Page 90 of The Falconer

‘How can I be certain what to look for?’

Kiaran stares into the darkness beyond the ornithopter. ‘You’ll know when you find it.’

I sigh in frustration and gaze out over the city. Below, candlelight flickers in the tenements of Old Town and gas lamps cast deep shadows along the streets. Thin fog rolls along the ground and between buildings, coating the roads in ghostly white. The closer we get to Holyroodhouse and the Queen’s Park, the more the light dims until there is only darkness below.

The faint outline of the rocky peak of Salisbury Crags comes into view. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I focus on the steep hills across the valley. Arthur’s Seat looms highest, its peak framed by clouds and mist. I steer the helm towards the dark meadow directly below it.

Rain beats against the machine’s wings as we swoop down and land on the grass. The park is quiet but for the sound of the downpour, no birds or animals rustling in the trees.

My leather boots sink into the soft meadow grass when I climb from the ornithopter. ‘Now what?’

Kiaran doesn’t spare me a glance. ‘We walk. You detect.’

He strides away across the dark grass. I dart after him and stub my toe against a rock. ‘Could you please slow down for the girl with the useless human night vision?’

Kiaran stops. ‘Apologies,’ he says, though he doesn’t sound at all as if he means it.

I feel his heavy gaze on me despite the darkness, and I still find it difficult to look at him, more so now than ever. He saw my tears. In a single moment I was forced to give up on vengeance, on ever killing Sorcha, or risk losing him. I never realised how much I had begun to care for Kiaran that it would hurt so badly.

I wonder what awful fate he tried to prevent by making that vow to Sorcha. What would be worth connecting his life to hers for eternity?

‘What would you have risked to kill Sorcha?’ he says before I can speak. ‘And answer me honestly, Kam. Would you have given up your life?’

I glance at him in surprise. ‘Of course not,’ I say.

The lie rolls off my tongue with such ease. I’ve become so good at deception that there are moments when I almost believe my lies myself. A lie is best told with a single grain of truth, a factual hook on which to hang the falsehood. That’s what makes them so easy to maintain.

‘I saw your resolve,’ he says quietly. ‘I watched you decide that little else mattered to you except vengeance. And do you know what I thought?’

‘What?’ I whisper, almost afraid of what he’ll say.

‘I made you the same as me.’

I look away, towards the slope that leads up to the crags. Rain drops onto my face and I don’t bother to wipe it away. My chest is so tight, my heart heavy. I had stupidly, inexplicably hoped he would tell me that I was strong, or magnificent. That he’d show the same pride in me that I saw the day before yesterday in the drawing room when I held the knife to his throat.

But he didn’t. I’m like him. I’m a monster, too.

For the briefest moment, I wish I was the girl I used to be. I’d wear frivolous white dresses and attend dances and never worry about anything ever again. But I had to destroy the girl who wore white dresses because she wasn’t capable of murder. And now I have to live with my choice.

My laugh is rough, bitter. I should resent him for everything he’s done. His lessons have been branded inside me until I’ve become what I am now, this vengeful, destructive creature. But I can’t. This is all I have, and there’s no turning back.

‘I made my own choice, MacKay,’ I remind him.

‘It was a choice I knew you would make,’ he says. ‘I saw your rage the night we met. I understood it all too well.’

We walk swiftly down the narrow path in the middle of the Queen’s Park, both of us silent. I shudder against the cold and tug my coat cuffs down over my hands. Useless. My clothes are already sopping. I tilt my head to gaze at the sky, letting the rain slide down my face. The clouds are silver, low-hanging and dark at their bottom edges.

If I die, I think I’ll miss this. I’ll miss the stars and constellations my mother loved so much. I’ll miss home. I wonder if Kiaran does, too.

‘MacKay?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you ever—’ I swallow once. ‘Do you ever long for theSìth-bhrùth?’

We skirt around a small loch, shining silver with reflected moonlight in the dark meadow. Kiaran’s movements are stiff, as if he’s startled by the question. ‘Sometimes.’

‘What was your home there like?’

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