Page 13

I quicken my pace to match Aithinne’s brisk stride, boots crunching over brittle leaves and frozen earth. A chill seeps through my patched cloak.

“What do you mean the bodies are gone?” I hiss. “Derrick and I buried them deep enough to reach the damn underworld.”

Aithinne’s jaw clenches, a subtle tell of the frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior.

“Not deep enough, apparently. Derrick returned to seal them further with magic, only to find the graves empty and our wards shattered. If my brother hasn’t already unleashed his forces, he’ll be preparing them as we speak. ”

I curse under my breath. “Then I’ll go to him. Start a conversation before this devolves into creative acts of violence.”

“How gracious of you to attempt nonviolent communication first.” A wry smile tugs at her lips. “I suppose that buys us a generous five minutes before you two are at each other’s throats or in each other’s trousers.”

“Your faith in my restraint astounds me.”

Her answering laugh holds no mirth. “We have minutes at best before Kadamach strikes.” She quickens her pace. “Hurry now.”

As we draw closer to Aithinne’s ramshackle encampment, I catch the scent of wood smoke in the air, mingled with the decay of sodden leaves and forest rot. Shadows flicker in the guttering torchlight as we pass between rows of rickety lean-tos cobbled from weathered planks and fraying thatch.

Not for the first time, I’m struck by how far we’ve fallen—an ancient monarch and what remains of humanity sheltering in glorified hovels while the world crumbles to ruin beyond these woods.

Aithinne leads me toward her cottage. “You need to make Kadamach see reason,” she says as we duck inside.

The warm glow of the magic crystals ensconced along the walls chases the chill from my skin.

Everything glimmers with fractured light.

“Throw him into a tree. Bury the bastard in an avalanche. Pummel him with your new powers until he begs for mercy. Break him if you must. His mind or his bones, I don’t particularly care which. ”

I nod. “If charm and logic fail, maybe I can concuss some sanity back into him.”

Honestly, savage tussles were always more Kiaran’s romantic language than poetic overtures. Him baring his throat to me, trusting me not to unmake him.

Kiaran and I always liked to dance on the edge of a knife.

Aithinne smiles wistfully. “One of these days, I must find myself a woman who whispers sweet declarations while engaging me in a duel.” She sighs. “Imagine such a beautifully violent courtship.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Here I thought Kiaran was the one with violently unorthodox seduction methods.”

“We were cut from the same bloody cloth,” she says.

“It takes a particular strain of madness to endure eternity without one’s wits dribbling out one’s ears.

” Crouching beside a battered trunk, she rummages inside, producing a bundle of fabric with a flourish.

“Here. Get out of those tattered rags before I’m forced to burn them. ”

I bristle, plucking pointedly at my frayed and soot-smudged tunic. “Yes, I mustn’t offend the aesthetic sensibilities of marauding enemy soldiers. I tremble to imagine their outrage at a glimpse of these fraying hems.”

Aithinne blows out an irritated breath as she straps on an alarming array of blades. “You’re not confronting my brother looking like something a stray dog wouldn’t deign to chew on. Get dressed and grab some weapons so we can be on our way.”

I bite back a snippy retort and shake out the clothes she provided. Dark leather trousers that look like they’ll mould to my skin, paired with a rich velvet coat heavy with intricate golden embroidery. I run reverent fingertips over the elegant whorls and spirals, admiring each meticulous stitch.

“Derrick made those for you,” Aithinne says, catching me stroking the delicate needlework. “In case you returned.”

I breathe a soft laugh. Of course, he did. I’d recognise my friend’s fastidious work anywhere. Only Derrick would labour to create such finery amidst the chaos and war pressing in from all sides, determined to cling to each small scrap of beauty. Even when I was dead.

My chest squeezes, raw emotion clogging my throat. I cough to disguise it. “How optimistic of him. This coat looks fit for a coronation ceremony. Yours, I suppose.”

Aithinne scoffs, checking the lethal edge of her curved dagger. “If we don’t find the Book, we both know this only ends one way for me.” At my sharp look, she amends, “In a glorious and timely demise befitting my stature. Hopefully, something involving an explosion.”

I shake my head, exasperated. “Morbid nonsense. Now turn around so I can change.”

Soon, I’m encased in leather and velvet, the elegant embroidery glinting gold in the dim light.

I secure my weaponry as Aithinne looks on with a critical eye, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

“You mentioned news of the Book before you started prophesying your doom. What did your contact uncover? A location?”

Aithinne presses her lips into a thin line. “It’s . . . not anywhere, presently.”

“I’m sorry, did you say the mythical, all-powerful tome we desperately need to prevent the apocalypse is nowhere ?”

“Well, not nowhere precisely. More of an elsewhere situation.”

I resist the urge to throttle her. Barely. Through gritted teeth, I say, “Please stop speaking in riddles.”

Aithinne’s eyes glint with mirth. “You make the most endearing little growly noise when vexed. Like an irritated cat whose tail got stepped on.” She does a poor imitation of said sound that I refuse to acknowledge.

After a thousand years trapped underground, I suspect her skin has grown impervious to withering human looks.

She lets out a breath. “Apparently, the Book resides in a pocket realm, hidden away for safekeeping. According to my source—who, granted, is an ancient, inebriated wisp with more love for honey than is healthy—any fae who got hold of the Book would gain power beyond imagining. Enough to alter the fabric of reality.”

My pulse kicks faster. Thoughts already leaping ahead, grasping at possibilities. “Alter, how? Temporal manipulation? Undo past events?”

My heart gives a traitorous lurch at the possibility dangled before me. Dangerous thoughts. To reverse my mistakes. To go back before the world broke.

Before I lost everything.

Before it all went wrong.

Aithinne’s gaze softens, as if reading the naked longing in my eyes. “I don’t know the scope of its power, or if the legends exaggerate. But the Book would make its wielder unmatched. A law unto themselves. More powerful than the Cailleach.”

I force myself to breathe slowly, releasing the treacherous thoughts about second chances. I can’t afford to lose sight of the present goal. “Tell me everything your contact said. Word for word.”

She leans a hip against the trunk, crossing her arms. “My informant claimed that long before the first Cailleach rose to power, the fae were ruled by her sister.”

I raise a brow, buckling my wrist sheath. “Why do I suspect this story lacks a cheerful ending?”

“Because you’re not a complete fool. We fae enjoy boasting of our superiority to mortals, but we’re just as susceptible to greed and ambition. We’re not lobsters, after all.”

I blink. Blink again, sure I’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you just compare the fae to shellfish?”

“I’ve heard they might be biologically immortal and they’re not prone to petty avarice. I’m considering adopting one as my new sigil.” She sighs. “Can you imagine a lobster for a pet? I’d construct her a charming little habitat. With a darling leash for walks.”

“Setting aside that I don’t think your lobster facts are accurate,” I say, “why in blazes are we discussing crustaceans at this exact moment? Impending apocalypse arriving shortly via murderous fae soldiers, Aithinne? Does that ring a bell? What was the Cailleach’s sister’s name?”

Aithinne gives a rueful half-smile. “Apologies. She was known as the Morrigan.”

The Morrigan.

Oh, I know that name. My mother whispered it around guttering fires on frigid nights when the shadows seemed to grow teeth and the dark pressed too close for comfort.

Unlike the Cailleach, whose brutality was tempered by fleeting flashes of mercy, the Morrigan’s legacy is one of indiscriminate slaughter.

The Morrigan was a creature of endings. Of burial shrouds and bone-picked carrion.

Where she walked, the green and growing things withered to ash, crops blackening in the fields, fruit shrivelling on gnarled boughs.

Plagues and blights nipped at her heels.

But she was no cautionary legend used to frighten children. She existed. Breathed. Killed. Her legacy was written in the blood of thousands.

And she nearly annihilated the human race.

I suck in a breath. “My not-so-good feeling just acquired new and horrifying dimensions.”

She gives me a considering once-over. “You’re not going to be sick, are you? Do you need to step outside?”

“I’ll do my utmost not to christen your footwear,” I rasp. A deflection. I press on before she can study me further. “Tell me everything about the Morrigan and the Book. Every gruesome, troubling, hopeless detail. I need to know precisely how bad this is.”

Aithinne’s mouth presses into a thin line. I don’t miss the way her shoulders curve as if under some invisible weight. I have a feeling this tale will be filled with dire omens of our impending ruin. Joyous tidings.