“The woods?” Aithinne’s voice echoes as we careen through the field, kicking and slicing skin open with our swords. “Are they magical Morrigan-repellent woods?”
“At the moment I wish they were magical idiot-repellent woods,” Sorcha snaps, breaking the fingers of a severed hand to pull herself free. “Falconer, why don’t you make yourself useful and clear us a path?”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
The army of fae are rushing through the field after us. Not a sound betrays them; no breathing to give away how far they are, or even footsteps in the tilled dirt. Just an unbearable coldness closing in, as if they were a massive shadow descending over the landscape.
A hand grasps Sorcha around the ankle and she plummets to the ground in a panicked breath. I grasp her arm and yank, hacking at the hand with my sword.
“It means”—I slam the toe of my boot into another limb and grasp my coat free—“these powers kill me faster every time I use them.”
Aithinne joins in, slicing through the severed limbs to make a path to the trees.
“Useless,” Sorcha huffs. “If we make it to that forest, I’m going to slaughter you both myself.”
“Don’t make me leave you behind, you ungrateful—” The fae are starting to close in on either side of us, fast. Too fast. “Goddamn it,” I mutter. “Fine.”
I whirl, outstretch my hand toward the army of oncoming fae, and unleash my power. Not enough to permanently damage them—that would require too much energy—but just enough to slow them down. I make the garden into a swamp that pulls their bodies down into the earth. The fae begin to sink up to their knees, then to their thighs, in mud so thick that it becomes difficult to move through.
The blue eyes of the Morrigan meet mine and she says, “This won’t save you.”
I don’t reply. I dart behind Sorcha into the line of trees. If this were any other place, the cover of the forest would be a relief—but the Morrigan can control the landscape. She has all the advantages, and we’re just waiting for her to pick us off one by one.
“We can’t keep running,” I say.
“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” Sorcha says, yanking her dress off a branch. “Stop talking. I know what I’m doing.”
Aithinne and I let her lead us through the dark woods. We sprint over the twisting roots of the old trees, our breaths coming fast. Where is she taking us? We’re so far into the woods that I can hardly see the ground in front of me, nothing except for a patch of light up ahead. Sorcha is heading right for it.
Almost there. Almost there. Sorcha shoves us into the clearing and we come to a sudden stop on the banks of a river, where a massive waterfall drops off a cliff into the forest below.
Sorcha smiles grimly. “Now we jump.”
I jerk my head toward her. “Are you joking?”
“Do I look like the type to joke about this?”
Aithinne rubs her hands together. “Oh, thank god. I love jumping off high things. I hope I don’t die.”
Sorcha pinches the bridge of her nose. “Why Kadamach didn’t kill you, I’ll never know,” she mutters. Aithinne grins and leaps off the edge of the cliff. She disappears into the mist at the bottom of the fall. “Well, all right, then.” Sorcha looks at me with an eyebrow raised. “Now us. Ready?”
I shut my eyes and jump with her.
CHAPTER 33
I LAND CLEANLY on my feet, shocked to find the ground beneath me is solid. I open my eyes. I’m in a cave—dry this time, thank goodness—and surprisingly warm. A fire-pit has been set up in the middle with a pile of kindling. More sticks and logs are stocked toward the back of the cave.
The place is a room about the size of my living quarters back in Edinburgh. But the sight of somewhere moderately safe is such a relief I could drop to the ground and kiss it at this point.
Sorcha begins gathering wood from the stack and placing it in the pit. “Well?” she says. “Are you two going to sit down or keep staring at the walls like fools? It’s a cave. There’s nothing to it.”
Aithinne slides her fingers across the walls with a frown. “This place feels strange. Where are we?”
“A small pocket between worlds,” Sorcha says, forming a neat pile of wood in the middle. “They exist all over the Morrigan’s prison, and they’re the only places she can’t follow. Falconer, stop standing there with your mouth open and light this.”
I ignite the fire with a small burst of power and sigh in pleasure as it sparks to life. I settle next to her, thankful to be able to rest. “Couldn’t you have escaped here when she held you captive?”
She shrugs. “They’re like the door. They move. And they’re never any bigger than a human prison cell. Either way, I was still trapped.”
“They move?” I stare at her. “Do you mean to tell me you had no idea if this cave would still be here when we jumped?”
“I assumed if we heard Aithinne fall with a splat against some rocks . . .”
“I should have known you were up to something when you didn’t jump first to save your own arse,” Aithinne says, sitting next to me. She shoves a hand through her dark, tangled hair. “Next cliff we come to, I’m pushing you over the edge.”
Sorcha rolls her eyes and settles down on the ground. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to embrace the calm, get some sleep, and not listen to either one of you idiots for the next five hours.”
I sigh and look at Aithinne. “We should probably sleep, too.” Who knows when we’ll have the opportunity again?
In the night, I wake to find Sorcha sitting by the still-active fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but Sorcha has dark smudges beneath her eyes that betray her fatigue. She doesn’t glance at me when I sit up and quietly settle next to her.
“You should get some more sleep,” I say. “You look exhausted.”
Sorcha raises her eyebrow. “Concerned about me, Falconer?”
“For self-preservation purposes, aye.”
Her smile is small. “I was wondering when you’d admit you only act out of selfishness, just like me.”
“That’s not true, though, is it?” I ask her softly. “You wanted Kiaran to be King. You could have claimed the thrones for yourself.”
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s not what I was born for.”
We both stare into the fire and I realize then how many questions I long to ask her. How little I know about her and Kiaran’s past. I only know what I garnered from that memory of her and Lonnrach, from the small bits of her conversations with Kiaran.
“Why do you love him?” I can’t help but ask. “If he doesn’t love you back?”
I thought Sorcha might be offended by the question. She just looks pensive, maybe a touch sad. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She doesn’t respond in anger. Maybe it’s her tiredness. Maybe it’s the memories we’ve shared. Maybe it’s something else. That’s the only explanation I have for why she admits quietly, “There are some things that go beyond love. Kadamach is the only one who has never . . .” She looks away.
I swallow hard. “Never what?”