Page 41 of The Vanishing Throne

‘Derrick—’

‘And you’ll like it. We have good food.’

Tamping down my guilt, I watch as Aithinne steps up to the edge of the crag. ‘Then why did you abandon your kingdom?’ I ask him distractedly. ‘You told me the pixies fled to Cornwall.’

His wings go still. ‘It was discovered once, a long time ago.’ I don’t like his tone, the hurt there. ‘But I rebuilt the wards two years back. They’re holding.’

The way he says it prevents any further questions. A very clearI don’t want to talk about who found it, under what circumstances, or why we fled. Well, it seems nothing has changed in my absence. The fae remain as secretive as ever.

Aithinne places apalm flat against the grass at the edge of the crag, her eyes wide and unblinking. Her power is suddenly thick in my mouth, the strong taste of flower petals and dirt on my tongue.

I’m about to ask what she’s doing when she slams her fist into the ground. The soil around me cracks and shakes. I step back, praying like hell that she didn’t just break off this part of the crag. The fall to the water is a long one.

Then I look on in amazement as roots begin to rise from the cracks in the earth. I’ve seen this before when Kiaran opened up a portal to theSìth-bhrùth, the way it manipulated the flora to become a doorway. The roots grow and wind and twist, lifting and surrounding us, thickening like an untended briar patch. They bend and weave around each other, becoming a tree that rises up toward the sky with thick pointed branches made of dark material that glistens like glass. It looks too much like those in theSìth-bhrùthforest for my comfort.

‘Aithinne,’ I say uncertainly as the branches start to curl around my feet.

She doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are still wide, irises swirling and turning likemolten silver. ‘Let it take you,’ she says.

Take me? The roots are closing around me, thicker and darker. The air becomes oppressive. As if sensing the tension in my body, Derrick tugs on my ear and tries saying something to me, but I can’t hear him over the roots that close in.

Suddenly my throat closes up. I grasp the glassy tree root and push hard against it, but it doesn’t even budge. I twist to find another way to escape, diving for a hole between the overgrown root, but it closes before me.

It’s enclosed. It’s too enclosed and I’m trapped. The smooth material is semireflective – just like the mirrors.

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

Any rational thought fails me. My shoulder smacks into the hard material, a bruising impact. I’m heaving, but I can’t get enough air. The roots close in overhead and my heart leaps painfully fast in my chest. Panic rises until I can hear my pulse slam through my ears.I can’t breathe.

‘Aileana!’ Derrick is calling me, his wee fingernails digging into the skin at my neck. I can’t hear him over my panic. I can’t think anything else exceptI can’t breathe. I claw at the roots until my fingernails bleed.

But they keep closing, tightening, until it’s dark around me. Black as pitch.

I close my eyes. Just when I’m certain the tree will crush me, the crackling of growing roots stops. I gasp, falling to my knees. When I open my eyes, it’s bright, so bright. Amid my dizzying vision, all I manage to see are looming rocks towering over me, the dark entrance to a cave, and – and …

‘Gavin.’

I don’t even think. One moment I’m kneeling on the snow-covered ground, and the next, I’m on my feet, wrapping my arms tightly around him. I take in the scent of him: whisky and smoke and strong soap. It calms my racing pulse, the ragged, quick pace of my breath. Suddenly I feel safe, warm.

He’s alive.He’s really alive.

‘Aileana,’ Gavin murmurs, his body uncharacteristically stiff in my embrace. The way he says my name is cautious, as if he’s testing the weight of it on his tongue. ‘Aileana,’ he says again, as if uncertain.

I don’t think to analyzehis response. I bury my face in his warm neck. He smells like safety. He smells like home. He smells like a thousand wishes in the mirrored room, that I’d see him again and hug him just like this.

‘Well, hell,’ I hear Derrick mutter, squirming out from between us. His wings flutter against my skin as he flies off. ‘This is embarrassing. Oy! Aithinne! Stop staring like a shameless freak and go find your brother.’ A pause. Then: ‘All right, well. I’ll just be in this tree. Over here. Call me when you’re done.’

Derrick’s wings flutter and Aithinne’s footsteps disappear into the cavern. I hold tightly to Gavin for a moment longer, noting that even though he’s relaxed a bit, his shoulders are still tense.

How different this is from the last time I saw him. Before the battle, he had hugged me like he knew he had to let me go and he wasn’t ready. Like he would never see me again.

Like he thought I was going to die.

I pull away to ask him what’s wrong … and I flinch. ‘Christ,’ I whisper.

There are scars around his right eye, what look like claw-marks across his skin. Another long, jagged mark runs from his lips over his cheekbone, stopping right beneath his eyelashes.

The scars don’t detract from his features. It’s Gavin’s eyes thatgives me pause. His vivid blue eyes – always so bright and familiar – are battle-weary. He’s looking at me as if we’ve never met before. As if we hadn’t grown up together or fought fae together or were nearly forced to marry after a misunderstanding.

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