Page 76 of The Fallen Kingdom

Kiaran’s voice is almost soft when he asks, “When was the last time you fed?”

She draws a shuddering breath. “Almost two hundred years ago.”

I can sense Kiaran’s surprise. His face remains impassive as ever, but there’s something growing in his gaze, something angry. Something ruthless. “Do you wish you could kill him?”

In the corner of the tent, the Strategist makes a low choking sound.

Sorcha’s smile is small, a dagger’s edge. “Every day.”

Kiaran’s eyes flicker to the Strategist. “Release her from her vow.”

The Strategist’s voice shakes when he speaks. “But, my King—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Kiaran says coldly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

The other faery looks up at Sorcha and shuts his eyes in defeat. His words are barely spoken above a breath. “I release you from your vow.”

Sorcha doubles over with a sharp cry as the mark around her neck glows red-hot as molten metal. The mark disintegrates to dust on her clothes. She straightens, her fingers feeling above her collarbone with an astonished look on her face. When she looks at Kiaran, it’s with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, my King.Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I don’t do anything out of kindness.” Kiaran reaches for the blade at his hip, pulls out the dagger, and hands it to her, hilt first. “You said you wished for his death. Take your revenge.”

Sorcha’s smile widens. “I plan to.”

The Strategist is on his feet and making for the front of the tent, but Sorcha is there first. He never stands a chance. She falls on him, power barreling out of her with surprising strength to keep him still. Then she takes the blade and slices open his throat. She doesn’t stop there. She stabs him over and over and over again, a scream erupting from her mouth each time. It goes on for so long that I shut my eyes to block out the sight.

By the time she’s finished, she’s breathing hard, her limbs shaking. She’s covered in blood. Her eyes are wet with tears.

She doesn’t even notice when Kiaran approaches her. “Tell me your name.”

“Sorcha,” she whispers.

“Sorcha.” She closes her eyes, as if the sound of her name on his lips is a song only she can hear. “It appears I’m in need of a new Strategist. Are you interested?”

“Yes.” Her smile is a flash of teeth, the one I’m familiar with. “Oh yes.”

When Sorcha pulls me out of her memories, we’re both trembling. Her eyes are wide, slightly wet. “Let me ask you something: If you could have killed me the night I murdered your mother, how would you have done it?” she asks. “Would it have been quick and merciful? Or would you have slit my throat and stabbed me a hundred times the way I did my master?”

I don’t meet her gaze. I know which I would have chosen. She knows, too.

“You see?” she breathes. “You should be thankful he’ll lose you before his precious Falconer grows into the ruthlessness I see in your heart. You’d become just like me if given the chance. Revenge makes us all monsters in the end. Remember that.”

“Sorcha—”

“Enough.” She stands and backs away. “That’s enough. I’m going back to sleep.”

I watch as she curls up at the back of the cave, alone.

CHAPTER 35

AFRANTIC SHOUTwakes me. “Kam!”

I sit up fast, my heart pounding. “Kiaran?”

Sorcha and Aithinne are still asleep by the dying embers of the fire. Neither of them has moved or stirred at the call. Did I imagine it? It was so loud, as if he were just outside.

“Kam!”

I lurch to my feet. Definitely not my imagination.

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