The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 31

31

The morning sun spills across the breakfast table, highlighting every chip and crack in my mood. I stab at a sausage, pretending it’s a certain stubborn fae’s face.

“If that sausage has insulted your honour, I suggest eating it before it can further slander you,” Catherine says, watching me in amusement.

“It’s too cheerful-looking,” I mutter, sawing off a bite. “Could do with more char and gloom.”

“Like your disposition?”

I make a face. “You needn’t sound so amused by my sulking. A true friend would be properly concerned. Why did I invite you for breakfast this morning, again?”

“Because you adore my company, and I’m positively desolated on your behalf,” Catherine says, pressing a hand over her heart. “There now, is that better?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I do try.” She takes a tiny, ladylike bite of toast loaded with orange marmalade. “Come now, what has you attacking the sausages with such fervour? Did the tea not steep to your liking? Did the butcher slander you?”

If only it were that simple. No, the source of my foul mood barged into my life after my mother’s death and has proceeded to complicate everything since through sheer obstinance.

I woke up alone with a pounding headache, foggy memories, and a mouth that tasted of honey. Clearly, the work of a certain ancient pain in my backside who knocked me unconscious and hauled me back through the portal without so much as a by-your-leave.

The sting of that betrayal is still bitter.

“Aileana?”

Catherine’s voice jerks me from my internal tirade. I realise I’m mutilating another sausage. I force myself to set down my fork before I bend the tines.

“It’s nothing. Woke up in a mood.”

A murderous mood.

Before she can press for more details, I cram an enormous bite of sausage in my mouth. Can’t interrogate me if I’m busy chewing.

Catherine clearly doesn’t believe my weak excuse for a second. Her sharp eyes take in a dozen minute details I’d rather she overlook. Like the incriminating glow to my skin and my general aura of barely contained rage.

“Hmm.” She leans across the table, scrutinising me more closely. I fight not to squirm beneath that piercing blue stare. “Well, whatever the cause, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look quite so—”

“If you say glowing, I’ll put your head through this platter.”

Catherine blinks at me over the rim of her teacup, undeterred. “It’s the truth. You have a glow about you.” She tilts her head. “Which is a refreshing change from your usual pallor and dark circles. Honestly, I was beginning to fear you’d made some unholy bargain for everlasting life that didn’t account for keeping up your looks.”

And she’s correct, unfortunately—I’m unnaturally luminescent again, thanks to the work of a certain infuriating fae and the mark he lied to me about.

“Perhaps some fresh air would do you good,” Catherine says. “Will you join Gavin and I for a walk through the gardens? The exercise might improve your mood.”

I seize the distraction like a lifeline tossed to a drowning woman. “That would be lovely.”

Soon we’ve adjourned outside into the brisk air. I allow myself one deep, bracing lungful, savouring the feel of it in my chest. Dawn mist still clings to the garden hedges, tendrils of fog burnished gold in the climbing sun.

At the far end of the path, I spot a familiar tall, broad-shouldered figure striding toward us beneath the overhanging trees.

Catherine waves. “Gavin! Wonderful of you to join us.”

The siblings embrace in greeting before Gavin turns his gaze my way. Our eyes meet, and his expression falters almost imperceptibly. I offer a thin smile. He’s noticed the unnatural glow to my skin, no doubt. The perils of a seer’s Sight.

“Good morning,” he says after a beat too long. “You’re looking...erm, well.”

Yes, glowy is what he meant to say before thinking better of it. The seer’s likely getting the full force of Kiaran’s mark. Honestly, I am going to murder Kiaran for this. Slowly and with great attention to detail.

“Why, thank you,” I say through gritted teeth. “I feel perfectly rejuvenated today.”

Gavin’s smile looks pained. Message received. Neither of us is fooled.

“I was just saying she’s looking luminescent,” Catherine says. “I swear she must have bathed in some restorative skin cream.” She nudges her brother’s arm. “Perhaps you should borrow some, you’re looking a bit peaky.”

Gavin clears his throat, dragging his attention away from me. “Quite. Right then, shall we walk?”

We set off at a leisurely pace along the garden paths, Catherine sharing society gossip and the latest fashion trends from Paris. I make occasional murmurs and hums in all the appropriate places, feigning interest. But I can feel the weight of Gavin’s sharp glances. Perceptive devil. I school my expression into polite disinterest. But the subtle tension humming through Gavin’s frame is difficult not to notice.

When Catherine pauses to speak to one of my neighbours, Gavin seizes his chance. He pats his sister’s hand, where it rests in the crook of his arm.

“Excuse us, I just need a quick word with the marchioness.” Catherine hesitates, perceptive eyes darting between us. Gavin flashes an easy, reassuring smile. “Just dull business matters, I promise.”

The moment she’s out of earshot, Gavin rounds on me. “Right. Let’s have it.”

I arch an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Have what, precisely?”

“An explanation for the luminous skin, unsettled aura, and distinctly frazzled demeanour you’re sporting this morning.”

I make an indignant scoffing noise. Honestly. Frazzled? I’ll show him frazzled. “I’m never frazzled. I’m the absolute picture of poise and equanimity at all times.” I keep my stride relaxed through sheer stubbornness. “The very embodiment of grace under pressure.”

The very image of someone who is going to murder an extremely attractive fae male for putting marks on my person while I was half-dead.

Gavin makes a rude noise. “Yes. That must explain the distinctly homicidal glint I caught during our walk.”

Damn. Not much escapes him. Nosy bastard.

I purse my lips, debating how much to confess. “Oh, very well. If you must know, I had a trifling disagreement with a certain brooding fae.” I pause, then amend in a mutter, “Who may have bonded me to him ostensibly to save my life and also appears to be very familiar with another fae who tried to murder me. But it’s fine . Everything is fine .”

Gavin’s mouth thins to a hard line. “You’re joking.”

“Do I appear to be revelling in whimsy at the moment?”

Honestly. The nerve.

Gavin rakes an agitated hand through his blond hair. “When you say bonded—”

“I mean magically tied us together without my knowing the full extent of the mark he left on me. That kind of bonding.”

“I see.” Gavin’s jaw works. “Would you like me to kill him for you?”

Despite my black mood, I give a surprised laugh. “What exactly are you going to threaten an ancient fae warrior with? Harsh language?”

“I still have associates from my rakish youth who owe me favours. I could make some discrete enquiries. Square a few debts among certain rough characters.”

“I’d rather we not start a feud with the uncrowned ruler of the Fade at this juncture. Let’s table the criminal undertakings for now. If I want to stab him, I’ll do it myself.”

We continue along the path in more comfortable silence. The sun warms my shoulders, melting away some of my irritation.

We’ve nearly reached the far end of the garden when the ground shudders underfoot. I stumble, grabbing Gavin’s arm to keep my feet as the tremor ripples through soil and stone. All around us, branches and hedges quiver.

The shuddering stops as abruptly as it began. In its wake, everything seems too quiet, too still. The instincts honed from years of battle are screaming that something is wrong.

“What the devil was that?” he murmurs, voicing the dread already pooling in my gut.

“I need to get home,” I say. “Now.”

The faint crunch of gravel signals Catherine’s approach. She hurries over, blue eyes wide.

“Goodness, did you feel that? Are you both all right?” She presses a gloved hand to her chest, wisps of golden hair escaping her elegant updo.

“We’re perfectly fine,” I say, forcing myself to smile. “Just a bit startled, is all.”

Gavin’s fingers bite into my elbow, and I meet his piercing stare. The grim understanding in his expression makes it clear no reassuring platitudes will suffice this time. He knows damn well I wouldn’t be this unsettled over a simple quake.

“Let’s get you home,” he says. To his sister, he adds, “The shaking must have flustered her. Some tea and quiet are needed.”

Catherine nods, looping her arm through mine. “Of course.”

I let them steer me from the gardens. We reach the townhouse and step into the dimness of the front hall. I peel off my gloves and hand them to the butler, apologising for cutting our excursion short. Under the guise of freshening up, I make straight for the privacy of the parlour.

Inside, I pause just long enough to grab a heavy crystal decanter of aged whisky and tumblers before sinking onto the settee. I have a feeling we’ll need the liquid courage for this conversation.

Catherine sweeps into the room behind me, settling across from me. Gavin remains standing, too tense to sit. Probably preparing himself for whatever fresh madness I’m about to reveal under this roof. Can’t say I blame him on that count.

I pour two generous servings of whisky and pass him a glass. He takes it with a muttered thanks before resuming pacing the room’s perimeter with a restless stride.

Catherine accepts her glass as well, watching me.

“All right now?” she asks. “Just frightened by the little quake?”

Little . If only. I nearly choke on my whisky.

I take a deep, fortifying breath. Before I can second-guess myself, I grasp Catherine’s hand in mine. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sudden contact.

“Ask me,” I rasp out. “Ask what you’ve wondered these past months since everything changed.”

Catherine tries and fails to extricate her hand from my too-tight grip. “Ask you what? Aileana, if something is the matter—”

“You’ve always wondered where I got my reputation as a mad recluse,” I press on recklessly. “All the whispers and gossip you valiantly tried to ignore. Protect me from. Do you want to know the truth?”

Gavin blows out a harsh exhale, raking both hands through his hair. “Bloody hell. This must be bad if you’re finally going to tell her.”

Catherine goes very still. She searches my face like she’s waiting for me to laugh and confess this is all some macabre jest. When I simply meet her gaze, she says, “Yes. Tell me.”

Of course, that’s when Derrick chooses to make an appearance. The pixie zips into the room in a blur of wings and snark, landing on the tea tray. He dumps two sugar cubes into his mouth. The little pest.

“Wonderful start,” he says around his mouthful. “Really top marks on the delivery. Try sounding a little less forced next time you unburden your soul.” More obnoxious crunching as he grins. “Some fainting or hysterics could really liven things up.”

“Damn,” Gavin mutters. He scrubs a hand over his face. “So much for easing into explanations gently.”

Catherine glances between Gavin and me in surprise. “She’s clearly distraught. I’m certain she just needs—”

“Show yourself to her,” I say to Derrick.

Enough dancing around it.

Derrick nearly swallows his sugar cube whole. “I beg your pardon?”

Catherine’s frown deepens. “Show who what?”

“Are you sure this is wise?” The pixie hisses, hovering up near my shoulder.

My resolve hardens. “I am. Do it.”

After a brief hesitation, the glamour cloaking him from human sight fades away. Derrick hovers before us in all his tiny glory, gossamer wings shimmering like liquid rainbows in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. I notice with some irritation that his trousers appear to have been fashioned from a length of emerald silk cut from one of my gowns. Bloody thief.

Catherine’s startled gasp fills the room. Her stunned gaze is fixed on Derrick.

“Fae,” she finally whispers.

Derrick preens. “‘Fae’ is rather generic. I’m a pixie. Derrick, illustrious companion to the fair marchioness. An absolute delight to make your acquaintance.” He aims an exaggerated bow.

For several moments, Catherine gapes. “I think I need to sit down,” she says faintly.

Gavin arches a brow. “You are sitting down.”

“Quite right, quite right.” She collapses bonelessly against the silk brocade cushions. She continues staring wide-eyed at the preening pixie. “He’s real. Truly real?”

I nod wearily. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Oh, she’s absolutely delighted by me,” Derrick says airly, executing a graceful midair pirouette. “I have that effect on people.”

Gavin snorts. “He certainly has an effect, alright.”

Derrick makes a rude gesture in response. Charming as always.

Catherine smooths her rumpled skirts with unsteady hands, visibly attempting to gather her composure. She takes a small, fortifying sip of whisky. “Well. This is rather a lot to take in before teatime.”

“Quite.” I brace myself before continuing reluctantly, “And there’s something else.”

Catherine lets out a strained, breathless laugh. “We may have to limit your life-altering revelations to one per day.”

I manage a brief smile. She’s taking this monumental upheaval far better than I would have under the same circumstances. At least the first fae she’ll remember meeting is Derrick and not a certain attractive ancient one who erases memories when it suits him.

Steeling myself, I say, “I’m afraid it can’t wait. I need to ask you to leave Edinburgh until I can verify it’s safe.”

Catherine sets her glass down with a thump, sloshing whisky over the rim. “Leave? Has this something to do with that quake?”

“It does. There are dangerous fae that I need to take care of. You should go somewhere isolated. Away from populated areas.” I glance at Gavin. “You’ll take her, won’t you?”

Gavin stares at me, jaw tightening. But after a taut moment, he gives a reluctant nod.

Catherine looks between us. “Dangerous fae? What on earth could you possibly do about any of this?”

I stare down into my lap. “I kill them,” I whisper.

A heavy silence settles over the room, broken only by the ticking of the mantelpiece clock. I can’t bring myself to lift my head. I don’t want to see the dawning horror in Catherine’s face. The fear and revulsion.

“I see,” she says at last.

“Catherine—” I begin as she stands.

“Forgive me, I... I need some air.”

Before I can stop her, she flees the room.

“Shit,” Gavin mutters.

I slump back against the cushions, weary right down to my bones.

“She’ll come around, you know,” he says. “My sister has a soft heart, but she’s not a coward. This is just...”

“Rather a lot before teatime?”

“Give her more than a minute to accept it all.” Gavin bumps my shoulder with his own. “I’ll speak with her. It will be alright.”

I lift my gaze to his. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course I do.”

We sit without speaking for several minutes, taking comfort in each other’s presence as the clock counts away the seconds. I listen to the familiar sounds of the townhouse settling around us, soaking up this last moment of peace.

“You should go check on your sister. And Gavin—” I catch his wrist before he turns away. “Take care of her. Don’t return until I send word that Edinburgh is safe again.”

Gavin searches my face. “Fine. But I want an explanation. And Aileana? No risks.”

*

I stand motionless before the tapestry that spans my bedchamber wall, my kill map of Scotland. Silken threads and glittering pins form a web of vengeance in a grim pattern only I can read. I know its shape better than my own scars.

My finger brushes one of the black ribbons. Sorcha.

I never considered the power of memory. How one life can intersect another, leave cracks that widen. I let Sorcha use my past as a weapon against me. I can place some of the blame on Kiaran for stopping me and claim an insignificant victory in hurting her. But she reached inside my mind, sifting through agonies I’ve spent months trying to keep buried. Forced me to relive every bite, every mocking word and violent caress.

Something in me splinters. I tear the map from the wall in a single motion, pins skittering across the floorboards.

“Aileana?” Derrick’s voice is rich with concern. No, not concern. Pity.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.” My hands curled into fists at my sides. “I’m not broken. I’m furious. It was a bloody waste of time,” I say, my nails biting crescents into my palms.

I toss the tapestry into the fireplace where hungry flames devour the edges, blackening the threads. I watch my meticulous efforts become ash and smoke.

All the months I’d spent tracking every sighting, every death, consumed in minutes. So sure that one day I would find Sorcha and avenge us in a blaze of glory. I had planned it a thousand different ways in my mind.

All gone.

“Aileana,” Derrick says from his perch on the table, munching on a crumpet I left for him earlier. “That map was a work of macabre art. Do you know how long it took me to steal all those lovely gold pins from the jeweller on Princes Street last month?”

I roll my eyes at him. “You stole them? I thought you found them in the cupboard.”

“Found, stole—what does it matter?” He licks currant jam from his fingers. “My point is, it was a lovely map. So colourful and violent. Why burn it?”

I turn back to the dying embers. “After everything I thought I had learned, she made me relive those memories again.”

I hear the flutter of Derrick’s wings as he lands on my shoulder. “I should have been there for you. Ignored that bastard MacKay when he sent me home again.” He tugs on a lock of my hair. “Though at least I didn’t have to witness him manhandling you. I might have been tempted to eat his eye.”

“A part of me can’t be mad at him. She could have broken me so easily if she wanted to. I can’t believe I let her—”

I stop, unable to say the words: I can’t believe I let her weaken me again .

“I know,” Derrick whispers. “What are you going to do?”

“About what? The mark you never told me the truth about? The one that bonds me to him?”

Derrick’s lips compress in a tight line. “It’s not as if I wanted him to give you that thing. But you were minutes from dying, and it was the only way to protect you. What else was I supposed to do? Let you bleed out on the silk sheets?”

“Not lie to me for months?”

“I never lie,” he says, affronted. “I merely withhold the whole truth.” At my snort, he says, “You didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do about Sorcha and the seal?”

I pluck the blade from my table and slide it into my sheath. “Whatever I have to.”