Page 36

I rip free of Sorcha’s mind and double over, retching. The contents of my stomach splatter across the leaves, but it does nothing to purge the horror. Sorcha’s broken body, contorted into impossible angles. Her scream echoing through the trees.

I press a shaking hand to my mouth, tasting bile. Trying to hold myself together, to gather up the shattered fragments of my composure and slot them back into place.

It’s not working.

“What’s the matter, Falconer? Did that jaunt through my memories put you off your tea?”

I lift my head to find Sorcha watching me, arms crossed, hip cocked. Disdain drips from every syllable, but beneath it, I catch the faintest waver. The barest glimpse of something raw peeking through her armour.

“Lesson number one,” she continues, smooth and sharp as glass, “never go digging around in someone’s mind unless you’re prepared to handle the consequences. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that peeking into another person’s head is impolite?”

I swipe a hand across my mouth. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

A snort. “Save your pity. I don’t want it.”

“But I—”

“What part,” she grinds out, each word a serrated blade, “of ‘I don’t want your pity’ are you failing to grasp? I won’t ease your conscience just because you glimpsed a sliver of the horror I’ve endured.”

Aithinne appears at my side, scanning my face. Her hand finds my elbow and helps me upright. “What did you see?”

What did I see? I saw hell.

The admission lodges in my throat, a stone too jagged and unwieldy to dislodge.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. Useless. “The Cailleach’s magic—”

Sorcha’s eyes blaze. “It wouldn’t have ripped me open like that if you hadn’t wanted it to. That power was responding to your desires, you ignorant child. Any fae would know how to leash it. Stop it from acting on base instinct and ravaging what it shouldn’t touch.”

I don’t shrink back. I don’t flinch.

I just stand there and let her come at me, because she’s right. She’s right, and I deserve her scorn.

“You want to know what I despise about you?” she hisses.

“It’s not your nauseating little affair with Kadamach.

You’re a moderately talented, reasonably pretty slip of a girl, and he’s a male.

Males are fools, easily led about by their cocks.

” A razor-slash of a smile. “No, my hatred for you runs so much deeper than that. It’s that you think you’re better than us.

The righteous little mortal, pure as the driven snow.

But you’re just as vicious and ruthless as I am.

That magic responds to you because at your rotten core, you’re just as selfish as me.

Deny it all you like, but I see you, Falconer.

” She leans in close, the green of her irises eclipsing all else as she snarls, “I. See. You.”

The words strike like blows. Each one hitting its mark.

Because she’s right—I am ruthless. I am vicious. The Cailleach’s magic responded to my rage, my desperation. It devoured my humanity and left only a gaping void that hungers to be filled with vengeance.

Sorcha holds my gaze, chin lifted in defiance, and I can’t stand to face the condemnation written across her cold, elegant features. So I look away.

“Now that you’ve deigned to remove your blade from my throat and listen,” Sorcha continues, “I’ll say this once more, slowly and clearly so that it penetrates your thick mortal skull.

I do not remember where the Book is.” She rakes a hand through her hair.

“When I came here the Morrigan captured me. She made me find the Book because she needed my blood to open it, and I did. But I can’t recall how, or what it looked like.

I just know that somehow I lost it, and the Morrigan was delighted to punish me for the failure. ”

I turn her words over in my mind. Dissect them. Test them for deception. “So, the Morrigan doesn’t have the Book?”

“Oh, well spotted. Someone give the mortal a bauble for basic reasoning skills.”

I glower at her.

Sorcha heaves a put-upon sigh. “The Book was hidden here long ago, and when the Morrigan came looking for it, the Cailleach trapped her in this realm. The bitch has been tearing the place apart looking for it—and her escape—ever since.”

“You said you can’t remember how you found it the first time,” I say. “What if Aithinne could help recover the memory? If she could reach into your—”

“No.”

The word cracks through the air like a whip. Sorcha’s eyes sear with a hatred so visceral I nearly take a step back. “If the Morrigan herself couldn’t unearth that memory from the twisted wreckage she made of my head, what makes you think this incompetent lackwit would do any better?”

Aithinne picks at her nails, the very picture of calculated indolence. “I’m so deeply sick of your rubbish.”

With an inarticulate snarl, Sorcha pushes past me. “We’ve wasted enough moonlight on your useless prattling.” Her skirts snap around her ankles as she storms off into the trees. “Let’s find Kadamach and be done with this wretched farce so I never have to lay eyes on either of you again.”

The forest seems to swallow her up. Skeletal branches bowing and creaking, grasping fingers that snag on her hair. Her skirts. Aithinne and I exchange a look before we follow, leaves crumbling to dust beneath our boots.

The eerie hush presses down, a tangible weight. Expectant. Watchful. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike—

CRACK.

A thunderous report rends the air, freezing us in our tracks. My dagger slips into my hand, pure muscle memory as my eyes rake over the trees. Alert for any hint of movement.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Aithinne groans, twisting toward another low rustle. “What I wouldn’t give to have my powers unbound right now.”

Sorcha growls low in her throat. “I’ll settle for an extra blade. Just to be clear, I’ve already vowed not to bury one in your kidneys—”

Pop! Pop pop!

We both whirl toward the staccato burst of sound. The massive oak behind us shudders, branches groaning. Then it tilts. Rotted wood shrieking as it pitches forward, directly toward us.

I dive sideways, hitting the ground hard. The impact forces the air from my lungs as Aithinne slams into the dirt beside me. Leaves explode outward as the oak topples with a crash. Dying limbs twist and writhe.

But they’re not dying. No, they’re reaching for us. Knotted fingers clawing at air and earth as it pulls itself toward us. Toward Aithinne.

A root lashes out of the soil, coiling around her ankle. She doesn’t make a sound as it yanks her off her feet. Just hits the ground hard and scrabbles at the loam.

“Go!” Aithinne snarls. “Find the Book!”

Then she’s hacking at the roots. Blade flashing as she fights for freedom. For survival. Sorcha is already gone, tearing through the trees.

I can feel the Morrigan here, watching. Toying with us. Savouring our fear as it thickens the air.

So I run.

Boots pounding over decaying loam, breaths sawing.

The forest writhes—a living, seething thing.

Grasping branches claw at me, skeletal fingers snarling in my hair.

My clothes. Roots burst from the earth, parting soil like rotted teeth.

They snatch at my ankles. Try to snare me. Pull me down down down into the abyss.

My legs pump harder. Faster.

Ahead of me, a flash of crimson—Sorcha. She ducks a branch. Leaps a twisted root. Cuts a path of tattered silk and vicious grace through the grasping foliage.

I blink stinging sweat from my eyes. Squint at the dark loam. There. A root, thick as my wrist, shooting toward her leg.

“Behind you!” The warning tears out of me.

Too late.

The root lashes around Sorcha’s calf. Wrenches her down mid-stride. She hits the dirt with a pained cry, fingernails gouging into soil as it drags her back. Reels her in.

For one delirious, tempting moment, I consider leaving her. It would serve her right, wouldn’t it? Poetic justice at its finest.

But the thought sours. No matter how satisfying it might feel in the moment, abandoning her to a slow, screaming death would make me no better than her. I won’t let her damage me more than she already has.

So I veer toward her. Raise my dagger high and bring it arcing down. The root parts with a wet crunch, releasing its hold. Sorcha scrabbles away, chest heaving. Her hair hangs in a wild tangle around her face, cheeks smeared with dirt and fury.

“Took you long enough, Falconer,” she snarls as I haul her up by the elbow. “I thought you’d leave me for dead.”

I cut her a scathing look. “Don’t worry, the thought crossed my mind.”

Her lips peel back from her teeth. Feral. Taunting. “Why am I not surprised?”

“This changes nothing. I only need you to open the Book.”

“Believe me, Falconer, I’m under no illusions that your motives are anything approaching noble.”

I turn my focus back. I can’t save Sorcha but leave Aithinne to this tormented forest. I catch a glimpse of shadow and starlight off to my left—there. She battles a behemoth of a tree, towering and twisted. More close in around her. Reaching. Hungry.

She leaps into the air, avoiding a scything branch. Tucks into a roll as another comes screaming toward her head. With a snarl, she lifts to her feet. Pivots. Her blade slashes high, felling the limb in a spray of brackish sap. I yank Sorcha along with me, and we charge back into the fray.

Aithinne spots us. “Change your mind about surviving?” she calls, vaulting over a grasping root. Her shoulder is bleeding, crimson seeping through the torn leather. “Isn’t this a lovely evening battle?”

“Deranged half-wit,” Sorcha snarls.

Aithinne’s answering laugh is breathless. Sharp. Together, we smash through the reaching boughs. Claw and slash and curse our way through the onslaught. But there’s no end to them. No respite.

I twist away from a scrabbling branch and my boot catches on a root. Sends me lurching. I slam shoulder-first into a tree, bark biting through my leathers. Pain splinters through me, white-hot. Nauseating.

I can’t breathe can’t think can’t—

“There!” Sorcha’s shout cleaves through the static.

I follow her fixed stare to a shimmering distortion suspended between the trees. A portal.

Escape.

If we can reach it.

New strength surges through my veins. I shove away from the tree, ignoring the white sparks swarming my vision, and raise my blade once more. Aithinne falls in at my left. Sorcha at my right. We’re close, the gateway rippling like a heat mirage. But the forest presses in. Tightens like a noose.

We’re not going to make it.

Aithinne must read the fear on my face. Her eyes blaze as she whirls to slash at an encroaching bough. “Go through the portal!” Her voice is a whipcrack. Commanding. “Find Kiaran. Find the Book.” She gives me a rough shove between the shoulder blades. Propels me forward. “Let me buy you time.”

I dig in my heels. Desperation rips at my chest because no. No, I just came back for her. I won’t leave her. “But—”

“Go, you idiot,” Sorcha growls. “The Morrigan is playing with us. We need to go.”

She wrenches my arm as she breaks into a sprint, yanking me with her. My feet churn through decaying leaves. The portal looms closer.

Almost there. Almost . . .

Dry branches snake around my wrist and tear me off-balance. I stumble, barely catching myself. But the moment costs me. Costs us.

A thick rope of roots bursts from the earth. Lashes around my legs and yanks. The forest floor rushes up to meet me, air whooshing from my lungs on impact. Spots swarm my vision. The cloying scent of rot fills my nose, my mouth. Choking me.

I thrash. Fingernails raking the soil for my blade. Cool metal meets my seeking fingers. With a snarl of effort, I slash at my bonds, hacking and tearing until they split apart with a shuddering groan.

Sorcha hauls me forward, half-dragging me as I struggle to get my legs under me.

She reaches over and plucks one of the small blades from my wrist sheath.

Twirls it once between nimble fingers, a humourless smile playing at her lips.

“I suppose I’m buying you time now too.” A beat of considering silence, then a half-shrug.

“But then, imminent death makes fools of us all. This still doesn’t change a damn thing. Now go.”

I run.

I run and I don’t look back. Can’t look back as I hurtle toward the portal.

With a last, desperate burst of speed, I fling myself forward. The membrane shimmers around me as I hit it, resistance and heat and the electric thrum of wild magic.

And then I’m through.