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The Unseelie soldiers close in, a faint current of power rippling beneath the tense silence. Individual sparks flare to life, merging into a simmering tide of energy so dense it leaves the air sweltering. Sweat beads along my hairline, the heat oppressive despite the winter chill.

My volatile magic stirs in response, darkness unfurling at the edges of my consciousness. Waiting, always waiting for the moment it will be unleashed. Allowed to kill.

Come closer , it seems to whisper, a sibilant hiss winding through my mind. Just a little more.

I inhale, tasting frost and pine on my tongue. The cold air burns my lungs, but I welcome the sting. It sharpens my focus, honing my senses to a lethal edge.

When the soldiers emerge from the skeletal trees ringing our makeshift camp, my magic roars inside me, straining against its confines. Pacing like a caged beast, claws unsheathed.

Aithinne’s fingers find my wrist, her ancient power flowing over mine in a gentle caress. Soothing. Patience carved from millennia of practice, tamping down the same primal instincts now threatening to drown me.

“Wait,” she murmurs, her voice low and steady in my ear.

The Unseelie fan out in a loose semicircle, effectively surrounding us. Twenty in total. My magic detects the thrum of their hearts, the rush of blood beneath pallid skin stretched taut over lean muscle. Twenty fae ready to throw their lives away at their king’s command.

I step forward, muscles coiled tight, prepared to unleash the waiting violence sparking along every nerve ending. But Aithinne’s grip only tightens, holding me tethered. Keeping the monster leashed for a few seconds longer.

“ Wait ,” she repeats, more forceful this time. Then, raising her voice to ensure every soldier can hear, “You’re trespassing in my territory.”

The male at their head, a towering brute with silver hair braided back in an intricate plait, lets out a derisive snort. “King’s orders, Your Majesty.”

“How thoughtful of my dear brother to arrange a visit. Since you’ve taken the trouble to travel all this way, I don’t suppose you’d share what orders Kadamach gave you before sending you to die?”

I study the soldiers’ faces. Searching for any flicker of uncertainty, any sign that Aithinne’s words have found the crack in their resolve.

But their facades betray nothing. No hint of fear or doubt disturbs the flat planes of their features. Kiaran has chosen this lot well. Loyal. Steadfast.

Expendable.

“Come now, surely you must realise you’re worth nothing to him,” Aithinne says. “Meaningless sacrifices.”

I cut her a sharp look. What are you doing?

The barest shake of her head, the slight pursing of lips. She’s giving them a chance to save themselves. To walk away from this and live.

The moments stretch out in taut silence, nothing but the wind keening through the trees and the staccato pounding of my own heart. I count the spaces between breaths. In and out. Willing calm I don’t feel.

The silver-haired male speaks again. “The Unseelie King commanded us to bring you a message.” Steel whispers against leather as he unsheathes his blade, the honed edge glinting in the weak light. “The truce is finished.”

Aithinne regards him for a weighted moment, head tilted. “Then I’ll be sure to carve my response into your corpse and deliver it to him personally,” she says.

The soldier snarls and charges.

His blade slashes toward Aithinne’s unprotected throat in a lethal, downward arc meant to sever her head from her shoulders.

In a blur almost too fast for my eyes to track, Aithinne catches his sword arm mid-swing, halting the blade a mere hair’s breadth from her skin. Her fingers wrap around his straining wrist. With her other hand, she seizes him around the neck and wrenches.

The crack of his spine snapping echoes like a gunshot through the clearing. He hits the ground in a heap and lies still, head lolling at an unnatural angle.

Aithinne turns her merciless stare to the remaining soldiers. “Was there anything else?” she enquires almost gently.

The Unseelie exchange glances, a hundred wordless conversations passing between them. I see it in their eyes—that flicker of hesitation. The barest wavering in their blind conviction that this is a battle they’ll walk away from.

But their indecision lasts only a moment before cold resignation takes its place. As one, they lift their swords and lunge. Aithinne surges forward to meet them, a dark blur of glinting steel and whirling shadows. Her blade finds flesh again and again, painting the air crimson.

I take my place at her side, hands already curling around the hilts of my own twin daggers. The soldiers descend on us in a lethal whirlwind, and the world narrows to the rhythmic clash of blades. Muscle memory guides my body through each step of this deadly dance.

Death is in my blood. I breathe it in like oxygen.

My magic rises eagerly to the slaughter, the void inside me pulsing in time to each strike. Each body crumpling lifeless at my feet only feeds the snarling thing caged behind my ribs, its rage building to a deafening clamour in my ears.

I can feel it pushing against the surface of my skin, seeking escape.

Aithinne’s voice slices through the maelstrom, her tone commanding. “Aileana! Get it under control!”

I can’t. A distant, rational part of me knows I should be worried. The Cailleach’s magic was never meant for me. It will consume me.

But I can’t bring myself to care. Not when the power rippling beneath my skin feels so good.

The darkness inside me purrs, glutted and content, as my blade finds home in the last soldier’s heart. I stare down at his slack features, breath heaving in my lungs. Distantly, I realise my hands are shaking.

And then the pain hits.

It explodes like lit gunpowder through my skull, a vicious pressure building behind my eyes. Black spots crowd my vision, narrowing my world to a hazy pinprick of fading light.

“Aileana!”

Aithinne’s voice warps and fractures as if reaching me from afar.

My legs give out. I barely feel the impact as I crash to my hands and knees, cold seeping through my clothes. Something hot and wet trickles from my nose. Coats my lips. The taste of iron floods my mouth, thick and cloying.

Blood.

My heartbeat roars in my ears, drowning out all else. Distantly, I’m aware of gentle hands on my shoulders. Guiding me to slump against something solid and unyielding. Drawing me up and away from the pull of unconsciousness.

“Breathe,” Aithinne orders.

I try. But my lungs refuse to cooperate.

After an eternity, the vice constricting my chest eases. Oxygen floods my starving lungs. Slowly, the world swims back into hazy focus.

Aithinne’s face hovers mere inches from mine, her brow creased in concern. Silver-flecked eyes search my face, cataloguing the damage.

“I’m all right,” I rasp.

Liar , my mind whispers. But I shove the insidious thought down. Lock it away.

Because the alternative is unthinkable. I can’t confront the ugly truth lurking in the tattered remains of my psyche. That brittle, dark thing unfurling its claws.

She drops into a crouch beside me, features tight with concern. Her hands grasp my chin, tilting my head to assess the damage. “You’ll have to be more careful channelling the Cailleach’s power when you search for the Book. Use it sparingly, or it will rip you apart.”

I jerk from her hold, my pulse kicking faster. “How long do I have?”

“That depends.” Aithinne chooses her next words with care. “If you continue using power like this, not long at all. But if you exercise restraint . . .”

“ Aithinne. How long?”

She looks away. “A week. Two, if you’re careful.”

A week. Two, if I’m careful.

All the oxygen seems to vanish from my lungs in a dizzying rush. The world swims out of focus. I slump forward, bracing my palms against the cold ground as I try to remember how to breathe.

Aithinne’s hand on my shoulder startles me back to myself. “Easy,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you. We need to get you to Kadamach. Get his attention before my darling brother decides to send more of his expendable soldiers to die.”

“Right. Good plan. Solid plan.” I force my limbs to cooperate even as every step sends fresh agony lancing through my skull. “And how do you propose we accomplish that with an army between us and his stronghold?”

Aithinne keeps pace beside me, grip steady as she steers us away from the carnage. “I have a few ideas you can use to get his attention.”

“Why does that not fill me with confidence?” I mutter. Louder, I add, “I’m almost certain I don’t want to know, but I have to ask—how do you plan for me to get Kiaran’s attention?”

A slow smile spreads across Aithinne’s face. “Slaughter the guards at his gate. He always did love watching you work.”

I nearly stumble over an exposed root, but Aithinne’s steady grasp keeps me upright.

“Let me see if I understand your brilliant scheme correctly. You expect me to fight my way to the front doors of my consort’s fortress.

Kill his soldiers until he deigns to acknowledge my presence.

And then, what? Sit down for tea while I convince him to abandon this ludicrous war in favour of hunting down a book that may or may not exist? ”

“You could goad him into trying to kill you,” Aithinne says with a shrug. “He’s much more reasonable after a vigorous round of combat. Really gets the blood flowing. Among other things.”

“I’m not coming to you for romantic guidance if your advice is ‘slaughter the guards and get him to try to murder you. That’s sure to spark the old flames.’” I roll my eyes. “Now, tell me about finding the Book before I keel over dead. Again.”

Sobering somewhat, Aithinne forges ahead through the dense undergrowth. “We’ll need to capture Sorcha. Only her bloodline can unlock the door guarding the Book.”

“Your solution involves me somehow enlisting the woman who murdered me to help locate this Book that’s meant to save us all?”