Page 97 of The Fallen Kingdom

His wee body is tucked under a silk coverlet. His eyes are closed, and he looks so alive. Like he’s just sleeping.

He’s not coming back, I remind myself harshly.He’s not asleep. He’s not resting. He’s not coming back.

Wherever she goes, death follows.

I shut my eyes hard before the tears fall.Stop. Please stop.

“What does the box say?”

“It tells his story.” Aithinne reaches her hand out to trace her fingertips across the markings. “His birth, his battles, through the ages until his death.” She looks at me. “Would you like to see where you are?”

Without waiting for my answer, Aithinne takes my hand and places it inside the box. She presses my fingers to the wood, just where Derrick’s body rests against the silk. The markings there are even more intricate and beautiful. As if he lived more during the events of those last few branches than he had in all the centuries that formed the others.

“You’re here,” Aithinne whispers. “The closest to his heart. So when he joins his family on the other side, they will see him marked with these words. With your name.”

“What words?”

Her smile is small, sad. “I lived for thee. I died for thee.” She looks down at him. “We believe that when we die, we go to Tír na nÓg. The land of eternal youth. Where war doesn’t exist.” When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes. “You’ll see him there someday. We all will.”

She gestures to the small platform she’s put near the bonfire. When I set the box down there, the emptiness inside me grows. Aithinne steps inside the blaze—unburned—and lifts the platform to place it in the heart of the fire.

We all stand and watch as the flames consume the box, and we lose another of our own.

CHAPTER 43

AS THEfirst light rises in the pallid, dying sky, I don the clothes for my last hunt. I fought back tears when I saw them on the cot for me in Aithinne’s cottage.

I knew what it was.

Make me a pirate costume.

Only if you save me a dance.

He had done as I requested and made this for me to fight in. Only Derrick wasn’t content with just making a plain garment. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever created.

I miss you, I think, imagining him on my shoulder.I miss watching you sew. I miss listening to your silly songs.

The trousers are soft leather, warm to the touch. When I put them on, they fit closely, easy to move in. They were created to keep me swift and agile in a fight. Practical. Perfect.

Derrick’s specialty was always the coat. That was where he put his greatest efforts.

I hold my breath and brush my fingers across the fine material. The garment is similar to the one Aithinne gave me, but it’s the deep red of a summer sunset. It matches my hair perfectly. The front of the coat is covered with intricate gold threads that form hundreds of falling feathers. They span all the way across the chest to the back where they split off into stars. Constellations.

Each one is from my mother’s lessons.Polaris. Alderamin. Gamma Cassiopeiae.

That’s when I notice the inside of my coat. There’s a scrap of material sewn over the interior pocket, where it would rest just over my heart.

My mother’s tartan. The one that was destroyed with the pixie kingdom. Derrick remembered the design and re-created it.

As if that weren’t enough, there’s a note.

It’s not the original, but I figured you ought to wear it.

Stop fretting over whether or not you’re worthy.

You’re being silly and you know it. —D

P. S. Don’t destroy this coat on its first outing. Those gold threads

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