My call is met with silence. The candles that were floating overhead when I arrived have gone; the only light is from the flickering torches that line the obsidian walls. I didn’t notice before that the walls have been shined and buffed to such perfection that they look like deep, dark pools. My footsteps echo as I cross the great hall and step into another corridor.
I’m greeted by a row of doors that seems never-ending. Dozens of them, and every single one is made of the same dark ash wood as Kiaran’s bed. I would never have time to search through them all.
There is something disquieting about this place, about the way the stones feel as if they’re pressing closer together. It doesn’t help that the air is heavy and still. My breath hitches at a memory of the mirrored room where Lonnrach kept me imprisoned after he destroyed Edinburgh. How those mirrors seemed to close in, too. Until it felt as though I didn’t have enough space to breathe.
That’s how the blackened walls feel. Like it isn’t a palace, but a tomb—one that belonged to the Morrigan.
Stop wasting time. Find Kiaran. Tell him about Sorcha. Then make her help you find the Book.
I start down the hall, purposeful now. If I make enough noise, he’s bound to hear me—at least, that’s what I assume until I realize how bloody vast and empty this castle is.
So I tap into my power to find Kiaran. His power calls to mine like a rope pulling me in. A bond I can’t fully describe. I break into a run, my heels pounding against the floor. The walls stretch farther and farther, twisting and turning, a labyrinth constructed of obsidian.
I follow his power past another bedroom, then down an equally long hallway. Nothing about this place changes, as though each door has been replicated a thousand times, every detail perfectly mirrored.
Just before I make another turn, I spot a shaft of light on one of the walls. There. An open door, the first since I left Kiaran’s bedroom. I slow to a walk, approaching it cautiously. I pause when I see what’s on the other side.
It isn’t another room, but a meadow at nightfall. A full moon hangs low on the horizon, ringed with purple and blue, in a twilight sky. Colors of teal, sapphire, and ebony glow in a gradient that starts at the horizon and extends upward. Beneath the beautiful sky, the meadow is as vast as the ocean.
Kiaran stands some distance from me, grooming a faery horse. The animal is semitransparent, the metal of its coat thin enough that its organs are visible. Even from here, I can see the gold blood pumping through its veins, the rapid pulse of its real horse’s heart. I know from experience that despite being made of metal, the creature is soft to the touch, like nothing human-created. I watch as Kiaran slowly strokes the brush across its back. Over and over.
With my faelike senses, I notice little things about Kiaran’s reaction that I might not have detected without the Cailleach’s power. His breathing is so steady, but it hitches slightly when he realizes I’m behind him. He murmurs a curse.
He keeps brushing the horse in easy strokes. He’s pretending I’m not there. No doubt he came out here for some time alone after what I told him earlier. Kiaran has a tendency to distance himself when he feels too strongly, and he’s already seen me die twice.
Well, he’s just going to have to deal with me. I’m here now. I came back. We have to find the Book. And now I need Sorcha.
I cross the meadow, walking briskly. Grass breaks beneath my boots, and my fingers brush the thigh-high flowers as I head toward Kiaran. The air here is damp but comfortably warm, like the coast on a misty summer morning. The scent of heather and rain grows stronger the farther in I go.
Kiaran doesn’t look up as I approach, but I notice the way his fingers grip the brush harder. His breathing slows as if he’s carefully controlling each inhale, exhale.
“Let me guess,” he says when I come up beside him, “you tracked me.”
I shrug. “Serves you right for all the times you did it to me in Edinburgh. Showing up randomly at the park, at my home . . .”
Kiaran’s smile is small as he smooths the brush down the horse’s neck. “You offered me your foul human tea. I wanted to strip off that ridiculous clothing you were wearing and you asked me to destroy it instead.” He finally looks up at me from beneath his eyelashes. “Believe me, I remember. I wanted you then. I had for a long time.”
I look at him in surprise. “You did?” I’m suspicious. “You kept telling me I was a silly human girl. You were so condescending and superior about it.”
“Well, you were a silly human girl I happened to want.” He shrugs. “And I won’t argue the rest.”
The horse nudges my shoulder with its muzzle in a clear hint for attention. I gently reach out to stroke my fingertips down its nose. It makes a sound of contentment and I smile—until I notice the saddle on the ground next to the horse.
Kiaran was about to leave.
“Are you avoiding me?” I ask him, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Is that why you were about to ride off somewhere? Be honest.”
His jaw tightens. “No,” Kiaran says. “I was leaving so I could prepare for finding that Book.”
“To prepare . . . ?”
I glance sharply at the faery horse, at the saddle again. It’s covered in familiar markings. Where have I seen those particular symbols before? I remember the grooves of them beneath my fingertips—
During the battle for Edinburgh. Those are the symbols of the Wild Hunt.
“You were going to hunt for a human victim.” When he doesn’t respond, I ask more sharply, “Weren’t you?”
When Kiaran looks at me, his expression is distant. Almost cold. “Then Aithinne showed you. And you still came.”
I hold back a flinch at the reminder of the thin woman in the cottage, the panicked sounds she made when the faery at her neck lifted its teeth away. “Of course I came,” I say. “I’m the one who was supposed to stop Sorcha from using the crystal—”
“Don’t,” Kiaran snaps. “Don’t talk like this is something you allowed to happen to me. This is who I am. It’s who I was for thousands of years before I ever met you. It’s who I was born to be.”
My fingernails bite into my palms. “It’s who you were forced to be.”
“Semantics, Kam.” He resumes brushing the horse. “If I don’t do this, I won’t be in a position to help anyone, not even you.”
I think of his victims in the cottage, and what he’s reduced them to. But the faery in front of me seems calm, not evil. Not beyond saving. Kiaran laughed in bed with me. He made love to me, and he let me tell him my silly story. He’s not Kadamach.
Or so I believe until the moment I touch his shoulder and the meadow wind blows back the collar of my coat. He looks over at me, gaze flickering to the exposed skin at my throat.
And I see the hunger in his eyes.
Kiaran’s body tenses. He looks away and strokes the brush down the faery horse’s coat. He’s getting himself under control. Stroke. Control. Stroke. Control.
The black around his irises begins to bleed into the color. Unlike the fae in the forest, I don’t sense his insatiable desire to feed. But I can hear the way his breathing has become uneven. Rough.