I glance at her ruby necklace. I hope the Morrigan chokes you with it.
Sorcha glances at my sword and I hear her thoughts: I hope the Morrigan stabs you with it.
If I didn’t hate her so much, I’d laugh. One day I’m going to destroy you, I think to her. I’m going to burn your life to the ground.
She grins. “Someone’s feisty this morning. You must be well rested. Unlike Kadamach, who appears this close”—she raises her thumb and forefinger—“to tearing open your throat.”
I jerk my head around. When Kiaran’s eyes meet mine, I almost step back in alarm. The black part of his irises has bled even more into the lilac. Worse, he has a wild look to him, a savageness barely contained. He’s straining to control himself around me.
I should have sensed it last night when he left the bed. Just before dawn, I heard him murmuring something to me, the cadence of it lulling me back into my dreams. He’d pressed a kiss to my shoulder, and then I thought I felt the light scrape of his teeth against my skin.
When I stirred, he pulled back sharply. “Falbh a chadal,” he’d whispered from the bedside, breathing heavily. “Go to sleep.”
The bed felt cold after that.
As if reading my thoughts, Kiaran looks away. Sorcha laughs. “Ah, then you’re denying yourself on her account. I should have guessed. So noble. So righteous. So very human.”
“It’s better than being a morally bankrupt harridan,” I say.
“His needs have nothing to do with morality, you na?ve little girl.” She rolls her eyes and then studies her fingernails. “If the Morrigan doesn’t kill you before you find the Book, Kadamach probably will. He won’t be able to help himself. How do you think his first little Falconer pet died?”
Kiaran narrows his gaze. “If you went three entire seconds without saying something vile and cold-hearted, you’d perish on the spot, wouldn’t you?”
“What you call vile and cold-hearted, I call honest.” Sorcha shrugs. “You keep blaming me for her death, but I never had to do anything. I just had to shove her in a room alone with you.”
This time he flashes his teeth in a hiss and I see a hint of fangs descend from his gums—until he notices my soft gasp. I can’t entirely hide my expression of unease at those fangs, like the ones that had marked my arms, my neck, my shoulders, my chest. Just like that woman in the cottage.
“Kam,” he whispers. Then he shuts his mouth.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry I ever asked you to bring her into this.”
“I regret listening to you, but here we are.”
Sorcha’s laugh is melodic, unnerving enough to make me shudder. “Oh, come now. I thought we were all friends.”
“Funny,” I say. “I thought we were bitter enemies.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” She holds up her wrist where her vow has marked her skin in a design like Kiaran’s. “Now you have my vow to help you find the Book, and Kadamach doesn’t belong to me until it’s yours. You won’t have to worry about me stabbing you again. I’d say that makes us even better than friends.”
“Take us to the door before I strangle you,” Kiaran says, gesturing to the doorway that leads to the labyrinthine halls.
With a sweep of her long brocade dress, Sorcha starts for the hallway. Just as Kiaran turns to follow, I stop him. “Wait.” At his frown, I say, “I’m bringing Aithinne.”
“Oh, a reunion,” Sorcha says in delight. “I love reunions with all the people I’ve tried to kill. It’s so cathartic, don’t you think?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “MacKay? Any chance you could reword that vow to enforce silence for the rest of her very long life?”
Kiaran ignores that. “I didn’t agree to bring Aithinne.”
“You didn’t disagree either. We never discussed it.”
Kiaran looks over at Sorcha, who is watching us in amusement. He takes me by the arm and leads me to the other side of the vast antechamber for some semblance of privacy. “The pixie. Not Aithinne.”
“If Sorcha is telling the truth about the Morrigan, we’re going to need your sister with us.”
Kiaran’s grip on my arm tightens. “If I lose control in there and hurt you, I don’t trust Aithinne to make the right choice. She’s too soft, Kam.”
I frown. “What choice, exactly?”
“You already swore you’d leave me there.”
“That’s not what you’re talking about, though, is it?” At his silence, my voice dips lower. “What, MacKay? You want me to kill you?”
“Whatever it takes.” His voice is a rough hiss. “The Book is our priority. If it comes down to me or finding it, I trust you to make the right decision.” He releases me. “My sister would choose me. She always has. Sometimes I suspect she’d let the goddamn world destroy itself over me.”
It’s not coming to that. I’ll never let it come to that.
But we’re doing this to stop Aithinne’s curse, too. She ought to be there, by our side. She ought to be there to help us through it, to end it all. And if I die before we find the Book, she has to be the one to reverse the destruction in our realms. I’m not certain the Book can resurrect me if I die with the Cailleach’s powers, but at least Aithinne will be able to give back Catherine, Daniel, and Gavin everything they lost in the war. They deserve a better life than this.
I back away from him. “And if the worst happens and you turn on me? Then what?” I lower my voice. “Do you expect me to subdue you? I’ve only bested you once. And that was before—”
Before you. Before us. Before everything.
“If you think I’ll be more objective than Aithinne,” I say instead, “then you’re an idiot. And that isn’t a word I’d use to describe you.”
I’ve tried not to let my feelings for Kiaran blind me, but it’s too late. I already have. Doesn’t he know I’d do whatever it took to save him? Just as he would for me? Neither of us is objective. We’re too far gone.
I try to appeal to Kiaran’s practical nature instead: “Derrick doesn’t have enough power to fight the Morrigan, and he’s better off at the camp where he can help the others in case the land starts falling apart. You know that.”
That does it. Kiaran steps back, his expression shuttered again. “Fine. Send word to Aithinne.”
I hesitate before tapping into my power, cautious not to let it become too overwhelming. It’s too tempting to let it take me over, to lose myself in it.
It slides down my veins and into my palm and I direct it with a quick stroke of my wrist. Find Aithinne.
The response is almost instant. She’s back at her camp with Derrick and the others—I give myself a moment of relief that they’re unharmed. The flames of their bonfire burn high, and they’re all sitting on the ground with old wool blankets over their shoulders. Gavin has resumed drinking that terrible whisky, while Derrick natters on to Catherine and Daniel about nothing in particular.