Page 57 of The Vanishing Throne

I look at her in surprise. Her voice is clipped, more stern than I’ve ever heard her. I’m beginning to realise that in my absence Catherine has grown into the quiet strength she always had. Even the way she stands is no longer the hands-clasped, demure stance we were taught in etiquette lessons. She has the confident stride of a leader, a woman who has fought to survive.

‘That obvious, was I?’

I never thought I played the part of debutante to perfection. I’m sure there were always inconsistencies in my performance, cracks in the mask I donned to attend parties and balls. Flickers of the monster inside me that could only be sated with a kill.

Catherine lifts her fingers to tick things off. ‘You mean aside from the headaches, the disappearing during balls, the constant oil on your fingertips, the mysterious illnesses, the—’

‘Thank you,’ I say drily. ‘Point well made indeed.’

‘Face it, I know you too well. You’re even worse at lying to me than Gavin is.’ Catherine grins and threads an arm through mine. ‘Now come along. Let me show you the rest.’

Rain beats against the cobblestones in a steady rhythm now. I follow Catherine to the outskirts of the city, where the vast cave wall looms before us. It is dotted with tunnels, some lit and others so dark that I can’t see past the entrance.

Catherine chooses a narrow passage. Lamps are affixed to the walls on either side of us, firelight flickering within. The flecks within the rock catch in the light, glittering as we pass.

I shudder beneath my new coat. Not even Derrick’s wool can keep out the cold, damp conditions within the cave as we descend deeper into the earth, down and down the rocky, uneven steps.

We reach a point where there are no lamps at all. The cave glistens with its own internal glow, like light beneath water, with shadows flickering along the walls. I feel my way down the steps carefully.

Catherine’s movements are far steadier than mine; she must come down here often. Once we reach the bottom of the passage, the rock glitters around us as though we are dashed out in space, surrounded by millions and millions of stars.

Before us lies a vast field, lit only by the cave’s own internal light. A stone pathway cuts across the meadow between rows and rows of plants. The vivid blue tips of the flowers stand out immediately and I stare in awe. ‘Seilgflùr,’ I whisper.

The thistle is grown high, the stocks so very still. It’s silent around us; not even drops of water reach this part of the cave. There isn’t a whisper of creatures living among the plants. Everything is entirely quiet and peaceful.

I edge forwardamong the stocks, brushing my fingers against the thistle that is as soft as feathers. The scent from the field is strong, like fire and ash and rock – volcanic. The soil beneath my boots is cushioned and moist.

Even the air is different. As I breathe it in, I recognise hints of sandalwood, witch hazel, and iron, even flowers and sweetness. As if every bit of fae power I’ve ever tasted hasbeen combined into a single scent.

‘I like to come down here and think sometimes,’ Catherine says, walking beside me. ‘It’s quiet. Safe.’

I can understand why such a place would be a sanctuary. ‘I’ve never been able to cultivate seilgflùr,’ I tell her. ‘I tried for months.’

Not even a single clipping could grow under my care. In water, it withered and died. Even a plant pressed between sheets of airtight glass quicky lost its luster and power. The plant’s gift of Sight and as a weapon always proved ineffective after only a couple of weeks.

‘It’s quite a finicky thing, isn’t it?’ Catherine says, touching one of the stocks lightly.

I smile slightly. ‘I suppose you can’t tell me how you grow it, can you?’

Catherine pauses. ‘I can. The thistle was meant to be tended to by Falconers.’ She plucks off a flower and twirls it. ‘Aithinne only entrusted these fields to me until your return.’

Oh, lord. I was never terribly good with growing things to begin with. ‘I’d probably kill them all. Remember, I thought the weeds were flowers and the flowers—’

‘Were weeds.’ She laughs. ‘I remember.’

‘But I’m still curious.’

‘Seilgflurcan only be grown in darkness over aneimheadto take advantage of its power. And it has to be fertilized with the blood of the fae.’

I look at her in surprise. ‘Ibegyour pardon?’

A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. ‘Ah. I see you never knew that.’

Of course not. That must have been why Kiaran kept it a secret, why he refused to give me my own plant to cultivate. He must have assumed the worst about me: that I would have found aneimheadto grow a field just like this one and fertilized it with the blood of my victims.

I would have killed more just to keep the stocks tended, the plants fresh. All while oblivious to the fact that my kills alerted Sorcha to my whereabouts. It would have made me more of a monster than I already am.

‘Where do you get the blood?’ I ask her, my voice hoarse.

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