Page 98 of The Fallen Kingdom

were a pain in my arse. No wonder pirates don’t wear them.

Tears blur my vision. When I read the last line, I let out a choked laugh and lift the coat to put on. Derrick’s scent overwhelms me. A sob rips out of my chest. I lower myself to the floor, press the coat to my nose, and savor the lingering taste of Derrick’s power. Honeysuckle, sweetness, nature.

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” I whisper.

Derrick would settle on my shoulder and say,Of course not; you never could do your own sewing.

That almost brings a smile to my face. I wrap my arms around his coat and inhale the scent of him again. “I’m tired,” I whisper. “I’m so tired of fighting.”

Derrick would know just what to say.So what are you going to do about it? Sit here on your arse in my pretty clothes? Feel sorry for yourself until those powers finally kill you?

I hear footsteps just outside the cottage and when I look up, Aithinne is standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “What do you think?” she asks me. “Shall we go for one last battle?”

I stare down at Derrick’s note, and I imagine him speaking again.Get up. Grab your sword. Find the Book. Kill that evil arsehole. Stop moping and take your life back, you silly thing.

Because I have some advantages that the Morrigan doesn’t have: I have Sorcha. I can use the Book and the Morrigan can’t, not until she gets a new body. And she still needsmeto create one for her. I just need to find that damn Book.

The girl.

The one from Sorcha’s memories. She was at the ball. She was in the forest. I glimpsed her in the cave just after the portal formed.

She was in the mirrored room. And she opened that portal for Derrick to come through. She helped me.

“I know that look,” Aithinne says with a smile. “That’s the look of someone who has a plan.” She frowns. “Dear me, it’s not a stupid plan, is it?”

I don’t reply. I get to my feet and shove past her. I need to find Sorcha right this bloody second.Where is she?

When I see thebaobhan sìthby the fire, I stride right up to her. “You knew that girl.”

Sorcha looks at me like I’m insane. “Excuse me?”

“Thegirl. The one with the tattoos that we saw in Edinburgh. I saw her in your mind before that. Who is she?”

For once, she seems speechless. She looks to Aithinne as if for help, but the other faery just stands next to me with her arms crossed. “I rather doubt that, since I don’t remember her before we chased her. You’re imagining things. Common in humans, I suspect.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m not imagining things,” I insist. “I need you to let me into your mind again.”

Aithinne is frowning. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking those stories never said a damn thing about what happened to the Morrigan’s consort. That girl who helped me...I think she’s the consort. And she knows where the Book is.” I step closer to Sorcha. “If you let me in, I might be able to see something that can help us. Something the Morrigan missed.”

Sorcha presses her lips together, somewhat impatiently. “So you’re asking this time.” At my nod, she sighs. “I hope this is the last time you go around digging in my head. Just hurry the hell up.”

I place my hands on her temples and shut my eyes. My mind connects with hers easily. Now that I’ve been in her thoughts and seen her memories before, the colors and thorniness of them is less of a shock. Easier for me to navigate through.

Sorcha leads me through the stream of her memories as if she were guiding me by the hand. I go back to the events of her imprisonment. Sorcha’s skin grows cold when the images of her torture go by. She trembles slightly. I gently nudge her forward, urging us to where I first saw the girl.

There. The image is so fleeting that I almost miss it. I go back and study it. The memory is only a fragment. The rest of it is blackened around the edges, like a painting that’s been almost completely burned. Only a small impression of the picture remains.

The girl with her fingers beneath Sorcha’s chin. Sorcha’s head is tipped back, willingly. She had this memory removed willingly. The girl’s long hair hangs between them, almost covering her eyes.

Her eyes are completely black; there isn’t a bit of white in them at all. The tattoos on her skin glow, the light shining through the thin material of her dress. Her lips are mouthing something. A message. I only just catch some of it.

“—forget how you found me. Forget what I am.”

How you found me.

What I am.

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