My heart squeezes at his words. She might hurt you.
Derrick has never said that about me. Ever. I’m his companion, his friend. Our history repeats behind my eyes and each instance is like a blade twisting a little deeper in my gut. Even at my darkest, he trusted me. He always has. Until now.
Catherine seems uncertain until her eyes meet mine. Her expression softens. “Are you all right?”
“Did you miss the part where she threw Aithinne into a tree?” Derrick demands. “Do you want to be tossed around like a sack of potatoes?” He throws up his hands. “Humans. You don’t listen.”
I step back, wishing I knew what to say. I almost tell Derrick that I recall everything now. How we met. The day he claimed his closet. Him and me and our misadventures. But then the memories of Lonnrach return, and the torture I endured in his prison. Lonnrach forced his way into my mind. He read my thoughts. He stole my memories.
And I did that. I did that to Derrick.
“She just surprised me,” Aithinne says before I can speak. She manages to pull herself into a sitting position, looking a bit dazed. “See? I’m excellent.”
Aithinne must have a demented definition of excellent; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a faery try three times to get to her feet and still end up on her arse.
“Surprised you?” Derrick’s sharp gaze assesses her. “Your nose is bleeding. You’re wobbling like a tavern drunkard.”
Aithinne touches her nose, and her fingers come away with blood. I can’t help but wince at the sight of it. I did that, without meaning to. I wounded the Seelie Queen.
“Oh. Well, that’s interesting,” she says. “I don’t have many occasions to see my own blood.” And she isn’t at all bothered by it, or her inability to stand.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Derrick says, shaking his head. Then he looks at me. “Now you. Did she—”
“I remember,” I say quietly. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m so sorry. “Everything.” Derrick squeals in glee and is about to fly to my shoulder, but I avoid him to crouch next to Aithinne. I can’t face him yet. “You promise I didn’t hurt you?”
Aithinne grasps my hand and I haul her to her feet. “Nothing worse than I’ve received in battle.”
“Someone is going to have to explain this to me,” Catherine says. Then she puts up a hand before anyone speaks. “But first . . .” She steps forward and pulls me in for a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispers.
“I am, too,” I murmur.
Derrick finally loses all patience and swoops onto my shoulder, his halo brighter than a blasted street lamp. “Catherine, you’ve had your hug. Now shove off and give me a turn.”
Catherine rolls her eyes. “So demanding.”
Regret lances through me as I stroke my fingers around his wings. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “About what I did—”
“Hugs now, apologies later.” I smile as he leans away and sniffs me. “Damn it. That smell is still there. Aithinne, why is the foul odor of your homicidal mother still plaguing my companion?”
Aithinne shifts, as if uncertain. “Aileana has the power of the Cailleach.”
Derrick goes silent then. He looks at me sharply and so many emotions cross his features at once: dawning realization, pity, and then—finally—sadness. “Well, shit,” he mutters. “Shit.”
My eyes meet Aithinne’s. There’s a question in her gaze. I know what she’s thinking, what she wants to ask.
I can bring you back to life, but eventually my powers will kill you.
Don’t tell them. I know my message is clear. Please don’t tell them they will lose me again.
We both saw the memory. We both know the Cailleach’s powers—these destructive abilities I can’t control—are slowly killing me. It’s only a matter of time. That’s my curse. The gift of life will be taken away again if I can’t find that book. But at least this time I can save them all.
And if we do find that book, they never have to know.
“My turn,” Aithinne murmurs, wrapping her arms tightly around me. I don’t move when she whispers in my ear, “My mother’s dead, isn’t she? I thought she might be when the forest started falling into the sea, but I thought . . .” She pulls away and I see a glimpse of her wet eyes. “Just that I’d see her one last time.”
I’m scared, mo nighean.
The Cailleach held me until her skin tore away and turned to dust. And she did it so I would have one final chance to make things right. Just one.
This is my final gift to them.
“Do you know anything about the book she referred to?” I ask Aithinne.
Aithinne hesitates. “It’s a child’s story among my kind. You know better than anyone how warped those tales can become.” She shakes her head. “Some of the older sìthichean in my territory might know more. I didn’t even believe it was real.”
“Your mother seemed to think it was. She wanted me to save you,” I tell her gently. “Both of you.”
Save them from an unchangeable fate: two monarchs born to power—one to rule the Seelie, the other to rule the Unseelie. The most powerful of the two would trigger a war, kill the other, and take the place of the last Cailleach . . . and so it had always been, until Aithinne and Kiaran refused to fight, and created the ripple effect that’s fracturing both fae and human realms. A destruction that will stop only when one of them becomes the new Cailleach.
Unless I find that blasted book.
Aithinne’s body tenses. “I don’t know if Kadamach can be saved.” My throat tightens when I see the message in her face, as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. I don’t know if you can be saved, either.
CHAPTER 8
MY MEMORIES come with the kind of ache that feels as if my head is being taken apart and stitched back together again.
Catherine went off with the man in the eye-patch—her husband, Daniel—to find herbs to help with the pain. Aithinne hurried to check the boundary for any signs of other fae after Derrick told her about my kills back in the forest. She left so damn fast that I didn’t have time to ask her about Kiaran.
And me . . . I scrubbed away the worst of the grime and changed into the trousers, thin shirt, and boots Derrick scrounged up for me on such short notice. Now I’m sitting by the fire, trying not to vomit from the nausea.
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and flinch as another group of images bursts through my mind—this time from further back in my childhood: me and my mother; our inventions; the way she sang during Sunday services. Little things that remind me that I’ve lost her.
Think of something else. Something that’ll hurt less.
My mind doesn’t obey. This time, my thoughts are filled with Kiaran. Me, kissing him like I couldn’t get enough. Tracing my fingertips across the swirled marks on his body, physical remnants of the fae vows he made. The largest one was a penance he bears for all the deaths he’s caused.