Aithinne’s head comes up when she senses me. I leave a lingering thread of power to hint at her to follow it. “It’s about bloody time,” she says with cheer. “I’ll make a portal. Tell Kadamach to open the gates.”
I pull back and give Kiaran her message. He crosses the room to reach for a massive lever near the double doors that I hadn’t seen. With a swift yank, he pulls it to the side and the heavy oak entrance splits open.
Derrick flies through the portal first. “Look at you,” he says, stopping to study me. “Alive. Unscathed. Good. If you hadn’t been, I would have lopped his fingers off.”
Kiaran moves to stand beside me. “I would have pulled off your wings.”
“Ignore him, pixie.” Aithinne strides into the room, her long coat billowing behind her. “I should have figured he’d be sullen and moody.”
Kiaran’s emotionless gaze flickers to her. “Phiuthair.”
“Bhràthair.” She stops and studies him. “You look like hell. I suppose you haven’t fed in a few days, if the lack of gifts is any indication.”
“Don’t.” Kiaran’s voice dips in warning.
“I’m wonderful, by the way,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do you like my coat? Don’t I look lovely? Aren’t I the best sister for standing here, still willing to talk to you after you’ve ignored me for months, you stubborn bastard?”
“Well, this is fun,” Derrick says. “I’m really feeling the love in this room. It’s beautiful. Aileana, isn’t it beautiful?”
“You’re here because Kam wanted your help. Not because I did.”
“Damn it, MacKay—”
“You might not have wanted me,” Aithinne says, ignoring my attempts to stand between them, “but look how quickly I came. Because I still care about you. Though god only knows why, since you’re such an obstinate pain in my arse.”
“I love it when Aithinne curses at people.” Derrick says to me. “I say we let them fight it out. A round of fisticuffs. No killing. I’ll go and find refreshments.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Sorcha says from behind us. “If you’re all going to squabble, I’d prefer to be back in my prison. That wasn’t torture. This is torture.”
Derrick peeks through my hair. “What’s that murderous arsehole doing here?”
Sorcha blinks at him. “What did you just call me?”
“You heard me, pointy-toothed hag.”
“Sorcha can find the Book,” I interrupt. “And we need her blood to get there. It was her or Lonnrach.”
“So given a choice between murderous arseholes you chose the one who killed you.” Derrick’s laugh is dry. “That’s interesting.”
“I chose the one who was conveniently chained up, rather than the one in hiding.”
Derrick doesn’t look convinced. “And we’re just supposed to believe she’s helping out of the goodness of that black hunk of rock in her chest that she calls a heart?”
“I’m standing right here,” Sorcha says sharply.
“Wish you weren’t,” Derrick sings. Then, to me: “Let me give you some advice, friend. If you’re going to take her along, make her go first. That way you don’t have to worry about her shoving a blade into your back.”
“Sweet little pixie,” Sorcha says. “If there’s one thing you should have learned, it’s that I’m perfectly willing to stab her in the front.” She turns on her heel and heads toward the great hall, the fabric of her brocade dress sweeping across the ground like a cloak. “If you’re coming, the door is this way.”
Derrick starts to follow, but I stop him. “I need you to stay at the camp.”
“But I won’t get to kill anything there,” he whines.
“I’d take you with me if I could, but I can’t leave the others unprotected. Not with the realm falling apart.”
Derrick sighs. “Fine. Fine. Just be careful, will you? Don’t do anything foolish. And whatever you do, don’t let Sorcha get her hands on a blade.”
“I won’t.” He hugs me and I rest my cheek against him briefly. “Make me a pirate costume.”
I feel his smile against my skin. “Only if you save me a dance.”
With that, Derrick flies out of the palace and I turn to follow Sorcha.
CHAPTER 25
KIARAN FOLLOWS closely behind Sorcha—no doubt to keep an eye on her—while I walk with Aithinne. The long, obsidian hallway is still eerily silent. The lights seem dimmer, the corridor cast in shadows that appear to be growing, moving. Breathing.
Beside me, Aithinne shivers. “I hate this place,” she whispers. “Just once, I’d like to go through a portal beneath a rainbow, or near a litter of kittens.”
I snicker.
Sorcha pauses and presses her palm to the bricks, her fingers lingering there in an almost loving caress. She shakes her head once and keeps moving, her heels snapping decisively against the floor.
Aithinne leans in. “I’m still convinced she’s leading us to our demise.”
“She made a vow to help me find the Book,” I say. “She’s bound to it.”
Kiaran is a master at faery half-lies and manipulation. He would have made certain the terms of their vow were as strict as possible. But I also know this: Sorcha will be looking for ways to turn it against me. Just because the fae can’t tell lies doesn’t mean they’re honest, and the limitations of a vow doesn’t make them incapable of deception. I haven’t met a single person Sorcha hasn’t betrayed, even those she loves.
Right now, she has all the advantages. She’s found the door before; she knows its secrets; she’s seen the Morrigan. And somehow she’s still alive.
“In my Court we have a saying for ones like her.” Aithinne lets out a small laugh. “You’ll think you won the fight until you step back and she cuts your ankles out from under you.”
“I can hear you.” Sorcha presses her palms to another wall. Her smile is small. She probably likes that saying. It was probably made just for her.
“Can you?” Aithinne asks in delight. “Oh, good. Now that I have your attention, I’ll add that I often amuse myself by imagining what it would look like if you were tossed off a cliff into the sea. By the way, nice dress.”
“What purpose does it serve to have you here?” Sorcha’s green eyes glitter with irritation. “Other than being a crazed little baggage who lost her mind somewhere in the bowels of Edinburgh.” Aithinne’s smile falters and Sorcha sees it. “Tell me, how long did it take my brother to break your sanity? How many times did he have to shatter your bones and burn your body before you became this pathetic? Did it take a hundred years? Five hundred?” Sorcha’s smile is merciless. “Or is that too generous?”
Somewhere in the midst of Sorcha’s cruel questions, Aithinne’s eyes go blank. Dead. I’ve seen it before.
I gently grasp her hand. “Aithinne.” I murmur her name again, until I see a flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“You shouldn’t bother,” Sorcha says to me. “Aithinne is broken. The Morrigan is going to destroy her easily.”