Free The Vanishing Throne by Elizabeth May Page B

lightly. “You have two choices: Trust me, or take your chances with my brother.” Her smile is cruel, cutting. “The word is you’re both very familiar with his . . .  unique methods of interrogation.”
    I want to know everything. I just need to use your blood to see .
    I can’t help it. I step forward, pulling out my blade—
    Aithinne puts a restraining hand on my shoulder. “One day,” she breathes, too low for Sorcha to hear. Then a nod at Sorcha. “Fine.” At Sorcha’s smug look, she adds, “But if you betray us, I will string you up by your intestines and make Prometheus’s eternal punishment look like a stroll through the woods.”
    For the first time, I see fear flicker in Sorcha’s features. She’s afraid of Aithinne. Sorcha glances at me and, as if sensing I’ve noticed, hardens her expression. “I’ll hold Lonnrach off with my powers for as long as I can without him seeing me.” At Aithinne’s sharp look, Sorcha grins, fangs flashing. “Wouldn’t want to make an enemy of my brother.”
    Aithinne shakes her head and pushes past the other faery to continue across the rocks.
    â€œOh, Aithinne?” Sorcha calls after us. Aithinne stops to listen. “Just so you know, this changes nothing between us. My loyalty is to him. It always has been.”
    Aithinne’s jaw sets and I frown at her response. Before I can analyze Sorcha’s words, Aithinne is already striding away and I’m forced to follow. We can’t stay to see how she distracts Lonnrach and the other fae; we don’t have time.
    Aithinne leads the way to the other side of the ridge. We’re over the loch now, above the shimmering waters. The waves lap against the hard crags. She stops at the edge and looks over. “Here. I have to open it here.”
    My heart leaps. Surely she can’t mean to jump. The drop to the bottom must be more than four hundred feet—high enough that a fall would leave me dashed against the rocks.
    â€œRight where we’re standing, aye?” I say warily, dreading her answer. Please say aye. Please say aye .
    Aithinne shakes her head and my hope wilts. “About halfway down.” At my small sound of protest, she flashes a quick smile. “The rules are simple again. Don’t let go of me. Don’t let yourself fall to the bottom. You’ll likely die. See? Simple.”
    I glare at her. “We really need to review your definition of this word. I don’t think it means what—”
    Before I can blink, Aithinne grabs hold of me and I’m airborne. I let out an undignified yelp and grip her coat so hard that my hands ache. The air rushes around us, a deafening surge in my ears. We plummet down and down until I feel weightless, until it’s as if we’re flying and mist envelops us, thick and blinding white.
    When I finally land, it’s so much softer than I expect, just a light jolt. I roll down a gentle grassy slope and open my eyes to a cloudy gray sky. A frigid wind blasts through the delicate material of my shift. It’s still winter, then. It seems like I was gone so much longer. It smells of rain; the drops stick like ice to my skin.
    Home. It smells like home. I made it. I made it .
    I open my eyes with a smile—until I see the flat slope behind Aithinne. I frown. The ruins of St. Anthony’s Chapel used to be there. Didn’t they? I rise slowly and ignore the dizziness as the blood rushes to my head.
    â€œThat’s not right,” I whisper, unease slicing through me. “It doesn’t look right.”
    It doesn’t look like home .
    The Queen’s Park has changed since the battle. The landscape is altered—there are slopes in the hills where there shouldn’t be, pockmarks across the land. The dirt path through the park is gone, and grass has grown tall over it, with patches of scorched, ink-black earth where the