weaknesses, you’ll never beat me without that damn thistle.’

I glare at him. ‘Shall we hunt, or would you prefer to waste time haranguing me?’

My words trigger something violent in that usually cold, detached gaze. If I weren’t a killer myself it might frighten me. This time, his smile isn’t wicked. It’s feral, maybe even a bit ferocious. ‘I’ll get my weapons,’ he says.

We leave Cowgate, and as we walk along South Bridge, Kiaran strides slightly ahead of me. ‘There’s acaoineaghunting in the waters near Dean Village,’ he says. ‘She’s already killed one woman since she arrived.’ He maintains his brisk pace as he speaks. ‘Try to keep up, Kam.’

Try to keep up. His legs are far longer than mine and he insists we walk everywhere during our hunts, even to places as removed from the city centre as Dean Village.

I jog a few steps and still end up behind him. The rain has dampened the hair that clings to the back of his neck and his shirt hugs his lean, muscular body as he moves. Sometimes, I wish he’d put on a bloody coat.

‘You’re staring.’ He doesn’t look at me when he says it.

‘Haven’t you considered wearing a coat? Itiswinter.’

‘No.’

We continue in silence. The rain slows to a soft mist that tickles my cheeks. Fog thickens between the old stone buildings. I hear faint laughter from one of the lit tenements at the far end of the street, then there’s silence again. I breathe in the damp air and decide to stop ignoring the ever-lingering taste of Kiaran’s power. I take this moment to savour it.

As we reach North Bridge, I study the waning moon that peeks through the clouds. It’s surrounded by a halo of bright red, the colour of oxygenated blood.

Blood. My need for vengeance exists because of the night I was baptised in it. I’ve always considered that to be my night of lasts – the last time I saw my mother alive, the last time I was a girl who had never seen violence.

Now the darkness inside me wants little else than to kill again. I can’t help but wonder if this is all I have left: the nightly hunt, all for that singular moment of intoxicating, all-consuming joy at the end.

In my weakest moments after a kill, I want desperately to feel the way I used to. Happiness that came effortlessly and – sometimes – hope.

I break from our brisk journey to Dean Village to approach the bridge’s balustrade. ‘Do you ever think about your future, MacKay?’

Kiaran looks surprised by the question. He stops next to me, leaning his back against a stone column. ‘No,’ he says softly. ‘I don’t.’

‘Never?’

‘I’m immortal.’ He turns and rests his elbows on the balustrade. ‘You consider the future because one day you’ll die.’ He looks up at the moon, a pensive, almost sad expression on his face. ‘I don’t have that uncertainty. I’ll be exactly the same as I am now, for ever.’

He says it so mechanically, not a hint of emotion. ‘Exactly the same?’ I ask. ‘Hasn’t anything unexpected ever happened to you?’

‘Once in three thousand years.’ His smile is small, perhaps a little bitter. ‘Maybe twice.’

Oh, God.

Sometimes I forget faeries don’t age. They simply exist, like trees, or rocks. They can be killed, but if left alone, they remain unchanged. Perhaps this is why Kiaran is the way he is. Thousands of years have scrubbed him clean, jaded him beyond measure.

Kiaran glances at me. ‘Well? Tell me about your future.’

‘I used to have plans for my life, but . . . but they don’t fit any more. That isn’t what I want now.’

I used to daydream about the wedding and husband I would one day have. I remember describing the most elaborate ceremonies to my mother while she helped me tinker with my inventions, hands soiled with grease, fingernails torn. My fantasies were full of ivory silks and pink rosebuds and a man who would love me unconditionally.

Now I no longer see marriage, or a husband, or children in my future. There’s no love. I see the same onyx expanse that my painful memories are stuffed into, dark and empty.

‘Perhaps they never fitted you.’ His eyes meet mine then. ‘We all have to find out who we are, Kam. One way or another.’

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