Page 44 of The Vanishing Throne

The only sound other than our footsteps is the steady patter of dripping water. The temperature grows colder as we go further underground; the musty scent of the rock is overwhelming.

When we reach our destination, Gavin has me sit on one of the damp rocks. ‘Give me your hands,’ he murmurs.

I do as he asks and before I can respond, he clicks heavyshackles over my wrist. A sense of dread fills me. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I told you that you wouldn’t like this,’ he says. He touches my shoulder; a tender touch, as if he regrets what’s about to happen. That’s the Gavin I know.

‘Wait—’

He walks away, his footsteps disappearing back up the stairs. When no one else comes, my body begins to shake with cold and fear. I can’t see anything through the blindfold,and having my hands bound threatens to bring back too many memories.

It’s one test. Only one. You can get through it.

‘Gavin?’ I call. I wait. Somewhere behind me water drips to the ground with a sharpthwop– other than that, I don’t hear a damn thing.

It remains quiet for the longest time and I can’t take it any more. I shake my head hard to loosen the blindfold. It inches down my face. I try again, again – throwing back my head – until the blindfold slips to my mouth. Then I use my teeth to tug it the rest of the way and the material slips free.

I’m in a cavern, musty with dirt and humidity. I’m propped against rocks that look like none I’ve ever seen. A shaft of moonlight shines from an opening at the top, illuminating the sparkling inclusions in the walls. They glisten like stars trapped in clusters, bright and shining. I’m able to lower my palm to my side to feel how smooth it is, like volcanic rock shaped, buffed, and smoothed to perfection.

‘I see you’ve slipped the blindfold,’ a voice says.

I look over, straining my eyes to see. I didn’t even hear him come in – unless he was there the whole time, watching me. He’s standing just beyond the moonlight, where it’s too dark to see anything but his outline.

His tall form is leaned against the boulders on the far side of the room. After a moment, he steps into the circle of moonlight and I’m able to see his face.

The man has ruggedly handsome features – a nose that’s been broken before – and he’s even more muscular than Gavin. He’s seen battle, that much is obvious. One of his eyes is covered with a patch.

‘I take it Gavin won’t be returning,’ I say.

‘Correct. He’ll be drinking himself to oblivion, I imagine,’ the man says, his eye shrewdly assessing me. ‘It’s a bit of a tradition whenever we have to do this.’

His rolling accent is distinctive;I recognise it from the time I accidentally wandered from my parents’ side and into one of the more impoverished areas of Glasgow. Father spent an entire afternoon berating me for that.

His cadence and pronunciation is different from the accent spoken by my affluentpeers in Edinburgh and Glasgow. Our speech lessons from childhood were deliberately intended to curtail the Scottish brogue so we sound more like those in English society; it is meant to be a mark of our wealth and status. Unlike mine, each word of his is spoken with a thick burr.

‘You must be Daniel,’ I say, trying to sound cordial. ‘Is there a formal name I may call you?’

‘Nothing formal,’ he says gruffly. ‘Not here. You’re going to want to be able to curse my Christian name.’

I feel a twinge of fear. The shackles are already biting into my skin, dredging up unwanted memories.

I try to calm myself. ‘If it’s all the same to you,’ I say, ‘I’d prefer a surname. If you please.’

Being concerned about etiquette when I’m shackled to a wall in a dark cave might be a bit silly, but at least one thing I can control about this situation is what to call him.

‘Mr. Reid, then,’Daniel says with an exaggerated bow. ‘My lady.’

I ignore his sarcasm and lift the thick chain that secures me to the rock. ‘Is there a reason I’m shackled to this wall like a prisoner?’ My voice is steady, calmer than I feel. ‘I’m here willingly. I won’t run.’

Instinctively, I give the shackles a slight tug to see how well attached they are. If I could pull them out just a little – if I had even that small level of control – it might quiet the thoughts. Already my pulse is uneven, panic rising.

‘The shackles aren’t to keep you here against your will,’ Daniel says, a catch in his voice that I don’t understand. ‘They’re so you don’t hurt yourself.’

I’m about to ask what he means when he whistles once between his teeth, a shrill sound that reverberates through the cave. I go entirely still, holding my breath, waiting, dreading. Mypulse is stuttering; heat rises in my cheeks.

Something rustles at the back of the cave. It sounds distinctly like a flutter of wings. A taste settles on my tongue, soft and sweet as honeysuckle. Then a light, even brighter than Derrick, flies to Daniel. It stops to hover in front of him. Those tiny wings on its back snap and flutter as it says something in its language, its voice as lyrical and flowing as chimes.

The faery’s halo is too brilliant to reveal its features, but it’s smaller than a pixie, no taller than one of my fingers.Teine sionnachain, a will-o’-the-wisp. The wee creature is exactly how Kiaran described them. They’re rural dwellers with an inherent dislike forcity lights and noise. I’ve never seen one before. They’ve always stayed on the outskirts of the city, hidden in trees or caves.

---