Page 52

I race down George Street, my boots pounding the cobblestones in a relentless staccato. The city whips by—but I don’t slow, don’t falter.

Faster. Find her before it’s too late.

A thundering crash echoes across the city. Behind me, a building crumples in on itself, stone and metal screeching as it tears apart.

“ Kameron !”

I risk a glance over my shoulder. Through the choking dust, I see Kiaran. The others are a blur of colour and motion behind him, keeping pace as the city comes down around us.

This isn’t the Morrigan’s handiwork. I know the taste of her power, the cold crawl of it down my spine. This is something else—

This world is being unmade. And we’re running out of time.

I skid around the corner and into Charlotte Square, my pulse slamming in my ears. My childhood home looms at the centre, intact. The last time I saw it, the place was a ruin.

In the real world, there’s nothing left of my house but memory.

I shove through the door and into the hall, my steps too loud in the hush. I hear the groan of wood from somewhere deep in the house’s bones.

“Let me go in alone,” I say to the others, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “She’s been running from the Morrigan for thousands of years. Doubt she’ll react well to a crowd of strangers tramping about in her hideaway.”

Kiaran’s gaze meets mine. I see the protest forming, but he swallows it down. “Be careful.”

I take the stairs two at a time. At the top, I go still, breath stalling in my lungs as I stare at the door to my old room. Slowly, I ease the door open. And there she is.

Perched on the edge of my bed, limned in the dusty light spilling through the window.

She has a blade in her hands—my blade. One Kiaran forged lifetimes ago, on the eve of our first battle, side by side.

I lost it on one of our hunts—I hardly remember now.

But here, in this place, it’s gleaming and whole.

“I pieced it together from your memories,” the fae murmurs without looking up. She turns the dagger. “It’s not quite the same, but Kadamach makes such beautiful things.”

I have to swallow around the sudden knot in my throat. The hot pressure behind my eyes that has nothing to do with the debris hazing the air. “He does,” I manage. “It’s perfect.”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Good. I’d almost forgotten what it was to stumble across a memory untainted by cruelty. He means a great deal to you, your consort.”

Tears sting my eyes. The ache from loving an immortal and knowing each day is closer to the one I leave him behind. “I love him,” I rasp.

She makes a low, considering noise. “I could taste your desperation when you set foot in this dead place. Could smell your need.” A pause, freighted. Weighted. “I know what you want from me. The power in me, the secrets written on my skin.”

I go still. Waiting.

“But unlike the others who came before,” she continues, “you’re letting me choose. Letting me keep my secrets, even as your world crumbles around us.” Her eyes, when they find mine, are depthless. Fathomless and dark. “You’re different.”

I laugh bitterly. “I just know what it’s like to have my choices taken away.” I lean forward, holding her gaze. Willing her to understand. “I’m not asking you to spill your secrets or to hand over power. I just need your help to save the people I love.”

She goes quiet. Considering. I hold my breath, terrified that the wrong word, the wrong twitch, will send her back into hiding.

“My help,” she echoes. As if trying out the shape of it in her mouth.

The house gives another shake. I scrabble for balance on the doorframe. From downstairs, I hear Kiaran shout. The thud and clatter of falling debris.

There’s no time. We have to move now, or—

“What’s your name?” I blurt.

She blinks. “The Book of Remembrance,” she says. Toneless. Learned by rote.

Not a name at all. A title for a thing—a possession. I shove down the instinctual anger. Lock it up tight.

“That’s not a name,” I say. Gently, so gently. “It’s what they called you. But what do you want to be called?”

Her gaze drops to her arms. To the intricate lines and whorls marching from wrist to shoulder, spilling secrets with every shift of muscle. She runs a careful finger over the marks. Tracing them as if she could find the answer through touch alone.

“Lena,” she says. Meeting my eyes once more. “I want to be Lena.”

“All right, Lena.” I take a deliberate step closer. Slowly, giving her the opportunity to bolt. She watches me, a wary light in her eyes, but she doesn’t recoil. Emboldened, I push on. “I need to ask you about one of the spells on your skin. About whether it’s possible to turn back time.”

Her brow furrows. “It is. Within limitations.”

Relief claws its way up my throat. But I tamp down on it. Shove it back before it can rear up and choke me.

“That’s . . . that’s good.” I swallow hard. “And the curse? The one the Morrigan laid on the Cailleach’s children, that’s ravaged both courts for centuries. Is there any information about it in your—”

She goes rigid. A full-body flinch, as if I’ve slapped her.

“That’s why I betrayed the Morrigan,” she says. Flat. Implacable as stone. “She wanted to bind the courts to her will and rule over the remnants forever.”

Ice floods my veins. “Is there a way to undo it?”

Distantly, I register another crash. The squeal and shriek of torn metal, of a building tumbling. Kiaran’s voice calling for me.

Have to be faster. Have to hurry.

But I can’t look away from Lena.

“You know what the curse decrees,” she says softly.

“‘As it begins in death, so shall it end in death, until the day a child of the Cailleach confronts their fate with a true lie on their lips and sacrifices that which they prize most: their heart’.” Frustration burns through me.

I’ve heard those words rattling around in my skull since Aithinne first said them.

I don’t need them repeated back to me. I need—

“I know that,” I grind out. “But what does it mean?”

She looks at me. Through me. As if she can see right down to the twisting snarl of my soul, to all the ugly, broken bits I’ve tried so hard to hide.

“You already know.” Quiet. Certain. “I could taste it in your memories. In the story of the beautiful blades your Unseelie King made for you.” She pauses. Takes a steadying breath. “You know what has to be done, Aileana Kameron. What you have to do. How this ends.”

I open my mouth to demand clearer answers—

Glass explodes inward, slicing across my skin. I stagger back as the entire house shudders and groans around us, the walls buckling like paper. Like reality itself is being crumpled up and discarded.

Lena lunges to her feet. “We have to go,” she gasps. “Now. The Morrigan’s coming.”