The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 33

33

The fog swirls, obscuring the outline of Calton Hill. Ahead of me, Kiaran forges up the hillside with preternatural grace, unbothered by the freezing rain needling from the sky.

I fix my gaze ahead, focusing on navigating the broken ground. Definitely not letting myself appreciate the way Kiaran’s soaked shirt clings to him.

“You’re staring,” Kiaran says without glancing back.

Heat rises to my cheeks despite the chill. “Just noticing how things like cold and mud never seem to bother you. Honestly, I’m half convinced you have ice in your veins instead of blood. Don’t you ever feel cold, or are you impervious to things like freezing rain?”

“Impervious.”

“Of course you are,” I mutter under my breath.

In the distance, the familiar outline of the seal emerges from the mist—stark and lifeless. No beauty or magic there tonight. Just cold mechanical pieces fused together by sacrifices older than my own. Sacrifices made by generations of my family, my ancestors who came before. My mother most of all. More of her blood stains these gears and glyphs than mine. This seal extracted her life one agonising drop at a time over the years. In the end, it took everything she had left to give.

I approach slowly, bracing myself for the disorienting static bite of residual energy clinging to the glyphs and gears. It hits me like an electric shock just before reaching the seal. I gasp as a tingling surges down my limbs and across my torso, even inside my head. It feels like my blood is ready to burst out of my veins.

Kiaran grasps my elbow, steadying me. “What’s wrong?” Concern flickers in those mercury and violet eyes.

“Can’t you feel that?” I grit out through clenched teeth. “Something’s wrong here. It’s getting worse the closer I get.”

My legs tremble as I force them to carry me those last few steps to see the shattered ward, every crushed or broken segment of the intricate device linked by one simple element: my family’s blood.

This was a violent act of sabotage.

“Someone’s been here,” I say, twisting to meet Kiaran’s searching stare. “They destroyed parts of the transmission glyphs, and the central gear looks warped. Without that, the primary binding will fail.” I hesitate, hating the next words even as I speak them. “I thought this seal was supposed to be protected against anyone who wasn’t a Falconer.”

Kiaran’s expression hardens. “If it’s damaged enough, a determined human could have found a way through the protective wards. Sorcha might have compelled someone to do the work while we were in the Si?th-bru?th. They might not even remember doing it.”

I swallow hard, my throat gone dry. “Do the quakes mean the fae trapped below are waking up fully now?”

“Yes. If the seal continues degrading, they’ll be able to break free without you dying.”

“How long?” I steel myself for the answer.

“Days, maybe. A week at most.” Kiaran presses a palm flat to the trembling earth, eyes glowing brighter. “I can hear them stirring. And I’m sure they can hear us.”

I suppress a shudder at his softly spoken words. After everything sacrificed—my mother’s life drained away, all the blood we spilled, my own life nearly ended at the point of Sorcha’s blade. After all of it, the one thing protecting the city is now crumbling.

Kiaran skirts the barrier. “I may be able to forge replacements for the most damaged components.” He gestures at the cracked surface. “Use my power to rebind and reinforce the mechanics. Can you remember it accurately enough to draw me the parts?”

“I know every inch of this. I could reconstruct it from memory if I had to.”

“Good. We’ll go to the Fade then.”

I follow Kiaran back down the slick path winding around Calton Hill. My thoughts churn, questions piling up, but I keep them contained for the walk back through the cutting rain. Beside me, Kiaran seems content to proceed in silence. Even with his elegant features schooled to impassivity, tension thrums through every line of his frame.

We navigate the wynds of Edinburgh’s Old Town with only the steady patter of icy rain in the charged quiet between us. By the time we reach the Fade, my dress and cloak are sopping. I blow out a frustrated breath and push wet strands of hair off my face.

A couple of cu? si?th guard the gates, and I smile when I see the largest, despite my mood. “There’s Alastair. You’re being such a good puppy, aren’t you?”

The very large, murderous hound just watches me with a flat stare.

“Only you would still keep treating them like pets days after narrowly avoiding a pack eating you alive,” Kiaran says, placing his hand on my back to nudge me along.

“That was Arion’s pack. This one is yours. Yours are good babies.”

A cursory scan of our surroundings reveals an unnatural stillness cloaking the lamp-lit avenues and elegant buildings of the fae realm. Tonight, no revellers crowd the walkways. No balconies are adorned with lavish textiles and strange mechanical instruments. No alluring strains of music spill from open windows.

Without the usual laughter and sounds of merriment, the quiet feels like a held breath—waiting for violence to erupt. Kiaran guides me along rain-slicked thoroughfares. We turn down an elegant avenue and pause before an imposing azure door etched with glyphs that shift and change in the light. The entire facade thrums with power, magical protections woven in intricate layers.

Kiaran whispers something in his language. At his command, the glowing portal swings open.

A wave of scorching air hits my face as we step across the threshold into an enormous chamber filled by the din of flames and hot metal. Furnaces line the far walls, attended by strange bellows and brick crucibles filled with molten alloys. The searing heat makes my drenched clothes steam.

I watch as Kiaran crosses the room to take his place at the anvil. Here, amidst the beautiful implements of death he creates, he looks every inch the lethal fae warrior. Powerful. Utterly in his element.

I clear my suddenly dry throat. “I don’t suppose a drink might be found somewhere in this furnace?”

Kiaran gestures to a carved cabinet, and I open it to reveal rows of amber bottles filled with honeyed liquor. I select the most promising vessel, admiring the fine crystal shape. The intricate stopper pops free, releasing rich scents of vanilla and spice.

I take an appreciative first sip, allowing the flavours to unfurl on my tongue in a sinuous dance of heat and sweetness. They scorch a searing path down my throat, melting tension from my chest in their wake. The effect proves instantly soothing.

“Mm. This is nice,” I murmur.

I take another slow sip as I turn and nearly choke on my drink.

Sweet lord.

Kiaran stands limned in firelight without a shirt, body bathed in molten gold. Smooth, shining fae skin shifts over muscle as he reaches for tools, displaying that hypnotic landscape of tattoos spanning his shoulders and arms. The image sears itself into my mind. I want to trace those markings with my fingers, learning his history through the conduit of skin. To discover if I can coax more unguarded smiles from him.

“There’s paper and charcoal on the cabinet,” Kiaran says. “Draw me what’s broken.”

I take a bracing gulp of liquor and do as he asks.

As I begin to sketch on the worktable, the silence stretches between us.

“So,” I say. “I thought I’d ask more personal questions while you masterfully deflect as usual. That would make for excellent entertainment while I sketch.”

Kiaran selects a hammer, not deigning to look my way. “I endure your audacious prying on a regular basis, if you recall.”

“I prefer ‘lively banter’ to ‘audacious prying’ but suit yourself.” I wave toward the nearest crucible filled with shimmering rubescent metal. “At least satisfy my curiosity about how you occupy your hours. Beyond decapitating enemies and hiding bodies for me. How much time do you spend in here, crafting weapons for your alarmingly large collection?”

“Not nearly as much as I spend enduring brazen, reckless Falconers.”

I continue sketching. “Such ingratitude. And here I am, the one testing your lethal weapons in the field against deserving targets. I’m the epitome of good decision-making at all times.”

Now, Kiaran does spear me with an inscrutable glance. “Shall I tally the reckless incidents proving otherwise? The chaos and the mayhem?”

“By all means, I welcome any invented evidence of supposed recklessness.” I salute him with my glass, refusing to squirm. “I’ll review your assuredly brief list while you work. The chaos and mayhem all have good explanations.”

Shaking his head, Kiaran focuses on preparing components for repairing the compromised mechanisms we inspected at the seal site.

My hand moves quickly as I sketch. I know every part of this device by heart, every rune and symbol, the precise size of each. “You’ll find me the absolute picture of poise while I work here. No nonsense.”

“Somehow, I doubt that assessment.”

“How do you know so much about this seal’s inner workings anyway? Did you actually help build the thing?” I ask, sliding the paper toward him.

Discomfort flickers across his face. He collects my sketches with care. “My sister Aithinne designed it,” he says.

Surprise lifts my brows. In all our bloody, chaotic months together, Kiaran has never hinted at ties beyond me and my mother. I can’t picture him surrounded by family, bright and joyful. He seems like something forged alone in an unforgiving wilderness, honed into the weapon standing before me now.

“A sister?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me as always. “You never mentioned siblings before. Or any family.”

Kiaran shrugs. “You never asked.”

Irritation flashes hot beneath my skin. As if his legendary reticence hasn’t been the bane of my existence from the outset.

“Well, it isn’t as if you invite personal questions. You give the impression of being sculpted from ice and rage.” I pause. “Should I brace for more shocking revelations? Any heartwarming portraits tucked away featuring a younger you surrounded by kin?”

“My history is exceedingly dull once you get past the blood feuds, endless wars and palace coups,” he says.

“Ah yes, tedious war and palace intrigue. I can see why you’d spare a mortal with a very short lifespan thousands of years’ worth of tales.” A thought occurs to me. “Come to think of it, does this mark make me immortal?”

Kiaran goes still, powerful shoulders tensing. “Not while half-formed. But a full consort link...” He drags a restless hand through his hair. “Maybe? I’ve never known a fae bonded that way with any mortal.”

I nod, thoughts churning as I continue sketching the intricate mechanisms. “Falconers tend to get killed at young ages. If this mark granted me extended years, I could maintain the seal for longer.” I pause, hating the next words. “But if it doesn’t, I’ll have to marry. Have offspring with my husband.”

The temperature in the forge plummets. Ice spreads across the table in front of me. Shadows gather at my feet, tendrils of darkness that curl up my legs in blatant possession. Kiaran’s power is so thick in the air that my lungs squeeze.

Utensils clang as Kiaran sets them down on the brick furnace edge. His focus is trained on me now. Power rolls off him in waves—tempered violence and searing cold. He braces both arms on the table, caging me in.

“I’m going to need you to stop talking for the next minute,” he grits out.

I arch both brows, pulse kicking faster as those shadows twist about my waist now. There’s ice at my back. “Oh? And why, dare I ask, would you issue such an imperial command ?”

Jaw clenched, he shifts closer still. Close enough to feel his breath warm against my cheek when he speaks. “Because you’ve casually brought up fucking another male to a fae with an incomplete bond, and right now, I want to ruin you for anyone else who tries to touch you. Grant me sixty seconds to get myself back under control, yes?”

That knocks the air out of me. Visions crowd my mind of Kiaran laying me back on the table. Letting me touch all that tattooed skin, trace those thorns with fingers and lips.

“Earlier, you implied touching was necessary between us.” I tip my face up toward his, emboldened by liquor. “Does contact ease this incomplete bond?”

His thumb grazes my bottom lip. “It’s why I spar with you.”

My mouth goes dry. His nearness is fogging reason. “You’ve been rolling around with me in the dirt all this time just to slake the mark’s demands? Fuel for an incorporeal magical catalyst?”

Kiaran shifts nearer still, until no space separates us. Until I’m enveloped by his warmth and the heady scent of pine. His next words resonate straight down to my marrow.

“I’ve been sparring with you because I’m starved for you, Kameron.”

My knees threaten to buckle. I sway up toward him, pulse racing. His breath catches when I hesitate the merest inch from his mouth. So close I can nearly taste him. Hunger stirs low and aching. We’re balancing on the sharpest knifepoint, denial and need twined so tightly as to be indistinguishable.

Just shy of claiming my lips, Kiaran stills. He retreats a fraction, eyes shuttered. “You should rest while I work. Rooms upstairs will serve should you require it.”

The temperature returns to normal. The shadows draw away.

Dismissal scalds when I crave his hands on me, his body moving against mine. But it’s clear he doesn’t want to complete this mark.

I make for the stairs on less than steady legs. The chamber contains a lavish bed draped in silk coverings. I burrow into them and fall asleep, surrounded by his scent.