“It doesn’t,” I say quickly. “It’s nothing.” I’ve lied to her so many times. About me. About everything. “I promise, it’s nothing.”
My stomach is in knots for the rest of the night. By the time we leave for the Assembly Rooms, I’m shaking so badly that I have to wind my reticule around my wrist or I’ll drop it. My heart is slamming against my rib cage; I’m surprised no one else can hear it.
As we queue up at the front doors, my mother laughs and tells me that it’s all right to be nervous. But I’m not nervous. I’m bloody terrified. I barely manage a nod when other people greet me. I don’t pay attention to the dresses all around me, or the men dressed in fine eveningwear. It’s all a blur of color, a burst of laughter and violins amid my panicked thoughts.
My memories are flashing too fast. The songs are the same. The dresses are the same. It takes the same number of steps to reach the ballroom doors and the same damn song is playing when we enter.
When my name is announced, I barely hear it over my heaving breaths.
A hand grasps my arm and gently but firmly leads me out to the center of the dance floor. I inhale the scent of cigar smoke and whisky. “Come along,” Father says.
During the last month I’ve done whatever I can to bring us closer. Our progress has been slow, but encouraging. He doesn’t speak quite as harshly, and now he’s staring down at me with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Where is Mum?” I ask, searching wildly for her.
Nothing. I can’t see anything beyond the blur of dresses and glittering chandeliers, the melding of colors as my father spins me around in a dance. Why didn’t I insist we stay home?
My father’s answer makes me go cold. “She had to go to the ladies’ parlor to—”
“I’m sorry, but I need to go,” I say, all propriety abandoned. I jerk out of his arms and back away. “I have a headache. I need to go.”
I ignore my father’s shocked expression as I shove through the line of dancers and hurry across the ballroom toward the double doors. People’s conversations pause around me; they whisper amongst themselves at my behavior. I don’t care. I slip out into the hallway and rush to the back entrance. My pulse is fast. I can’t get in enough air.
Everything is happening in the same order as last time. With the exception of the person who gave my mother the thistle, it’s all the same. It’s exactly the same. I’m right back here and I’m going to watch her die again.
The door slams shut behind me as I exit into the garden. I don’t even wait for the telltale gasp of my mother dying. I barrel through the shrubs, shove open the gate, and—
The street is entirely empty.
Breathing hard, I step into the pool of light cast by the street lamp where I found my mother’s body the first time. Not a sound, not a whisper, not even a breeze. I gaze into the cold, still night and no one is out here except me.
Until I hear footsteps behind me, careful and slow. Then a voice that makes my heart race.
“Kam.”
I shut my eyes. His voice. I don’t dare look until he says my name again, ragged and filled with longing.
I turn, and there he is. Bathed in the street lamp’s golden light, only a few feet from me. God, how I missed that small curve of a smile, the way his beautiful dark hair sweeps across his forehead. When his bright lilac eyes lock with mine, he tilts his head as if to say, Well? Don’t just stand there.
Is it you? Is it really you?
As I cautiously edge closer, I notice his skin doesn’t glisten with uncanny fae light. A slight flush fills his cheeks with color and his chest rises and falls with the quick cadence of his breath—as if he ran here. It takes me a moment to realize what that means.
Human. Kiaran is human.
“This is a dream,” I say.
He laughs and the sound is so lovely. “It’s not a dream.”
“I killed you.” My chest aches and my voice trembles when I add, “You’re dead.”
“And you were dead twice,” he reminds me. “I think I should have at least two more chances before you refuse to believe it’s me.” Then he moves forward and his palm cups my cheek. I shut my eyes at his touch. “Do you feel that?” he murmurs. “It’s real.”
“You say that in my dreams, too,” I whisper.
“Then shall I prove it to you?” He sounds amused. “Is it my turn to ask the irritating questions?”
Tears burn my eyes. “I would love that more than anything.”
“I only have one: How the hell did you keep up with me during our hunts? I’ve never experienced the discomfort of being winded before tonight.”
I burst out laughing. It’s him. It’s him. I throw my arms around him and pull him in for a crushing embrace. “God, I missed you. How? How are you—”
“Lena told you,” a voice calls from the shadows. Aithinne. “It requires sacrifice. A life for a life.”
I look over and see Aithinne smiling at us as she leans against the garden gate. She’s completely radiant in her brocade coat, an exact replica of the one Derrick made for her. The one I wore when I went in search of the Book. I suppose she’ll get to wear it as a coronation garment after all.
“By the way, Sorcha wanted me to pass on a message,” Aithinne says. “She said, This changes nothing and that she still hated you.”
Sorcha. Sorcha sacrificed her life for Kiaran’s.
He deserves better.
Sorcha’s wrong. This changes everything. Everything.
Aithinne smiles fondly at her brother. “He could have chosen to remain fae, but he decided to be human with you. And he says he isn’t romantic.”
“Oh, he is,” I tease. “He hides it behind glares and threats. I adore it.”
“And I think—”
“Aithinne, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Kiaran asks quickly. “Somewhere you said you’d go?” Then he mouths at her, Go away.
Aithinne grins. “Ohhh, right! I’m just going to go eat desserts and dance with humans. Can ladies dance with ladies? Never mind: I’ll just go and find a lady, or some cake. But hopefully both. Leaving now.” She hurries through the garden gate with her laughter trailing behind her.
“Oh dear,” I say. “We’re going to go back in there to utter chaos, aren’t we?”
“Probably.”
“Should we—”
“No. We shouldn’t. Don’t finish that sentence.” Then he dips his head and presses his lips to mine.
I kiss him back with everything I’m feeling. I make promises with that kiss. I give messages. I tell him secrets. I believe in wishes now. Our kiss is filled with the thousand possibilities of a future entirely chosen by us. Him and me. Together.
Then I pull back and whisper against his lips, “I love you, Kiaran MacKay.” I smile up at him, and my heart feels whole. “Will you dance with me?”
His answer is a breath between kisses. “Always.”
As we spin around in a dance there in the street, I swear I feel Derrick’s wings rustle my hair, the hint of his power in the fleeting winter breeze, and I smile.
Kiaran presses his cheek to mine and we dance together under the stars, with the glittering light of the city all around us.