Page 45 of The Fallen Kingdom

“Would execute you for your betrayal.” Her lip curls in disgust. So she loathed Aithinne even then. “I know. You told me.”

Lonnrach stares at the tree for a moment, as if he’s tempted to help her even at the risk of death. “Maybe you should let him die,” Lonnrach says, his voice so low that I barely hear him.

Sorcha looks at him sharply. “No,” she says. “He’s my friend and my consort.”

“Sorcha—”

“Mo chreach!” She throws up her hands. “Do you realize what you’re asking? I won’t stand aside and let Aithinne become the Cailleach.” Sorcha spits out Aithinne’s name like it’s a curse. “She’d execute me on sight.”

Lonnrach’s expression grows cold. “I’ll beg for your life.”

“It won’t matter and you know it.” Sorcha shakes her head. I hear her thoughts:You are so naïve, Lonnrach. You always have been. “We’re at war. If Aithinne takes the throne, she’ll slaughter my people until the rest bow to her. I can’t let that happen.”

“That’s not what this is about, though, is it?” he asks. “Do you think I haven’t heard the rumors? That I can’t see for myself that you’re wasting away?” Sorcha stiffens at that and her brother laughs bitterly. “You might as well admit the truth: Your friend and consort is letting his kingdom rot because he fell in love with some human and won’t kill them now.”

“Tha sin gu leòr,” she bites out.

“No. I’m not done.” He exhales, his features softening. “What are you risking your life for, Sorcha? Do you think if you break his curse he’ll choose you over her?”

His curse. Oh god, she was looking for a way to save Kiaran?

“Finding the Book won’t change anything.” Lonnrach’s words are surprisingly gentle. He reaches to grip her arm, as if to make her understand. “He won’t love you back. Do you understand that?”

Sorcha stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away. “He’s my king.” “Not what I asked.”

Sorcha is silent for the longest time. Emotions flutter across her face: grief, uncertainty, and finally, longing. As if she’s already lost him. I didn’t realize she felt so strongly for Kiaran.

“I understand,” she whispers. “He’s worth everything.”

Lonnrach stares at her in disbelief—and when her expression confirms the truth of her words, he grimaces.

Then, in the deep lingering thoughts from this memory, I hear one so clearly:I don’t make a vow unless I mean the words.

I almost pull out of her mind with a surprised curse. Sorcha never told Lonnrach about the vow she made to Kiaran, the one that entwined their lives. Kiaran once said it was a vow the fae made to their consorts, but perhaps it was only observed in the Unseelie Kingdom.

I assumed she made her vow for the reasons Kiaran had, out of obligation or tradition. But she hadn’t—she had meant it with every piece of her soul.

SorchalovedKiaran. She loved him once the wayIlove him. It radiates in her memory, pure and untainted.

No wonder she looked at Kiaran and me the way she did; it hurt for her to see us like that. No wonder Sorcha betrayed Lonnrach back during the battle over the crystal.

She chose Kiaran over her own brother. Because she loves him still. I always assumed what she felt for him wasn’t real. I was wrong—maybe this is what thousands of years of unrequited affection and tragedy and war do to love. They destroy it. They turn it into something dark and ugly and corrupted.

“You can’t really mean that,” Lonnrach says.

“I do,” she tells Lonnrach firmly. “But it doesn’t have to be only about me. If we find the Book, we can use it to end the war. Simple.”

“And then what?” Lonnrach’s voice is brittle. “Do you think Aithinne and Kadamach will rule happily, side by side? That the Courts can forget thousands of years of slaughter and live in peace together?”

“It has to startsomewhere. Why can’t it start with us?” Her expression is pleading. “Don’t abandon me, Lonnrach. Do this with me and I’ll forgive you for everything.”

I’ll forgive you for everything. What does that mean? Lonnrach gazes up at the branches of the tree and for a moment I think he’ll say yes. I can see his features softening, the first signs of battle-weariness that I saw when I was in the mirrored prison are there, left by centuries of bitter war between their kingdoms.

But then Sorcha whispers, “Help me save them both.”

“No.” Lonnrach steps back. “You don’t want to save them both, you want me to savehim. And I won’t help him live. I won’t betray my Queen and my Court, especially not for—” He shuts his mouth.

“For what?” Sorcha’s eyes darken. “A filthy Unseelie? Just like our mother.”

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