Page 1 of The Vanishing Throne

Chapter 1

I remember how it felt like the air around me burned with ash and cinder. How his blade broke the skin at my throat, a stream of blood warm down my neck. How the war around me seemed to go quiet and slow as if time had stopped.

It was just Lonnrach and me, my life determined by the tip of his sword. One smallpush—

Darkness.

My eyelids are heavy, weighted down and burning. Images flash in my mind of the battle, of those precious moments I had to solve the puzzle of a Falconer device to trap the fae under ground again before it was too late. The shield of light around me began to weaken, disintegrating from the force of fae attacks.

A laugh startles me from my memories. Other voices join in between images.Where am I?Lilting accents like Kiaran’s echo around me, dulcet murmurings in words I don’t recognise or understand.

Open your eyes, I command myself.Open your eyes. Panic forces me awake, a minuscule flash of light visible before I’m shoved down again with a hand at my throat, a searing pain at my temple.

‘I didn’t say you could move.’ The words come out in a hiss, spoken through rows of sharp teeth at my neck.

I go numb. I’m immobile, even as someone scratches the length of my arm, nails sharp enough to draw blood. A laugh, deep and purring. A whisper in my ear, breath hot at my throat.

You lose. Now you’re mine.

Then I’m dreaming again – memories of my life before, of my almost-deaths. A series of near-fatal experiences, each one strung from the other. The first time, when Kiaran saved my life from the water-horse. The many ever since; hundreds of nameless faeries I slaughtered, who each left their mark on me in different ways. The first one who scarred me. The first one I killed with Kiaran, when his expression showed something akin to pride.

We’re going to kill them all, he’d told me, a ghost of a smile on his face.

The memory fades like smoke. Suddenly I’m back on the battlefield; myarmour is so heavy that every movement is agony. Kiaran’s unmoving body is at my side, bone shining through the burn along his cheek. Dead?

No, not dead. He can’t be dead. I scream at him, striking him with my fists.Wake up. Wake up! Wake—

My eyes snap open, closing just as quickly against the light. I draw in a breath, wincing at the pounding pain that lances through my skull. I press the heel of my palm to my temple.

Wet.

I draw my hand back and blink against my blurring vision until it clears. My fingers are coated with blood, sticky remnants of my injury.

I didn’t say you could move.

My armour is gone. I find dried blood spattered across my chest, leading down to three distinct claw-marks stark against my upper arm. The skin is barely broken, as if it were a threat. A warning.

You lose. Now you’re mine.

Dread unfurls within me, but I shake my head against it.Focus.Find your bearings.The thought comes out in Kiaran’s voice, one of his no-nonsense lessons. Just the thought of him almost holds me back – a quick succession ofwhere is he is he dead is everyone I love dead –but his practical advice stops me again.Assess your surroundings.

I tamp down my emotions, suppressing the hot rising panic in favour of cold rationality. I’m wearing a shift like Sorcha’s,formfitting and exquisite. I brush my hand across the silken fabric – except it’s not like any silk I know. It’s smoother, shinier, and warm. As if raven’s feathers and flowers were somehow woven together to form the garment. The sleeves are loose around my wrists; the fabric slips back when I lift my arms. Slippers adorn my feet, delicate things made of dark orchids and metal beads stitched together.

After a quick evaluation of my injuries, Ilook up to see where I am.Oh god.Alarm breaks through the detached, analytical calm I’d achieved.This can’t be real.Can it?

I’m on a slab of black rock that gleams like obsidian, broken off and floating above a valley of dark crags, a crevasse extending beyond my sight. It’s as if the land has split right down the middle into separate halves, with scattered platforms like mine gliding down the empty space like leaves carried by a stream.

The other hovering slabs are topped with buildings – one of them a castle set atop a rugged piece; the rock broken off at the bottom is as sharp as blades. The castle itself is magnificent, more beautiful than any structure I’ve ever beheld. It looks as though it is made of pure, gleaming metal – only with a sheen that betrays its otherworldly origins. Even from this distance it has themulticoloured luster of opal. Shardlike towers flank the sides of the castle, surrounding a dome of red and blue and yellow metal resembling trapped clusters of stars.

Other buildings float on their own platforms below the soaring castle, suspended in the vast space between the towering cliffs. Some have domed ceilings constructed of metal, and others of glistening rock, as if cut from the purest sapphires.

In contrast, the cliffs on either side of me are monochrome, with not a single hint of colour to break up the uniformity. Even the trees seem made of glass, with thin spiky branches that appear sharp enough to kill. Flowers glow beneath the trees along the cliff face, with delicate buds of iridescentfrost.

When I breathe in, the icy scent of winter makes my chest ache. It smells like the beach after a snowfall. Like salt and frost on the wind, with a hint of something like myrrh.

I’m dreaming. This has to be a dream.I press my palm to the cold rock at my feet, tracing my fingers across the glossy surface. Along the outer edges of the platform, small shards bite into my skin and leave red, aching welts.

Not a dream.Not a dream. A panicked rush of breath bursts from my lungs. I jerk my hand back and push to my feet, stopping just before the platform ends.

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