Page 116 of The Vanishing Throne

Aithinne has helped me so many times now. She could have let me die, and she’d have all her strength back, all of her powers as the Seelie Queen. She’d be that faery at the bonfire, tall and proud and terrifyingly beautiful, able to silence someone with the flick of her wrist. She could have let that wall of water come at me, stepped back and taken her role as monarch again. But she didn’t. She didn’t let me die.

Whatever power I lost … it made me feel a little more human.

Ignoring my aching muscles, I reach under the woolto grasp her hand. Even under the warmth of fur, her fingers are icy to the touch, limp in mine. And when I press my skin to hers, I feel her power there as surely as I feel my own. Blood to blood. Like to like. As though we are extensions of each other.

Derrick’s wings are flicking painfully hard against my sensitive skin. ‘I don’t understand how they found us with the wards up.’

‘Lonnrach would have destroyed the whole island until he found it,’ I say. ‘It was only a matter of time.’

I wonder if the Cailleach helped. I didn’t think she’d have the power to extend her influence through the veil again, not if my mother was the last Falconer she helped kill. But maybe she tried one last time.

I look at Catherine. ‘I’m so sorry. About everything.’

She looks at me sharply. ‘It’s not your fault.’

I almost tell her that Lonnrach only knew the city was on Skye because he pulled it out of my memories. I was naive enough to believe the wards would keep everyone safe. They were never safe, not really. Not while Lonnrach still lives.

Catherine looks at the fire again, her eyes narrowed with anger. ‘The truth is, they’ve merely been biding their time until the day they find us and kill us all.’

My eyes grow heavy again, and I close them briefly, then ask, ‘The others? What about them?’

Catherine shivers and covers herself with her own blanket, wrapping it closely around her. She’s wearing her underthings; her ballgown must have been soaked and torn from the run. My own trousers and shirt appear to be dry now; thank goodness for smallfavours.

‘Daniel, Gavin and … and … Kiaran –’ she says his name as if she’s saying it for the first time, as though it’s a word that doesn’t fit in her mouth ‘– went to scout the area. To make sure it was safe. The fae spread out not too long ago.’

I remember Lonnrach’s words in my mind, the malice of it, the joy.Found you. I shake my head. ‘What about the city? Everyone else?’

‘Some took the ship and left with our fae allies. Didn’t wait.’ She stares off into the distance. ‘That was always our plan from the very first. If we were ever attacked by the fae again, we’d take the tunnels, board the ship,and get out to sea. Even the fae can’t open a portal on open water to attack them.’

Derrick’s wings flick against my cheeks. ‘That’s because they don’t need to. I just hope your humans don’t run into any sea-dwellingsìthichean. Private creatures, like pixies. Not a part of the kingdoms. Loathsome things. They smell, have poor manners, and eat people.’

Catherine stares at him blandly. ‘My, you certainly know how to reassure a lady, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I knowpreciselyhow to reassure a lady.’

Catherine narrows her eyes at him, then focuses her attention back to me. ‘We were the only ones left behind, so I think almost everyone made it out.’ Her expression grows distant, sad. ‘I only saw a few of the older ones. I don’t know that they …’ She swallows hard. I notice then that her eyes are wet. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to find someplace else, won’t we?’

She says it so lightly, as if she’s trying not to care. But I see the truth she is trying to hide. No home again. We are all orphans, all wanderers. Seeking a home until we are plucked off one by one, or killed together.

We all go quiet. Because, really, what does one say after loss? Catherine has been through this so many times before – finding somewhere, staying there for a short while, only to have it be destroyed. And people die every time.

I reach out to Catherine, a movement that feels like being pricked by thousands upon thousands of tiny needles. My hand lies on the blankets, palm up. An offering. An apology. A request for forgiveness. She slips her hand in mine and squeezes tight. My sister not by blood but by bond. Aren’t those the best kind of sisters, anyway?

‘I’m sorry, Derrick,’ I whisper. ‘You lost your home, too.’

Derrick curls into the space between my neck and shoulder where the thick wool and the heat of my skin meet. His wings are like silk against me. ‘Lost it before,’ he murmurs, in a voice I can barely hear. ‘I’ve lived without it for thousands of years. I’m sure I can trudge on.’

He tries for nonchalance, but I can hear the wistfulness in his voice. All of his things were there. His closet. The tapestrieshe wove of his victories. His former life now lost to the enemy. ‘Too many sad memories there, anyway.’

‘And happy ones,’ I point out, thinking of his tapestries.

‘You know perfectly well how tainted those can become,’ he says quietly.

There’s nothing I can say to that. He’s not wrong. ‘Where are we?’ I ask.

‘Leitir Fura,’ Catherine says. ‘Or, at least, somewhere near it. Father used to keep a journal of his travels up here, and I often read them. The ashwood didn’t use to extend this far before the fae came.’

Before the fae came. I look at the scars on her wrist, how they snake up her arm in dozens of half-moons and long scratches.Before, when Catherine didn’t have to do whatever it took to survive.

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