Page 31

The world folds in on itself and re-forms with a sickening lurch that steals the breath from my lungs. The air here is thick and clammy, pressing against my skin. It saps the strength from my limbs until each step feels like wading through molasses.

Dead ivy snakes across the stones from floor to ceiling, not a single living leaf in sight—only desiccated brown vines rattling in a slight breeze. But there are no doors, no windows, no way out except the shimmering portal at my back.

And then that’s gone too, knitting shut behind Kiaran, Sorcha and Aithinne as they materialise. Sealing us in this rotting prison.

“Shite,” I breathe.

The cold here has nothing to do with the temperature. It goes deeper than that. It’s in the air, in the stones. In the dark energy saturating this place. Watching. Waiting.

An unseen presence toys with the edges of my perception. It makes the fine hairs at my nape prickle. Menace. I’d thought I understood its shape and weight. But this . . . this is an abyss, fathomless and full of teeth.

“It didn’t look like this before.” Sorcha’s words are soft.

Her gaze darts over the crumbling walls, the skeletal foliage.

“The stones were alive. Thrumming with power. The Cailleach was holding this place together.” She wheels on me.

“Now that she’s dead and her powers are wasted on an incompetent mortal, this realm is disintegrating. Just like ours.”

“Not helpful,” I snap.

Sorcha sneers, advancing on me in a fury.

“Do you have any idea what this means? How desperate the Morrigan will be to escape? This is her final chance at freedom. Her eleventh hour.” She slaps a palm against the solid stone where the portal stood moments ago.

“If you had a single merciful bone in your body, Kadamach, you’d end your sister and seize your birthright to save us the trouble. ”

“If I do that, our vow is rescinded.” He rakes her with a look. “And I’d spend eternity tearing you to pieces. Now move.”

With a poisonous glare, she plunges ahead into the dead thicket. The rest of us have no choice but to follow.

As we walk, I cast my senses out. That’s when I feel it again—that skin-crawling sense of being watched. Of malice skittering along my nerves.

The voice curls through my head, an insidious whisper.

I see you.

The air ripples. Pressure builds and builds, the strain of magic yanking tighter, tighter. Fissures splinter through the stonework above us, widening with each heartbeat.

“Well now,” Aithinne says, “this is quite the treat, isn’t it? Anyone else feeling like their innards are about to become outards, or is that delight all mine?”

As if in answer, the hall quakes again. Stones grind and groan. Something shatters behind us, and I whip around to see chunks of the ceiling raining down and—

Vines. Massive vines punching through the rubble.

“Move!” Kiaran barks, seizing my arm.

Then we’re running, feet churning through dead leaves.

Something snags my ankle, nearly pitching me into the morass. I wrench free, stumble on. It snags me again. And again. Catching, pulling, until thick ropes of ivy burst up through the stone to immobilise me.

Can’t move can’t breathe thorns tearing in—

Lonnrach’s cell flashes through my mind. The vines he commanded to hold me down. To peel me open while he dug out all my secrets.

No no no not again please—

“Up.” Hands fist in my tunic, heaving me upright. A familiar snarl in my ear. “On your feet, Kameron.”

Kiaran. His voice, his scent—they pierce the memory’s hold. I focus on the heat of his body at my back. The crush of his fingers, the wild thrum of his heart. The steadying cadence of his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

And just like that, the past recedes. Clarity returns in splintered fragments.

Another chunk of ceiling smashes down. Then another. Dust billows, chalky on my tongue. The vines rear up around us, blotting out the meagre light. Hemming us in. Trapping us as the hall comes down at our backs.

Aithinne skids to a stop beside me, her blade whirling. “If anyone has a strategy, now would be the time!”

Kiaran bares his teeth. “We force our way out.”

He slams a fist into the wall, a blow that should pulverise stone. Should , but doesn’t. He gives a shocked hiss. When he draws his hand back, blood drips from the torn flesh of his knuckles to stipple the leaf-strewn floor.

The wall broke his skin. His near-invulnerable, immortal skin.

Kiaran rounds on Sorcha, an intensity etching his features. Wildness surfaces there, straining against his control.

“Blast this wall apart, Kameron,” he commands me without taking those burning eyes off her. “Now.”

Aithinne steps forward, hand outstretched. “I’ll do it—”

“No. It needs to be her.” Cold purpose settles over him. “Don’t ask questions. Just do it, Kameron.”

Aithinne’s stare finds mine, a thousand words passing unspoken between us. Tell him , it says. Tell him that every time you use your powers, it kills you faster.

I shake my head a fraction, my throat closing up. I can’t. If Kiaran knew that every use of the Cailleach’s magic brought me one step closer to death, he’d never let me use my powers, even if our survival depended on it. And against the Morrigan, I won’t have a choice.

All or nothing.

So I step up to the wall, the tempest of my magic roaring through my veins. Building and cresting and screaming for release. The pressure mounts in my skull, in my chest, until stars dance across my vision.

I suck down a breath. Let it out slow. Then I fling my hands out and unleash the maelstrom inside me.

The world shatters. Stone explodes outward in a hail of shards, a shockwave of force blasting a passage through the wall. I don’t wait to see if the crumbling architecture holds. Just grab Aithinne’s arm and vault through.

We hit the ground hard, rolling to disperse the liquid fire of impact. Grit fills my gasping mouth, crusts my lashes. I cough, shoving upright on palms gone raw and bloody. Somehow, get my feet under me again.

Sorcha staggers through behind us, Kiaran on her heels.

Aithinne swears as the wall at our backs gives way with a groan. Cracks form through the pitted stone, widening with each lurching breath. Chunks of onyx rain down, glossy thorn-vines snaking through the fissures to grasp at the air—

“Hold the passage,” Kiaran snaps at me. Then, pinning Sorcha with a look, “You and I need to talk. Right now.”

“Now?” I ask him, sputtering. “You want to have this out with her while a primordial death goddess tries to kill us?”

“It can’t wait,” he says. Some cold and brutal emotion darkens his expression. “Aithinne, try to use your power.”

Aithinne shuts her eyes. Almost immediately, she frowns. “It’s there, but I can’t . . . use it.” She holds out her hand like she’s expecting something to happen. “I can’t even conjure a flame. A bloody child’s trick.” She looks at Sorcha with accusation. “What did you do to us?”

“What she always does—betrays,” Kiaran answers. He grasps Sorcha’s throat and squeezes until she sways onto her toes. “Fae powers are bound here, aren’t they? That’s why Kameron can use hers, but we can’t.”

I gasp as the Morrigan’s power crashes against my hold. The hallway shakes with the force of it, ancient mortar crumbling. Above us, another section of the ceiling splinters and falls, narrowly missing Aithinne.

“ MacKay ,” I say.

But Kiaran ignores the chaos. His gaze is focused on Sorcha. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Sorcha lifts her chin but can’t quite mask the flicker of fear. “The Falconer needed the Book, and you didn’t ask about the rest.”

Kiaran’s fingers tighten. “If my consort dies,” he says, as implacable as death itself, “I’ll keep you alive and screaming for eternity. I’ll hollow you out and make a symphony of your agony.”

The Morrigan slams into my shield.

“I don’t mean to interrupt—” She shoves again, and this time I gasp. “But I can’t hold this.”

Gritting my teeth, I throw everything I have into sealing the breach, into fortifying the crumbling onyx. Thorns batter the barrier of my magic, seeking the cracks. Straining to break through.

Behind it, I sense the Morrigan’s presence. Vast and terrible, a yawning abyss that devours light and hope and sanity. It rakes claws over the tattered edges of my shields.

A voice whispers in my mind. A human with my sister’s powers. Now that is interesting.

The Morrigan laughs, colder than the void between stars. She knows, I realise in a nauseating lurch. She knows the power inside me is finite. That every second I hold this shield drains my dwindling reserves.

That if I keep this up, I’ll die.

Kiaran drops Sorcha and moves to my side. One hand smooths down my back, the other catching my elbow as I sway. His eyes flick to my face. The strain he finds carved there has his expression tightening imperceptibly.

“Drop the shield and run on my mark.”

I nod. Once.

“Good lass.” He leans in until his lips graze my cheek. “Stay behind me, and be ready to move.”

Then he’s pulling away. My magic gutters, fissures forming through my failing shield. The Morrigan’s power hammers through the widening gaps, thorn-studded vines punching into the hall. Stone buckles. Cracks.

“Get ready,” Kiaran says, never taking his eyes off the disintegrating wall. “Drop it!”

I obey. The barrier shatters, and we sprint, an avalanche of rubble crashing down in our wake. Choking dust fills my nose, my mouth. I gag, my eyes and lungs burning.

But I keep running. Leaping twisted foliage grasping for my ankles. Hurdling over debris. The hall ruptures around us, sheets of onyx shearing off to smash at our heels. Kiaran lopes ahead, Aithinne flanking me. Sorcha trails behind, slowed by her billowing gown.

The Morrigan batters at my mind, her touch sifting through my defences. Somehow, I muster the will to slam my shields up. To seal the tattered edges of my psyche. But it’s only a matter of time until she slips through again. Until she finds the next chink, the next vulnerability to exploit.

We round a bend in the passage, the pursuing vines nearly on top of us, and screech to a stop. Ahead, the hall ends in a sheer drop. Empty air yawns where there should be solid stone, the edges crumbling even as we watch.

Dread turns my muscles to water.

I whip around to see a fissure zipper through the ceiling, massive boulders shearing loose and—

The ground beneath us gives way.