Page 108 of The Vanishing Throne

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 colour or hair colour 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.’ BecauseFalconers 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, hisgifts.

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 hadthousands 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 theSìth-bhrùthfor 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 wonderedwhether 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 placeI 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 theSìth-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, remindingme 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 centre 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.’

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