At Catherine’s question, Daniel puts up his hands. “I am not getting in the middle of a sibling squabble. For my own survival.”
Daniel came back to this reset time with a suspiciously convenient earldom passed on by some distant cousin he had never heard of—who probably didn’t exist—and a sudden, astoundingly large fortune. Aithinne’s doing. For a faery, she’s quite the romantic.
Daniel and Catherine now have to remarry. In order to push for a quick engagement, Gavin had to speak with their mother and imply he discovered Catherine in something of a compromising position.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I interrupt. I wave my hand. “Gavin, stop pestering Catherine and let her eat the bloody tea cakes. In fact, have five more.”
Catherine stacks five more and looks right at Gavin as she stuffs one in her mouth. “Mmmm,” she says closing her eyes. “Those extra stone would be worth it. I missed tea cakes. And tea. And shortbread.”
I miss Derrick. I miss his songs. I miss having him sit on my shoulder.
I miss Ki—
No. Don’t think about him.
It was slightly easier to breathe today. This morning, I was able to hold down black pudding and eggs. But if I think about him, I’ll start to feel too much again. I’ll get lost in my emotions.
“Not this again,” Gavin groans and he tells me, “Catherine has this list of things she missed and it was about one hundred items long. She recited it at three in the morning and I haven’t slept—” He presses his lips together at Catherine’s sudden hard stare. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
I look at her. “You’re still having bad dreams?”
Catherine picks at her dress. “While I appreciate the cakes and the city and everything else, some parts I . . .” She swallows. “I sound ungrateful.”
Daniel puts his arm around her. “It was three years, Cat. Don’t apologize for not feeling right after one bloody month.”
“I know. I just—” Catherine glances at the open door.
I rise from the settee and shut the door. We don’t want servants listening to our conversations, not when we are all discussing what seems like a dream. A collective dream where the world burned to ash.
“I don’t sleep either,” I say. More than that. “Sometimes I still go out.”
Gavin frowns. “What are you expecting to find? There are no fae in the city anymore.”
“Thank you for reminding me. I’m aware of that.” I say it a touch too sharply.
“Then why?”
“I don’t know anymore,” I lie.
Later, Gavin lingers as Catherine and Daniel leave. I’m standing next to the window, watching the sun shine through the clouds over the buildings across the square.
Gavin’s shoulder brushes mine as he comes up beside me. “You’re looking for him, aren’t you?” he asks me quietly. “When you go out at night.”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “Sometimes when I’m in this house, I feel like I can’t breathe.”
I feel Gavin’s eyes on me then, and I can’t tell if it’s because he understands or he’s searching for something that isn’t there. “Yes,” he breathes. “It’s the same for me. I suspect it would be the same for those two if they didn’t have each other.”
He nods to Catherine and Daniel, who are standing on the pavement outside of the house. Catherine laughs at something Daniel says, and the noise carries through the window. I look away. “How do you . . .” Deal with this?
“I lose myself in a woman.” Gavin taps his finger distractedly against the windowsill. “It helps for a few hours.” When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “You can’t keep living like this.”
“How is what I do any different? We’re both losing ourselves in something.”
“True.” He glances at me. “My offer still stands, you know.”
“Marriage?” I shake my head with a smile. “You want to marry someone who is in love with someone else? That’s no life.”
“And what if I’m willing?”
I stare at Gavin. It’s strange seeing him again as he was. His hair is cut and styled like a gentleman now, his facial hair shaved close. There are no scars on his face. No reminders of the life he lived, except for those in our memories, those awful things we can’t forget.
I reach up and trace my fingers over his cheek, over his smooth skin. “Don’t resign yourself to a life with me, Galloway. You deserve better than what I can give you. You deserve someone who loves you back.”
He nods once in understanding. “What about you?”
My hand drops to my side. “I’ll still go out at night.”
Two days later it is the night of the debutante ball.
The night Sorcha killed my mother.
“What on earth has you so agitated?” Mother says as she helps me into the dress. This should be my maid’s job, but tonight my mother insisted on helping me herself. Just as she did last time. She is wearing the gown I remember: the silk fabric dyed such a light pink that it’s almost ivory. An unusual color for an Edinburgh matron, but it complements her pale skin and her upswept ginger hair.
The last time I saw that dress it was covered in blood.
Crimson suits you best.
I flinch. “What if we don’t go?” My hand is trembling as I smooth my dress. “Would that be all right?”
Mother smiles at me like I’m being silly. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
“No. Mum—”
“There.” She does up the last button and steps back to inspect me. “You look so beautiful. I have just one last thing and it’ll look perfect.”
Mother walks over to the dresser and picks up a wool bundle. My heart pounds when I stare at the familiar fabric. Please no.
She opens it up and there, nestled in the wool, are the familiar stalks of blue thistle. Seilgflùr.
My heart roars in my ears and my vision tunnels. I stare at the flower and memories flash in my mind.
My mother in the street, dress soaked through with blood. How I pressed my hands to her empty chest as if I could put her back together again. As if I could give her a heart—at that moment, I would have given her my own.
“Isn’t it lovely? It’ll be the only color on you.”
It’ll be the only color on you. The only color.
I jerk away from her, almost smacking into the vanity table. “Where did you get that?”
Mother looks slightly taken aback by the force of my words. “A woman gave them to me.”
A woman. Not a man. The first time, Kiaran gave them to my mother for my protection. She wove them into my hair and their power allowed me to see Sorcha.
“Who? What did she look like?” I’m aware of the terror in my voice, but I can’t tamp it down.
Mother looks alarmed. “I don’t recall. Why does it matter?”
Sorcha said she’d make the same choices again. She’d kill my mother again. She made it clear she wasn’t earning my forgiveness. And I’m not a Falconer anymore. I don’t have any powers to fight her.
I’m just human.
Now the question is: Who was the woman? Was it Sorcha, or Aithinne?
“Aileana? Why does it matter?” she asks again.