Page 9

The trees creak in the chill winter wind.

Rows of torches pierce the dark, framing the ragged circle of cottages cobbled together from uneven stones and tattered thatch. This place looks less like a camp and more like the last desperate refuge for those one step ahead of ruin.

There are three people huddled close by the sputtering central bonfire, their hushed words lost on the breeze.

A petite blonde bundled in a woollen shawl leans into the brawny, one-eyed man beside her.

He murmurs something in her ear that elicits a soft laugh as she nudges the third member of their little gathering—a handsome blond man with scars framing one eye.

Something in my chest squeezes at their casual familiarity.

I may not remember much, but my instincts recognise what I’m witnessing.

A stolen moment of refuge between people forged together by trauma.

It’s a pointed reminder of everything I’ve lost. Of the life ripped away, leaving me adrift and grasping at scattered pieces of the person I once was.

I’m about to step into the firelight when Derrick zooms over in a blur of gossamer wings, planting himself firmly in my path.

“Not just yet,” he says, crossing his arms. “We need to sort out that rubbish heap you call a brain first.”

I bristle. “Do you think my brains are about to start leaking from my ears without your wise supervision?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out, considering the number of knocks your thick skull has endured. Now stay put while I fetch the Queen to mend your scattered wits before you do yourself a fatal mischief.”

Before I can craft a scathing retort, he takes off in a streak of golden light that makes the trio by the fire jerk back in surprise.

My friend doesn’t spare so much as a backwards glance as he zooms straight for the nearest cottage and shoves his way inside in a blur of glinting wings.

Moments later, the door bangs open hard enough to rattle the surrounding cottages.

A petite raven-haired woman with luminous skin emerges, her silver-flecked eyes intent.

The Seelie Queen in all her dangerous glory.

Derrick hovers at her shoulder, muttering too low for me to make out his usual scathing commentary.

No doubt helpfully pointing out all the deficiencies in my intellect that require immediate rectifying.

Aithinne strides past the clustered humans without a glance, ignoring their concerned questions. I melt deeper into the concealing shadows, pulse kicking faster as she draws nearer. This close, her power prickles over my skin.

“You’re back.” Aithinne grins when she spots me lurking in the gloom. “And not a single limb out of place. How lovely.”

“Thanks ever so,” I say dryly. “I was worried I’d lost a kidney somewhere along the way in all the excitement and just hadn’t noticed.”

“How’s your brain? Functioning?”

Derrick settles on a nearby branch, pinning Aithinne with an aggrieved stare. “She has amnesia, not diminished mental faculties. Can you mend her scattered wits or what?”

Aithinne tilts her head, regarding me with clinical interest, as if I’m some strange new specimen she’s never encountered.

“Maybe I can restore what was lost. I’ve never tried to fix a mind before.

” She leans closer, lips curving. “I do hope I don’t make your head explode. It’s rather nicely shaped.”

“I’m rather attached to keeping my brain inside my skull, so let’s avoid any cranial explosions if we can.”

“Fix her bloody awful scent while you’re rummaging around in her skull,” Derrick says. “She smells wrong. Makes for an intolerable perch.”

Aithinne leans in, delicately sniffing until I have to resist the urge to lean away. “You do smell a bit like my mother.”

Derrick goes very still mid-flap. “The unhinged ancient fae who delighted in eviscerating everything in her path for amusement? That mother?”

“I’m afraid so.” Aithinne steps even closer. Her magic hums just under her skin. “Just a quick peek into your mind? I need to see the damage if I’m to mend it.”

I swallow down my misgivings and nod. I don’t really have a choice. “Fine. But do be quick about it.”

Aithinne’s smile widens a fraction. Her fingers come up to rest against my temples. At first, I feel only the barest whisper of her power-seeking entrance—a tickle, nothing more.

Then all at once, it lances through me in a bolt of searing agony. My volatile magic bucks and thrashes inside my veins, rejecting the ruthless invasion. Aithinne flinches, surprise flashing across her features.

“Let me in,” Aithinne urges, fingertips pressing harder now. When I hesitate, she adds a touch impatiently, “I need to see.”

At her ruthless push, my power lashes out in panicked defence, but her magic dances and slides along the surface of mine.

Coaxing. Soothing. After long moments locked in our strange dance, her patience finally gentles my volatile magic enough to relax its defences.

Aithinne seizes the opportunity and slips inside my mind.

The memories crash over me in a dizzying rush.

Me, standing windswept on a clifftop, watching the sun surrender to the dark sea. Cold fingertips brushing my nape . . .

The Book of Remembrance.

I cry out as Aithinne delves deeper, shredding through the tangled mess of my psyche. My magic surges in response.

Get out , every instinct screams. You don’t belong here.

My power slams into her. Aithinne hits the tree behind her with a startled gasp and slides to the ground in a limp heap, dazed.

Derrick flutters to her side, but I can’t make out his frantic words over the ringing in my ears. My skull pounds as if it might crack open and spill its secrets. Memories flash across my mind, too fast and chaotic.

Sprinting through Edinburgh’s cobbled streets, breath burning in my lungs, my frantic pulse thudding in my ears . . .

Trapped in a mirrored cell, drowning beneath Lonnrach’s smothering presence. His power shredding my mind . . .

A blade piercing my heart, my blood spilling as the world fades, just in time to see—to remember—

Kiaran.

That’s his name. The Unseelie King.

My consort.

I hear the distant clamour of footsteps over the ringing in my ears, followed by a worried voice slicing through the chaos.

“Aithinne? What on earth . . .” A shocked inhale. “ Aileana ?”

Even in the violent riptide trying to drag me under, I’d recognise that voice anywhere—

Catherine.

Before I can speak, Derrick shoves between us, blocking me from view. “Stay back. Don’t go near Aileana until she’s got control. Unless you fancy being tossed about like a sack of potatoes.”

Catherine blinks. “Really, Derrick. Is that necessary?”

“I’m fine, truly.” Still crumpled at the base of the tree, Aithinne offers me a reassuring look. “She took me by surprise. No lasting damage done.” As if to demonstrate, she slowly pulls herself upright. Well, she tries. Three attempts each end with her flat on her backside again. “Right as rain.”

I bite my lip, scepticism warring with guilt.

Derrick clearly shares my doubts. “She surprised you? I suppose that bloody gusher of a nosebleed and the way you’re wobbling about like a soused tavern wench is just, what, enthusiasm for the crisp night air?”

Aithinne prods experimentally at her dripping nose. “Hmm, fascinating. I don’t often get to observe my own copious blood loss firsthand.” She examines the crimson coating her fingertips with interest. “Not ideal, I admit.”

Derrick throws both hands up, defeated. “Unbelievable. You’re utterly ridiculous.” Then he whips around, spearing me with his stare once more. “Now you. Did she at least manage to jar loose some of those cobweb-choked memories before you throttled her?”

I wet my dry lips, pulse kicking faster. “I remember now.” I turn my focus to Aithinne. “Truly, are you all right? I never meant to—”

But she waves off my stammered apology before I can get the words out. “Nothing worse than I’ve endured on the battlefield. I’ve had far more brutal beatings from my dear brother.”

With a faint grimace, she hauls herself upright using the tree for support. After a few experimental prods to her various sore spots, she nods in satisfaction.

Catherine shakes off her stunned disbelief and steps forward, levelling us both with a pointed look. “What on earth just happened here? And Aileana—” Her voice catches on my name. “Is it really you?”

I start to answer, but Derrick cuts in impatiently. “Yes, yes, she’s back to her usual charming self. Now step aside so I can properly greet my companion before she does something reckless and dies again.”

Catherine rolls her eyes, but complies.

He launches himself at me in a blur of wings and flailing limbs, nearly bowling me over in his enthusiasm. I let out a muffled oof , folding my arms around his vibrating form.

After a moment, Derrick pulls back just far enough to hover before my face, nose wrinkling. He makes a show of sniffing me like a pernickety cat presented with inferior food.

“You still reek of ancient fae magics, darling. Hasn’t improved your aroma one bit.” He rounds on Aithinne, outraged. “You! Why does she still smell like your lunatic mother?”

Aithinne shifts her weight, looking uncertain for perhaps the first time since I met her. “Well . . . it seems Aileana . . . inherited the Cailleach’s powers when she was resurrected. And my mother’s rather dead at the moment.”

Derrick goes rigid against my throat. “Ah, hell,” he mutters. “Shite. No wonder the land is crumbling. Anyone want a drink before the realms fold in on themselves and we all die? Unless the Cailleach gave you something to save us when she passed along those frightening powers of hers?”

“A book,” I say softly. “She said we can break Aithinne and Kiaran’s curse with a book. I just need to find it.”

Aithinne and I exchange a look. We both saw the memory. We know what the Cailleach’s gift means—these powers will burn away my mortal body.

And unless I find the Book, they’ll kill me.