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A prickle of unease skitters down my spine as Aithinne leads me deeper into the looming forest, the feeble light from the campfire fading behind us. Wind knifes through my threadbare clothes, raising gooseflesh along my arms.

Up ahead, the path disappears into shadow. The trees press close around us, bare branches clawing at the starless sky like skeletal fingers grasping for a shred of light.

“Is this about the Book?” I ask.

Aithinne shakes her head. “I’ve sent the word out with fae still loyal to me to find out what they can.” She gestures toward a bend in the path. “This way.”

I quicken my pace again, dread coiling tighter in my gut. Through the barren trees, the shadowed outline of a structure takes shape. A solitary cottage nestled in a snow-dusted clearing, wreathed in mist that curls and eddies like smoke.

I taste ash on my tongue, bitterness flooding my mouth. I see the flicker of candle flame within those weathered walls. Only one door leads into the uninviting interior, a sole entrance cut into the rough stone facade.

This cottage isn’t meant to welcome guests or offer shelter from the elements. It’s a tomb.

Aithinne halts before that imposing doorway. “Go,” she says with a slight incline of her head. “I’ll wait for you out here. And then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

The frigid wind whispers through the bare branches overhead, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Every instinct screams to turn and flee.

But I won’t run from the truth.

Squaring my shoulders, I grasp the iron handle and push inside. The pungent, coppery scent of blood hits me first, so thick in the air that I can taste it. My stomach gives a warning lurch. I press the back of my hand to my lips and force myself to take steady breaths through my mouth.

Don’t vomit. Not yet.

The interior is swathed in gloomy half-light, the cramped space dominated by rows of narrow beds squeezed together with scarcely room to walk between them.

I creep farther inside, the uneven floorboards creaking under my hesitant steps.

This close, I can make out the figures lying on each thin mattress.

Still forms tucked beneath threadbare blankets.

None stirs as I pass.

Their eerie stillness raises the fine hairs at my nape. I move between the rows, recoiling each time my sleeve brushes an outstretched limb.

Don’t touch.

On each bed lies a wasted figure—some human, some fae. Some are so still that I wonder if this is where Aithinne keeps her dead. But when I look closer, I see they’re clinging to life by the barest thread.

A single candle sits on each bedside table, limning the occupants’ faces in wavering orange light.

I catch glimpses of sunken eyes and pallid skin pulled taut over sharp cheekbones.

Their emaciated bodies resemble victims of famine, lips cracked and flaking.

If I shifted those threadbare blankets, I know I would find nothing but jutting ribs and concave bellies.

Wasting away.

Yet their expressions reflect no pain or fear, only rapture. Twisted ecstasy shapes their hollow faces, parting their bloodless lips with whispered words I can’t quite make out. A ceaseless susurrus just below the edge of hearing, like wind through bare branches.

Wrong , whispers some primal part of my mind. All wrong. Get out.

I quicken my pace, my pulse thundering loudly in my ears. But before I can flee, a faint whimper gives me pause. I glance back, breath snagging in my throat. Bile rises hot and acidic.

There, beside the nearest bed—there’s one of the small fae with its tiny fangs buried in a woman’s throat.

Crimson trickles from the puncture wounds, spilling over her collarbone to bloom dark across the sheets.

The wisp meets my stare with eerie, empty eyes as it continues to feed.

Rivulets of scarlet leak from the corner of its mouth and drip onto the pillow.

Horror spears through me, rooting me in place. I should grab the wisp and break its neck. Something. Anything but standing mute and unmoving.

But before I can decide on a course of action, the woman’s glazed eyes slide shut in sublime pleasure. Her lips part with a shuddering sigh as if in ecstasy. She arches into that ruthless embrace, hands grasping the empty air for more.

The obscene wrongness of it propels me into motion again. I whirl on unsteady feet and shove out of that grim infirmary, nearly crashing into the beds in haste.

Don’t look back. Just forget. Keep moving.

I burst outside. My stomach rebels, and I double over, retching into the frozen undergrowth. When the last heaves subside, I straighten my quivering limbs.

Steady breaths. You knew it would be bad.

Soft footfalls sound behind me. I clench my jaw against the unwanted sob surging up my throat.

“Don’t,” I rasp. “Please. I need a moment.”

Mercifully, Aithinne stills her approach. Her luminous eyes watch me with sadness. “Of course,” she says gently.

I grip the rough bark of a nearby pine until my breathing evens out. When I’m certain I won’t vomit on Aithinne’s shoes, I turn to face her. Might as well get this over with quickly.

“I want you to tell me the truth.” I falter briefly, the image of that woman’s ecstasy rising unbidden in my mind. I force it down. “Are those Kiaran’s victims?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

One damning word.

I press my palm to my lips, strangling the ragged sound trying to claw up my throat.

Centuries ago, he swore a vow to a Falconer that prevents him from killing mortals.

The promise forged an unbreakable pact—if he kills another human, it will end his immortal life.

But without occasional sips of blood and energy, fae perish.

The Unseelie King’s hunger was greater than all of them.

Aithinne helped free him of that dependence by binding his Unseelie powers.

Until Sorcha used the crystal to break her hold.

“Why bring them here and keep them alive?” I whisper. “Wouldn’t it be kinder to let them slip away?”

Aithinne’s expression tightens. “Derrick told me a quick death would be a mercy. That I should take the small fae from their veins and let them fade. But I can’t.”

I want to rage at her, to argue. But what would be the point? We’re all drowning in blood and compromise, scrabbling at the crumbling edges of our humanity. If she acted, it would be a mercy. But it would break something in her. And hasn’t enough been broken already?

“You can try to save him,” Aithinne continues gently. “But he may not be your Kiaran anymore.”

“So this is the price?” My lips feel numb, the words distant. Disconnected. “This is what it means to love one of you?”

“Yes.” One word, stark and pitiless. “The danger of becoming entangled with a human is something my kind learns to avoid early. When I was young, my mother would ask me the same question, day after day. What do humans do best?” Her smile is a bitter, jagged thing.

“You die. You blaze bright and brief as falling stars, and leave us forever reaching.”

I dig my fingernails into my palms until pain blooms bright and hot across my skin. A welcome distraction.

Focus on the small agonies you can control.

“This is the price of immortality. We’re forced to watch those we care for wither as we remain untouched by time. With every loss, we lose some part of ourselves. Until there’s nothing left but hunger.”

I press my palm to my sternum, feeling the uneven ridge of scar tissue there. A fragile human reduced to dust with one stroke.

Leaving Kiaran unmoored. Adrift. Our bond broken. “Aithinne, where is he?”

She hesitates, conflict etching new lines across her face. Finally, she exhales slowly. “Come with me,” Aithinne says.

Her power trembles between us and I suppress a shiver.

She lifts her arms. Light explodes from her palms, brilliant and blinding.

It collides with the empty air and ripples outward, coalescing into a shimmering portal between two skeletal trees.

The world around us seems to bend, blurring at the edges as reality reshapes to accommodate the pulsing gateway now embedded within it.

I square my shoulders and stride through the waiting portal. I find myself standing on a craggy clifftop overlooking the sea. The biting wind carries the briny scent of the surf smashing itself to froth against the rocks far below us.

It hits me all at once where we are. This ominous chunk of coastline is forever etched into my memory. We’re across the bay from the ruins of Derrick’s hidden city.

Where Sorcha’s blade slid between my ribs, stealing my life in one vicious stroke.

“Back to the scene of my untimely demise,” I say. “Nothing like revisiting one’s own gruesome murder site for a bit of thoughtful introspection. Why did you drag me to this miserable rock?”

Aithinne points toward the roiling surf. “Because he’s out there.”

I follow the line of her outstretched hand, squinting against the glare. At first, I see nothing but the grey swells rolling beneath the overcast sky. But then I see it—a vast shard of darkness rising sheer from the depths.

At first glance, it appears to be a natural formation shaped by time and tide.

But as I stare harder, details emerge from the concealing fog. Serrated tines fused together in a dizzying maze. Spiralling staircases winding up the exterior lead nowhere. Gleaming balconies jutting out over the roiling abyss below.

I sweep my gaze over the island. The cracked earth looks scorched, leeched of any moisture despite the sea flinging itself against the rocky shores.

Even the trees appear menacing—gnarled things with branches like skeletal fingers twisted in supplication toward that glittering spire.

Beckoning the unwary closer with sharp promise.

Dread sinks its claws deep into my chest at the sight of that fortress, so at odds with the untamed wild surrounding it. A possessive claim staked on the landscape—as ominous as a dagger to the throat.

“Where in blazes did that monstrosity come from?” I finally ask once I find my voice again. It comes out a rasp nearly lost to the keening wind.

“Kadamach pulled it from the seafloor,” Aithinne says, studying the impossible stronghold. “An exact replica of the ‘display of masculine virility’ from his court.”

As if the tower alone weren’t threatening enough, I notice rows of fae sentries standing at attention around its base. Scores of Kiaran’s forces ready to turn back any foolish enough to approach. Like wolves guarding their den.

The message couldn’t be clearer if it were etched into the bedrock. Their king desires no visitors. Especially not his meddlesome sister.

“At his full power, Kadamach has no equal, not even me,” Aithinne says. “Many fae were eager to join his forces once the binding on his magic was broken. They see him, not me, as their future ruler.”

I wet my dry lips, pulse kicking faster beneath my skin. “Have you tried talking to him? Writing strongly worded letters, scheduling heart-to-hearts over tea and biscuits?”

Aithinne’s mouth thins to a flat, unamused line. “As if that would work on my stubborn bastard of a brother. Of course I’ve tried reaching out. He refuses to speak with me.”

I blink in surprise. “Did he say why?”

Aithinne gives her head a terse shake. “He doesn’t need to. I’ve seen this ritual before.” She wraps her arms around herself. “The last time Kadamach prepared for war, the first thing he did was cut himself off completely. Especially from me.”

Foreboding skitters down my spine. “When was that?”

“Before the kingdoms fell.”

I still, pulse stumbling. “What happened then?” I ask.

A muscle feathers Aithinne’s jaw. “He decided I was his enemy. For every minute I stood waiting to speak to him outside his gates, he had his sentries capture one of my vulnerable subjects.” Her voice drops, barely audible above the keening wind.

“Then he sent me their bodies in place of any reply. Each day for five hundred days.”

I swear my heart ceases beating and I have to swallow back the acrid burn of bile. When I find my voice again, it comes out a ruined rasp. “He killed your people just because you tried to visit him?”

“They were his first gifts to me.” Aithinne presses the heel of her hand between her brows as if to stave off an ache.

“Now he leaves the human victims at my border to provoke me. To goad me into striking first.” She shakes her head, bitterness twisting her mouth.

“Kadamach’s had a long time to learn my weaknesses. ”

I shut my eyes against the sting. However much I wish otherwise, the Cailleach showed me the darkest pieces of Kiaran’s past. Things I can never unsee, no matter how desperately I want to forget.

But Kiaran spent centuries trying to atone. I have to believe some glimmer of his humanity remains. The piece of himself that chose the human name Kiaran MacKay. That loved one insignificant mortal woman enough to make her his equal.

After Arion and the others tortured me on Calton Hill, Kiaran healed me.

When Lonnrach kept me prisoner and subjected me to unimaginable torment, Kiaran never stopped looking for me.

He’s been there to reconstruct my jagged edges, to help me breathe through nightmares, to hold me when I felt as if I would drown in memories.

I owe it to him to try. I owe him everything.

I meet Aithinne’s gaze. “He’s my consort. My responsibility. Let me try to reach him.”

Aithinne searches my face for a long moment, emotions warring across her features. But finally, she inclines her head in acquiescence.

“When I hear back about the Book, then. If you’re right and some piece of your consort remains, he’ll want to help us.”

“And if the Kiaran I knew is already gone?”

Aithinne lowers her eyes. But not before I glimpse the stark truth, as surely as if she had given it voice.

If he’s lost, I’ll have to kill the man I love or doom two realms.