Page 27 of The Vanishing Throne

‘Falconer!’

My moment of distraction is all themortairneeds. It takes a swing at me, but Aithinne puts herself between us. Themortairknocks her off her feet and she smashes through the remains of a stone building across the square.Bricks collapse on top of her.

Themortairadvances on me, the light in its palm brightening. Soon it will release its destructive weapon and I’m trapped; there’s nowhere to go. Steeling myself, I leap at themortair, arcing the blade into the air to try and sever its weapon hand again.

Metal breaks beneath mysword, but I didn’t curve the blade high enough to detach the limb. With a growl, themortairknocks into me. I roll to the ground, using the momentum to land cleanly on my feet. I spin out of themortair’s reach, slashing with the sword again, and I catch its armoured finger at the knuckle. The screech of breaking metal echoes across the square, and the finger lands in the overgrown grass.

Before the creature can recover, I launch myself at it, climbing up its platedarmour. Themortairthrashes and tries to throw me off, but it’s too damaged to make a grab for me. It growls deep within its clockwork throat, the sound vibrating through its body.

The blade almost slides from my grip, but I recover, taking advantage of the swinging motion of its body to lever myself up.

Aithinne shouts, ‘You have to slit its throat!’

Themortairaims for a building and scrapes its large body through therubble to crush me. I swing down at the last second and grab an armoured plate on the underside of its arm as themortairsmashes through. Its armour takes the brunt of the impact, destroying the side wall of the building.

While it’s occupied, I grasp the scale-like armour, pulling myself up plate by plate. My muscles burn with the effort, my limbs trembling to keep hold. The plates are warm beneath my palms, textured like rough rock instead of smooth metal.

The creature bucks to throw me off, but I leap up to its left pectoral. The whirring mechanisms insideits body are deafening, a hum of clockwork beneath my palms. The blue light between the strong plates is hot and blinding as I climb past the cracks in its armour.

Finally, I reach themortair’s shoulder. I hang on with one hand and aim for its neck. My blade slashes and bites through what feels like skin between the armoured plates.

I don’t stop. I hack and hack until the metal insides give way, and even then I don’t let up. The creature sways beneath me. I pause only when itfalls, maintaining my hold as it slams into the grass and dirt in the square below. I continue my assault. I slice through more metal. I slash until I’m out of breath, until I’m covered in its thick ebony blood. Until tears sear my cheeks and my muscles ache.

Until themortair’s head lies in a heap of scrap, severed and destroyed.

Then I reach to draw the fae fabric out of my coat pocket, and slice off a long piece. I slide a strip beneath one of the plates of themortair’s armour so the fabric drapes across its face like a shroud.

So it’s the first thing Lonnrach sees when he comes looking.

This is my message. I picture him finding the fallen, mutilatedmortair.I don’t belong to you and I never will. I spentdaysweeksmonthsyearspicturing this, and now I’ll wait for it. I’ll wait for you. I’ll savour the moment when we meet again.

Because this is how I long to kill you.

Chapter 11

Aithinne comes to stand silently beside me. Black blood drips from my fingertips, splattered like ink across my clothes. It smells so strongly of iron and scorched metal, as if her sword had seared its way through.

Themortair’s head is at my feet. The clockwork pieces are still gleaming, the fae metal more polished and bright than even the smoothest metal I’ve seen. The rest of its body is naught but a pile of obsidian armour. I would have admired the craftsmanship once. I would have wished for the talent to build something like this.

Now, I don’t care about the skill that went into creating themortair. I don’t care about the kill, not even a little. I don’t give a damn.

All I can do is assess themortair’s interior parts, itspinions and gears and rivets. It’s familiar. It’s the same beautiful metal as the seal Aithinne had built. ‘You made them, didn’t you?’ I say flatly. ‘Themortair.’

Aithinne is so still, as if she isn’t breathing at all. ‘Aye.’ She sounds casual, as if we had just taken a walk through the park.

‘Lonnrach just sent one of your inventions to attack us,’ I say, ‘and you don’t sound the least troubled by it.’

‘He knows themortairare unparalleled at seeking.’ She looks fondly at it. ‘I didn’t build them to be terribly intelligent, but they’re quite useful. I had them slaughter more than a dozen soldiers in mere seconds once. They’re such loyal companions.’

I stare at her in shock. ‘Remind me never to anger you.’

Aithinne smiles serenely. ‘I was a very formidable’ – she stops speaking abruptly, as if she was about to say something she shouldn’t; then – ‘inventor.’

What the devil had she been about to say?

As if sensing my unasked question, Aithinne starts down the road, her movements slow from her injuries. ‘We need to keep moving. Lonnrach won’t be far behind and we have to meet Kadamach outside the city.’

Kadamach.I think of kissing Kiaran, the desperate hard crush of his lips against my own. The heat rises to my cheeks just remembering it. I follow her, my boots silent on the moss-covered cobblestones. ‘I thought Lonnrach needed me alive. Why would he send an assassin?’

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