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“Precisely. The Morrigan’s consort was of the same lineage as Sorcha and Lonnrach. My source insisted their blood is the key to unsealing the portal.” Aithinne casts me an apologetic look. “You’ll need to take her alive. Annoyingly.”

“Well, shite.”

Aithinne tuts. “Such appalling language from a lady. I approve.”

“I’m glad my creative vulgarity meets your standards,” I say. “Even if Kiaran agrees to this, I’ll never manage to convince Sorcha to assist willingly.”

“No need to convince her. Drag her along by force.” Aithinne shrugs. “Feel free to punch her in the face if she proves irritating.”

“I despise every part of this demented scheme.”

“That’s what makes it so diverting.” Aithinne practically vibrates with anticipation.

“You’re deranged. You know that, yes?”

“I believe the word you’re searching for is magnificent .”

When we reach the cliff’s edge, nothing but a sheer drop and empty air awaits.

Far below, the churning sea slams itself against the rocks.

At the centre of that roiling abyss, Kiaran’s fortress rises from the depths—a twisted heart of obsidian stone thrusting up from the slate-grey sea.

Its outer walls crawl with patrolling soldiers, a living thicket of bristling blades and glowing eyes.

Waiting for me.

“Be ready,” Aithinne says. “They’ll attack the instant they detect a flare of any magic.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring.” I unsheathe my daggers, the familiar weight steadying my nerves. “Just a relaxing jaunt through a magical portal into the midst of hostile forces. Should be a lovely outing.”

“Precisely. Easy as pie.” Aithinne smiles brightly. “I adore pie.”

I drag a hand over my face. Honestly. I’m surrounded by lunatics. “Let’s revisit your definition of ‘easy’ when imminent death isn’t on the agenda. Also, your romantic advice. I have some notes.”

“I’ll take your perspectives into consideration,” she says. She steps back, magic already gathering in her upturned palms. “Ready?”

I recall the last portal she conjured to whisk me between islands. The one that nearly pulverised me between colliding tree limbs in transit. “Just don’t crush me between any large objects this time.”

“No need to worry. I’ll more likely drown you instead.”

Comforting.

Aithinne raises her hands, power amassing around her.

The space between us ripples. The clean, briny scent of the sea intensifies, flooding my senses. The cries of circling gulls sharpen to knifelike clarity. And at the edges of my vision colours leach away.

Aithinne turns to face me, her features limned in light. “Ready?”

I tighten my grip on the hilts of my daggers, the familiar weight steadying my nerves. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Then hold on tight.”

Aithinne slashes her hand through the air in a violent, downward arc. The ground beneath my feet disappears.

And I’m falling.

The world vanishes in a prismatic burst. Blurs into streaks of colour and rushing wind. I have the vague impression of tumbling through an endless chasm, my body nothing more than a fragile collection of breakable bones hurtling toward impact.

I barely have time to register the vertigo before the spiralling void spits me out.

I hit the ground hard, momentum sending me skidding across the ground. Every bone and joint shrieks in protest. For a moment, I lie there gasping. Trying to convince my lungs they remember how to breathe.

I push past the ache pervading my entire body and force myself into a sitting position. Then I climb to my feet to face the grim welcoming party. Twenty identical pairs of eyes stare back at me, twenty blades poised to open my veins.

“Would you care to escort me to the throne room?” I ask. As one, they lunge—and I grin. “I suppose not.”

It’s time to get my consort’s attention.

The Cailleach’s unstable magic thrums below my skin, begging for release. For me to surrender control and set it loose. But I clench my jaw and shove it down, caging the volatile power before it burns me up.

I can’t forget the limitations of my body.

The tight ache in my shoulders as I swing my blade up to block the first biting arc of steel.

The cold air rasping my lungs with each breath.

The jarring impact juddering up my arm when my knuckles collide with a fae’s cheekbone.

There is an elegance to wielding daggers, a grace honed from endless hours repeating the same forms until the movements become reflexes.

Until the weapon in my palm feels as natural as my own heartbeat.

Until each slash and thrust and riposte flowed thoughtless and smooth.

And through it all, I feel the weight of Kiaran’s stare from his tower window. More intimate than a caress.

Do you remember this? I want to shout. Do you remember us and how we burned together? Watch me now. Let me remind you.

Because this is how Kiaran and I communicate best.

When the last fae soldier crumples lifeless at my feet, I lift my head. A challenge flung at him. My ragged breaths tear from my lungs. I’m trembling, muscles quivering with battle rush and adrenaline. But I school my features to stillness.

Let me in, you stubborn bastard.

For an endless moment, only the mournful wind answers my silent plea.

Then, with an ominous groan, the massive doors leading into Kiaran’s stronghold swing open.