Something about the scene makes me swallow back a lump in my throat, makes me want to apologize for something, and I’m not certain what.
Just when I’m about to step forward into the light, Derrick flutters in front of me and puts up his hands. “Not yet. Not until we see what can be done about your memories.” His expression is firm, no-nonsense. “Stay here while I get Aithinne.”
Derrick flies off in a flurry of wings, zooming right past the people around the bonfire. He ignores their surprised greetings and makes for one of the structures. He shoves his way through the rickety wooden door and it closes with a slam.
From the shadows of the forest, I watch the trio around the fire with a longing that aches. I know them. I’m positive I do.
I loved you enough; we all did.
I might be the Aileana who came back from the dead, but I’m not their Aileana. I don’t have memories of how each of these people loved me. I don’t recall how much I loved them in return.
Despite that, I can’t ignore the impulse to tell them I’m here. I’m alive.
The feeling is so strong that I shift on my feet, about to move forward, when I see a faery—the Seelie Queen, it must be—throw open the cottage door Derrick just went through. He trails behind Aithinne as she strides past the fire.
One of the humans asks if everything is all right. Aithinne responds with a quick, distracted nod, and hurries through the trees at Derrick’s direction. I stand still under the dark cover of the branches until she sees me.
Her eyes meet mine, and she makes a sound in her throat. “Trobhad seo,” she says. Before I can do or say anything, her arms are around me in a crushing embrace. Then she’s murmuring in another language, one I’ve heard before but don’t understand. “Chan eil mi tuigsinn, agus chan eil e gu diofar. You’re back! You’re alive!”
Aithinne’s power calls to mine, wraps around me as warm as her physical embrace. It’s like an old coat I’ve worn a thousand times. I’ve used that power before, in the life I don’t remember. I know I have.
Aithinne pulls back and grins, taking in the state of me. “Oh, my goodness, look at you!” she says in delight. “You look wonderful for someone who just came back from the dead. All of your limbs are exactly where they should be.”
Derrick flutters beside us, clicking his tongue. “She doesn’t remember you, you ninny. Can you fix her or not?”
Aithinne tilts her head, never losing her smile. “Maybe. Do you know, I’ve never fixed anyone’s mind before,” she says brightly. Then she leans in, as if to tell a secret. “I hope I don’t make your head explode. It’s rather nicely shaped.”
“Aye,” I say dryly. “Especially since I need it.”
“Fix her scent,” Derrick says, “She doesn’t smell the same and I don’t like it. My shoulder seat isn’t nearly as pleasant and it’s making me unhappy.”
“Well, her scent might be different, but the lack of memories hasn’t changed her scowl. Such a magnificent murderous glare you have,” she tells me. “I love it. Teach me.”
“For god’s sake, Aithinne,” Derrick says. “Admit it, you got into my honey stash and now you’re completely foxed, because she’s not—”
“Can we focus on the task at hand?” I ask impatiently. “I’d like my memories back.”
Aithinne moves closer, her nose nearly touching mine. Her eyes are an exquisite, bright silver, the color swirling. Suddenly, she sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “You smell like my mother.”
Derrick pauses right in the middle of another agitated loop around the trees. “Your mother? As in the Cailleach, the deranged former monarch, your mother?”
“I’m afraid so.” Aithinne is standing so close that my first instinct is to step back and preserve some semblance of personal space. That is, until she says, “I’ll need to go into your mind for this. Will you let me?”
After Derrick’s response to what I did to him, I hesitate. I can only hope it’s different if you give permission. I don’t want to lose control over my powers again. But if this is the only way to regain what I lost . . .
I shut my eyes and nod.
Aithinne places her hands on either side of my head and I feel her power extend toward me. The touch of it is light at first, as gentle as a summer breeze. Then all at once, it pricks me with a hard, swift sting.
My power shoves back at hers and Aithinne flinches.
“Blimey.” Her energy unfurls toward me again, more careful this time. Stroking, dancing around mine with a prodding touch. “Well, that’s . . . not good.”
Something about the way she says that knots my stomach in dread. “What?”
Aithinne shakes her head once. “Let me in. I need to see.”
My power resists at first. It’s defensive; it doesn’t like someone else touching or manipulating it. Aithinne soothes it the way one might calm a wild animal: by proving she’s not a threat. She coaxes it to relax in gentle touches. Then, after several moments, it does and she’s through.
Bursts of memory come so fast that I can barely keep up. Me on a cliff at sunset with a touch of cold fingertips along my spine. The skeletal woman stands next to me, her body trembling with her last breaths.
The woman is speaking about a book. What book?
I cry out as Aithinne delves further into my mind, tearing through memories like she’s scratching at my skin. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
My power surges, all heat and bluster—a clear message to back off. I’m aware of Aithinne clinging to me, her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. She manages to pull up the memory we need—the one I’ve tried to recall all this time.
Leabhar Cuimhne. The Book of Remembrance.
My power slams into her. With a startled gasp, Aithinne is thrown into the air. She smacks hard into a nearby tree, landing in a heap on the ground.
Derrick flies over to help her. “What the hell happened?” he asks me.
I don’t know.
My head is pounding. Memories flash across my mind—too fast for me to grasp. As if Aithinne broke open a door and didn’t shut it behind her. I’m assaulted by feelings and images and thoughts and words and it’s too much. There are too many.
Me running through the streets of Edinburgh at night. Me in a mirrored room, helpless and at the mercy of Lonnrach. Me impaled through the chest and my vision fading as I died just in time to see—
Kiaran.
Kiaran. That’s his name. Him. The Unseelie King. Kiaran.
He loved you so much that when you died, he might as well have died with you.
Dimly, I hear the distant clamor of footsteps. “Aithinne?” a familiar voice calls. Then: “Bloody hell. What happened?”
The blond woman by the fire. Catherine, my best friend. I remember. I remember.
Catherine sees me and freezes. Her voice is ragged with emotion when she finally speaks. “Aileana?”
“Don’t go near her.” Derrick shoves his way between us, his halo flashing crimson. “Until Aileana has a hold over her powers, she might hurt you. So don’t move.”