Page 65 of The Vanishing Throne

I swallow hard. ‘If he couldn’t find his wife, how do you know she’s dead?’

Catherine looks out the window again. Her eyes are wet, but the tears don’t fall. Perhaps, like me, she’s taught herself not to cry. ‘When we die, the places we imagine through our doors change back to the cave. And those inside are no longer hidden.’

Oh god. Rain suddenly batters the window. I had forgotten what my emotions can do in this place. The storm intensifies, shaking the room until the glass crackles and the frame strains.

Catherine shifts closer and puts her hand on my shoulder, the way she did when we were children. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t need to. She knows me better than anyone.

Tavish’s strained gasp startles us. ‘Damnation.’ He almost bolts up, then sits back down so hard that the legs of the settee groan at the force.

Beside me, Catherine’s body tenses. Her breathing hitches. ‘Tavish?’ She stands, reaching for his arm. ‘What is it?’

He doesn’t hear her; he’s still too deep in the vision. ‘No, they’re too close. You’re just going to run into them there. Don’t—’

Catherine grips his arm harder. ‘Tavish!’ He blinks, and his eyes go back to normal, the same startling green they were when I first met him.

He stands so fast that he stumbles. He grips the arm of the settee, looking nauseated and weak. ‘They’re riding into a trap there. The fae are going to cut them off once they get to the cliffs.’

I’m already on my feet, grabbing the sword Aithinne gave me. I wrap the belt around my waist and buckle it closed. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say to Catherine. ‘I’ll bring them home.’

Tavish looks up. ‘You’llwhat?’

I stride to the closet and knock twice before opening. Derrick looks up from his pile of silks. ‘Well, look at you! Sword at the hip, murderous expression. Going out for a slaughter?’

I smirk. ‘Going out tosavepeople.’

Derrick rises to hover in front of me. ‘A change of pace for you.’ He grins. ‘I like it. What do you need?’

‘Find Kiaran for me,’ I say. ‘Tell him he gets to stab something.’

Derrick wrinkles his nose. ‘I was hoping for a more exciting task, but fine.Fine. I’ll go get the bastard.’

He leaves so fast that all I see is a streak of light out the door. I follow him, snatching up my freshly filled blunderbuss on the way out of the room. As I’m slinging the holster across my back, Tavish stops me. ‘You’re not going out there.’

‘And you’re going to stop me … how?’

Tavish raises an eyebrow. ‘Look, lass, I understand wanting to help, but there’s nothing you can do.’

Aithinne’s laugh comes from behind us. ‘He’s so handsome, but not too bright,’ she says fondly, as if he were a pet. ‘And he still hasn’t learned never to underestimate a woman with a sword and a firearm.’

I turn to see Kiaran and Aithinne striding across the balcony toward us, Derrick just behind them. Aithinne flashes Tavish her most winning smile, which looks more than a bit frightening. ‘Hullo!’ she says to both of us serenely. ‘We’re here to rescue your friends, and all their limbs.’ A pause, then: ‘Well, no. I can’t promisealltheir limbs, but most, surely …’

‘What my sister is trying to say,’ Kiaran interrupts, ‘isthat we’ll bring them back alive. Mostly in one piece.’ I love the way he looks at me then, with expectation, a hint of a smile.God, I missed this.‘Ready?’

Yes.‘Always.’ I ignore Tavish’s bewildered expression and ask, ‘Where do we need to go?’

Chapter 23

We ride for the cliffs on the west end of the island. Ossaig runs at full speed, charging hard across the land. Skye in winter is icy; all of the branches and grass are framed in thin crystals that crunch beneath her hooves as we make our way up the hills.

Trees have fallen across the slopes, their branches crackling and groaning around us. I can’t help but admire the way Kiaran rides beside me. There’s such command, such calm in how he holds himself – the way he does everything.

I force my attention back to our route through the forest. Snow falls across the icy terrain, melting against my face. The atmosphere Ossaig creates as she runs is heated. Her coat steams, as do my clothes and my skin. I rest my hand against the warm, soft fur along her neck and whisper a single word:Hurry.

She speeds forward. She doesn’t tire; I never even hear her breathe. But I feel the movement of her mechanical parts against my thigh, the way they pump the gold liquid through her veins in a constant beat.

Even the snowy landscape in Skye is beautiful, unearthly. The hills are dusted and capped with white, the grassy meadows coated in a fine layer of frost. We head through the line of trees into an area of woodland that’s thick and difficult to see through.It’s a tangle of sharp-limbed branches, covered in snow so fresh that it hasn’t been disturbed yet.

Branches tug my hair, my coat, snapping off around me. Ossaig runs silently, her hooves barely touching the forest floor. I dart a glance behind us and there aren’t even prints left in the snow. It remains undisturbed, as if she floated right over it.

---