Because that’s what she wants me to do.
Aithinne rises to her feet when she sees me, and Catherine steps forward to put an arm around my shoulders. She murmurs soothing words in my ears, but I can’t hear them. All my focus is on the small wooden box Aithinne is holding.
A box. A box. My friend, my companion, and now he’s in a box.
Aithinne holds it out for me to take, but I can’t. I can’t move. Because once I touch it, this will be real. Derrick will really be gone.
Derrick is dead.
Catherine nudges me forward. “I’m here with you,” she whispers.
I take the box, but I don’t let my tears fall. The case is intricately carved, inside and out, with fae symbols along the wood forming small patterns that must have taken hours.
Aithinne says, “We didn’t have petals. So I did this.” She steps closer and lifts the lid.
His wee body is tucked under a silk coverlet. His eyes are closed, and he looks so alive. Like he’s just sleeping.
He’s not coming back, I remind myself harshly. He’s not asleep. He’s not resting. He’s not coming back.
Wherever she goes, death follows.
I shut my eyes hard before the tears fall. Stop. Please stop.
“What does the box say?”
“It tells his story.” Aithinne reaches her hand out to trace her fingertips across the markings. “His birth, his battles, through the ages until his death.” She looks at me. “Would you like to see where you are?”
Without waiting for my answer, Aithinne takes my hand and places it inside the box. She presses my fingers to the wood, just where Derrick’s body rests against the silk. The markings there are even more intricate and beautiful. As if he lived more during the events of those last few branches than he had in all the centuries that formed the others.
“You’re here,” Aithinne whispers. “The closest to his heart. So when he joins his family on the other side, they will see him marked with these words. With your name.”
“What words?”
Her smile is small, sad. “I lived for thee. I died for thee.” She looks down at him. “We believe that when we die, we go to Tír na nóg. The land of eternal youth. Where war doesn’t exist.” When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes. “You’ll see him there someday. We all will.”
She gestures to the small platform she’s put near the bonfire. When I set the box down there, the emptiness inside me grows. Aithinne steps inside the blaze—unburned—and lifts the platform to place it in the heart of the fire.
We all stand and watch as the flames consume the box, and we lose another of our own.
CHAPTER 43
AS THE first light rises in the pallid, dying sky, I don the clothes for my last hunt. I fought back tears when I saw them on the cot for me in Aithinne’s cottage.
I knew what it was.
Make me a pirate costume.
Only if you save me a dance.
He had done as I requested and made this for me to fight in. Only Derrick wasn’t content with just making a plain garment. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever created.
I miss you, I think, imagining him on my shoulder. I miss watching you sew. I miss listening to your silly songs.
The trousers are soft leather, warm to the touch. When I put them on, they fit closely, easy to move in. They were created to keep me swift and agile in a fight. Practical. Perfect.
Derrick’s specialty was always the coat. That was where he put his greatest efforts.
I hold my breath and brush my fingers across the fine material. The garment is similar to the one Aithinne gave me, but it’s the deep red of a summer sunset. It matches my hair perfectly. The front of the coat is covered with intricate gold threads that form hundreds of falling feathers. They span all the way across the chest to the back where they split off into stars. Constellations.
Each one is from my mother’s lessons. Polaris. Alderamin. Gamma Cassiopeiae.
That’s when I notice the inside of my coat. There’s a scrap of material sewn over the interior pocket, where it would rest just over my heart.
My mother’s tartan. The one that was destroyed with the pixie kingdom. Derrick remembered the design and re-created it.
As if that weren’t enough, there’s a note.
It’s not the original, but I figured you ought to wear it.
Stop fretting over whether or not you’re worthy.
You’re being silly and you know it. —D
P. S. Don’t destroy this coat on its first outing. Those gold threads
were a pain in my arse. No wonder pirates don’t wear them.
Tears blur my vision. When I read the last line, I let out a choked laugh and lift the coat to put on. Derrick’s scent overwhelms me. A sob rips out of my chest. I lower myself to the floor, press the coat to my nose, and savor the lingering taste of Derrick’s power. Honeysuckle, sweetness, nature.
“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” I whisper.
Derrick would settle on my shoulder and say, Of course not; you never could do your own sewing.
That almost brings a smile to my face. I wrap my arms around his coat and inhale the scent of him again. “I’m tired,” I whisper. “I’m so tired of fighting.”
Derrick would know just what to say. So what are you going to do about it? Sit here on your arse in my pretty clothes? Feel sorry for yourself until those powers finally kill you?
I hear footsteps just outside the cottage and when I look up, Aithinne is standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “What do you think?” she asks me. “Shall we go for one last battle?”
I stare down at Derrick’s note, and I imagine him speaking again. Get up. Grab your sword. Find the Book. Kill that evil arsehole. Stop moping and take your life back, you silly thing.
Because I have some advantages that the Morrigan doesn’t have: I have Sorcha. I can use the Book and the Morrigan can’t, not until she gets a new body. And she still needs me to create one for her. I just need to find that damn Book.
The girl.
The one from Sorcha’s memories. She was at the ball. She was in the forest. I glimpsed her in the cave just after the portal formed.
She was in the mirrored room. And she opened that portal for Derrick to come through. She helped me.
“I know that look,” Aithinne says with a smile. “That’s the look of someone who has a plan.” She frowns. “Dear me, it’s not a stupid plan, is it?”
I don’t reply. I get to my feet and shove past her. I need to find Sorcha right this bloody second. Where is she?
When I see the baobhan sìth by the fire, I stride right up to her. “You knew that girl.”
Sorcha looks at me like I’m insane. “Excuse me?”
“The girl. The one with the tattoos that we saw in Edinburgh. I saw her in your mind before that. Who is she?”
For once, she seems speechless. She looks to Aithinne as if for help, but the other faery just stands next to me with her arms crossed. “I rather doubt that, since I don’t remember her before we chased her. You’re imagining things. Common in humans, I suspect.”