Page 8 of The Fallen Kingdom

CHAPTER 4

DERRICK URGESme through the forest at a demanding speed. If I slow to a jog, he pushes me to go faster. “The farther we get from those bodies before nightfall, the better,” he says. “I’ve got people to warn.”

I almost stumble over a tree root. I’m breathing so hard I can’t say anything at first. Finally, I manage: “Fly ahead?”

Derrick’s mouth sets in a line. “No.”

“But—”

“I’m not leaving you.” His wings flick in agitation. “Not when I’m half convinced you’re the product of either some insane dream or my overactive imagination. And I just got my shoulder seat back. Now, move your arse.”

I pick up my pace, sprinting until my muscles burn. Neither of us speaks, not even hours later, when we find an abandoned cottage deep in the woods. Derrick decides we’re far enough from the dead forest to rest for the night.

And not a moment too soon, because I am about to keel over.

The thatched roof is sturdy enough to keep out most of the rain. The air inside is musty. A single hole in the corner of the stonework lets in enough rain that water and moss have spread along the walls.

My feet ache. Carefully, I lower my sore body to the cold stone floor and sit while Derrick rummages in a trunk on the far side of the room. The blankets he finds inside are moth-eaten and dirty, the old wool riddled with holes. With a contented sigh, he pulls a needle and thread from his coat pocket and starts stitching up the fabric.

“Derrick.” I test the weight of his name on my tongue, hoping to use it to conjure a memory. The sense of home returns, the comfort, but no memories. No images of my former life.

“Aileana.” I try my own name, reaching to the dark parts of my mind. I have to know why I came back.HowI came back. I whisper my name over and over until it’s a breath on my lips. Until it’s no more than a sound. That feeling of immense burden rises again and I try to weather it. I let the storm build and see where it takes me, but beyond it, there’s still nothing.

Oh, confound it. I give up.

“I had another name,” I say, irritated by my inability to recall even the most basic things. “Didn’t I? It was shorter. One syllable.”

Derrick goes quiet, and his fingers are suddenly still. He’s avoiding my gaze. “You did.” He jabs the needle through the material and bites his lip. He’s thinking hard, that much is obvious.

I narrow my eyes. “I may not have my memories of you, but I know that look. You don’t want to be honest with me.”

“Fine.” He shrugs. “If you want honesty, I preferAileana. It’s distinctive, rolls off the tongue in a pleasant—”

“Tell me or I won’t let you sit on my shoulder.”

“Kam,” Derrick finally says in a short sigh. “Hecalled you Kam, short for your surname, Kameron. There. Are you happy now?”

Kam. That’s the one. I recall the sound of it between wild kisses, as if he would never tire of saying it.Kam. I love that name. I can feel him whispering it against the pulse at my throat. It meant everything. Itsaideverything.

But with those memories comes a reminder of the urgent message I came back to deliver. It’s to do with him. It’s why I’m here.

“Derrick,” I say softly. He looks over at me, cautious now. “Ishethe Unseelie King?”

He’s quiet for the longest time. “Aye.”

“Did I love him?”

“More than anything.”

It hurts to swallow. “Did he love me?”

Rain taps against the roof. A breeze rattles the wooden door. When Derrick speaks, his voice is so soft, I strain to hear him. “He loved you so much that when you died, he might as well have died with you.”

The next morning, we continue our journey through the woods, with a pace just as grueling as before. The forest has grown so shadowed that I can barely see the ground in front of me. Beyond the far-reaching tops of the trees, the slate-gray clouds are heavy with rain, dark enough to appear shaded with ink.

I notice with some bewilderment that the sky is not the only part of the landscape that’s monochrome. The farther we travel, the more the forest seems entirely bled of color, like I’m walking through a charcoal drawing. The minimal traces of green among the trees are faded, as if coated with a layer of fine dust. The leaves are all withering, the branches brittle.

The entire forest is dying.

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