Page 5 of The Fallen Kingdom

CHAPTER 3

AILEANA. That name is a burden, something painful and sharp-edged and thorny. Seven letters and four syllables that scratch and scratch and scratch at something inside me, peeling it away like a layer of skin to see the blood beneath.

Aileana.

My memory of this faery is so strong I can practically feel his tiny dragonfly wings rustling beneath my fingertips, soft and smooth as silk. His musical laughter in my ears, clear as a bell.

Aileana.

No. No, I don’t want it. Whatever it is that comes with that name—whatever this crushing burden is—it’s too much, too oppressive. It’s a crippling weight, more than any one person should bear.

“Aileana,” the faery says again in delight. “I felt a burst of power and it felt like you and—” He pauses and tilts his head slightly. “Your eyes look different. How can you be—”

Then he’s flying toward me, his movements so quick that I’m jarred from my memories. I slide back into the comfort of instinct, of battle-readiness. It’s the only thing I know. It’s the only thing that’s felt right since I clawed my way out of the dirt and cracked my eyes open to find myself alone in a scorched forest.

I don’t know you. I don’t know that name. You weren’t there. No one was.

“Stop!” My blade slices through the air between us, the tip halting a pinpoint away from the pixie’s wee face. “Stop,” I say again, lower this time. “Don’t come near me.”

He puts up his hands, but his eyes narrow. “Put that down. What iswrongwith you?”

Nothing. Everything.I don’t remember.

He tries to fly around the sword, but I put it between us again. “I said don’t come near me.” My body is poised in a fighting stance. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

For some incomprehensible reason, I feel guilty saying that.

“Have you gone barmy?” The pixie flickers a glance at my faery victim and he looks irritated. “What are you going to do, stab me?” When I don’t reply, he lets out a huff. “For god’s sake. I watched you die. At least let me sit on your shoulder and plait your hair before you threaten me.”

Sit on my shoulder?Plait my hair?What?

Then his earlier words sink in:I watched you die.

A sudden phantom pain shoots through my chest—just over my heart. It feels real enough that I press a hand there, almost expecting to find a blade sticking out of my ribs. Instead, there’s only the puckered skin of a fresh scar, long and thin.

I look down and drag a finger across the mark, assessing the shape, the depth of the injury that would have caused such a thing. Three smaller marks form a semicircle around it—the design of the underside of a sword hilt, thrust hard enough to leave an impression behind.

With enough force to rip through skin, bone, and heart. A killing blow.

“I died?” I can barely contain my horror. Is that why I was in the ground?Then what brought me back?

A whisper at the back of my mind once more, as soft as a rustle of feathers.Accept. You must accept now.

The pixie’s impatient snort interrupts my thoughts. “Yes. Now can we get to the part where you give me a damn hug?”

I almost smile, but then another voice brushes across my mind, quick as a heartbeat. A young woman’s words, filled with grief:I can’t heal this. I blink back the sting of tears at that. “How long have I been dead?”

The pixie’s hands fist at his sides as if he’s resisting the urge to touch me. “Two months, nineteen days. I’ve kept count.”

Two months, nineteen days. And I can’t recall any of that time, or my life before that.

I search my mind again, and all I can grasp are impressions, remnants of profound joy and grief. Of chasing monsters through the night. Of intimate touches and whispered promises. Nothing that tells me who I am, or how I came to be in a forest, surrounded by miles of dead trees, with no memory.

I lower my blade and slide my fingers down my bare, blood-and-dirt-coated arms. As if I would find the answers there. As if everything should suddenly become so clear.

Nothing.

Beneath the grime is smooth, unblemished skin. And yet...that seems wrong. I may only remember fragments, but my fingers recall the feel of uneven skin, marred with half-moon marks. The shape of teeth. Dozens and dozens of bites that speak of loss and loneliness.