Page 23 of The Vanishing Throne

Aithinne’s silence seems to last forever, her expression uncertain. Finally, she begins. ‘One.’ Her voice trembles, her breath catching. ‘Two.’ The word seizes in her throat and I almost tell her to stop. ‘Three.’ The last word. A simple word that leaves her doubled over, coughing until blood splatters across her trousers.

‘Three years,’ I whisper. I should have helped her, checked to see if she was all right. I can’t. Violent Aileana recedes and I’m left in shock.Three years. Three. Years.

‘Falconer,’ she gasps. ‘Wait.’

I barely hear her. My vision is tunneled as I climb the creaky stairs. The hook that once held our family portrait is still thereat the top of the stairs, stark against the dusty, torn wallpaper.

I step over the destroyed portraits of my ancestors, reaching the door of my bedroom. It looks as though it’s been ransacked. Glass fragments from the overhead lamps litter the ground amid the dirt and dust. The roof itself has caved in partially just above the frame of my bed. It’s left the space open to the elements, and everything smells musty. Not even pigeons would deign to live in such a horrid place.

In the corner, the helm from an old schooner that once hung on the far wall is lying on the floor in pieces. The furniture is broken and discarded, the colour blackened with mold.

‘Lonnrach will be looking for you,’ Aithinne says, her voice hoarse. She comes up beside me and wipes the blood from her lips. ‘We have to leave. It isn’t safe here.’

I hear her but the words barely register through my shock. As if she’s speaking to me across a vast valley.

I approach my closet, where the tattered remains of my silk dresses are thrown about, the fabric brittle and torn. It smells putrid from the layers upon layers of dust and old fabric. Beneath it all, I spot the corner of my locked trunk.

I shove all that old, disgusting fabric aside – it almost disintegrates in my hands – and unlatch the trunk.Please still be in here. Please still be in here.

Tears burn my eyes when I pull open the lid and see my mother’s tartan sash. It’s still there, unchanged and protected by the airtight casing. I draw it out and the scent of coarse wool remains the same, unpolluted by dust.

A hint of my father’s lingering pipe smoke fills my senses and I come undone. I sink to my knees and fight against the tears.Don’t cry, I tell myself like always.Don’t cry.

I wrap my hands around the tartan and press it to my face. I try to remember. I try so hard, but the images of my former life don’t come. It isn’t until I scrape my fingernails across Lonnrach’s marks on my arms that the images of my mother return. This mark is her smile. This mark is her laugh. This mark is a thousand little moments and words and deeds that saidI love youandYou are preciousandYou matter.

And I can’t recall a single one of them on my own.

‘I can’t remember,’ I say to Aithinne, knowing she’s still lingering there. ‘Not on my own any more.’

Wordlessly, Aithinne kneels beside me and peeks in the trunk. ‘Oh, good. Sensible clothes.’ She reaches to draw out the trousers, shirt, coat, and boots I kept inside. My old faery hunting garments. ‘Put these on. We have to go. Kadamach will be wondering why we never came out of the portal where we should have.’

This house is all I have of my mother and my former life. If my memories are fading, there will be nothing to remind me. I’ve already lost everyone I love and the mementos in this house are the only physical remnants left. Once I leave …

‘Not yet,’ I say. ‘Just a few more minutes.’

Aithinne glances at me impatiently, looking very much like her brother. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

She reaches for me then, but I jerk away. ‘Don’t,’ I say sharply. ‘Don’t touch me.’

Lonnrach used to reach for me like that, grasp my shoulder hard if I didn’t move fast enough.

I don’t miss the hurt that flashes in her gaze, as if she can read my mind. ‘I need to heal you,’ she says carefully, her hands up as if she were approaching a feral animal. ‘Your feet are bleeding, I can smell the venom on you again, and we have to run.’

I’m always running. It never stops. Lonnrach has imprinted himselfon my life the same way his sister has. She might have taken my mother, but he’s the monster in the darkness. He’s stealing my soul piece by piece, scraping the parts of my life away until there’s nothing left.

Now you know precisely how it feels to be that helpless.

‘Why can’t I remember?’ I ask Aithinne, not moving when she presses her hands to my temples. Her touch is gentle, deliberate, the way one might treat an injured bird.

‘You can,’ she tells me. Her eyes are steady, calm. ‘But he’s left his imprint on your mind. Each memory has faded with his influence. If you want, I can help.’

‘Help?’

The prickling pain of her healing starts. At first I flinch, but then I let it wash over me, a calming influence.Still here. Still alive. This is mine. I still have this.I can form new memories over the old ones.

Once my injuries are healed and the sting of venom has receded, Aithinne pulls away. She is breathing hard, a thin line of blood trailing down her chin from her earlier coughing spell.

‘Aileana.’

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