register any more; it has become a background of screeching strings, and the dance is only halfway over.
My hand brushes the side of my blue silk dress, right over the spot where my lightning pistol is hidden. I envision myself hunting in the corridors, taking aim—
Calm , I tell myself. I study the fine details of the room again, the mosaic lanterns that continue to float over our heads. Above them are the clicking brass cogs and wiring along the edge of the ceiling, all of it connected to New Town’s electricity system.
I focus on the clicks, on mentally reciting my lessons. Propriety. Click . Grace. Click . Smile. Click . Kill. Click .
Hell and blast.
The fiddles screech on. Lord Hamilton says something else and I manage to smile and give a non-committal nod.
I try again. Politeness. Click . Modesty. Click . Civility—
At last the music stops, and I turn to Lord Hamilton. He offers his arm without comment and leads me to the perimeter of the ballroom. I eye the door again.
‘I say,’ Lord Hamilton murmurs, ‘where is Miss Stewart? I shouldn’t leave you alone.’
Thank heavens Catherine is nowhere to be seen. She is one less person I have to excuse myself from.
‘You’re forgiven,’ I say in that charming voice I hate. ‘If I might beg your pardon, I must take my leave to the ladies’ parlour for a few minutes.’ I touch my temple lightly. ‘A headache, I’m afraid.’
Lord Hamilton frowns. ‘Tch, how dreadful. Do allow me to escort you.’
Once we reach the double doors that exit into the hallway, I stop and smile. ‘There’s no need for you to leave the ballroom, my lord. I can find the parlour on my own.’
‘Are you certain?’
I almost snap at him, but force myself to breathe deeply and regain some composure. My desire to hunt is pounding, unrelenting. If it consumes me, politeness won’t deter me. I’ll want nothing but blood and vengeance and release.
I swallow. ‘Indeed.’
Lord Hamilton doesn’t appear to notice a change in my behaviour. He simply smiles, bows from the waist and pats my wrist again. ‘Thank you for the pleasure of your company.’
He turns to leave and I step into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief. At last .
As I tiptoe down the corridor, away from the ballroom and the ladies’ parlour, my mouth tingles when the faery power returns. My body is growing more used to the taste after its initial violent response, and I recognise the particular breed it comes from. A revenant.
I have only ever killed four revenants, but never on my own, so I haven’t yet grown as accustomed to the potent taste of their power as I have to that of the other breeds of fae I kill more often. In my limited experience, they have three vulnerabilities: an opening along the thoracic cage, just over the left pectoral; an abdominal cavity with a slight soft spot in otherwise impenetrable skin; and rather sub-par intelligence.
Revenants make up for their weaknesses with solid muscle, which makes them difficult to kill. Then again, I do love a challenge.
I reach into the small pocket sewn into the folds of my ball gown and pull out a thin, plaited strand of seilgflùr . A rare soft thistle nearly extinct in Scotland, seilgflùr gives me the ability to see faeries.
The thistle was almost entirely destroyed by faeries thousands of years ago to prevent humans from learning the truth – that the plant is a faery’s only true weakness. Oh, they all have some spots on their bodies that can be punctured by an ordinary weapon, but that would still only injure one of them. Seilgflùr , though, is deadly enough to burn their fae skin and even inflict a mortal wound. I use it in the weapons I make to hunt them.
I tie the seilgflùr around my neck and start forward again. My muscles are ready, relaxed, honed from twelve months of gruelling training with Kiaran. My techniques have improved during the nights when I have slaughtered faeries without his help. Kiaran claims I’m not ready to
My hand brushes the side of my blue silk dress, right over the spot where my lightning pistol is hidden. I envision myself hunting in the corridors, taking aim—
Calm , I tell myself. I study the fine details of the room again, the mosaic lanterns that continue to float over our heads. Above them are the clicking brass cogs and wiring along the edge of the ceiling, all of it connected to New Town’s electricity system.
I focus on the clicks, on mentally reciting my lessons. Propriety. Click . Grace. Click . Smile. Click . Kill. Click .
Hell and blast.
The fiddles screech on. Lord Hamilton says something else and I manage to smile and give a non-committal nod.
I try again. Politeness. Click . Modesty. Click . Civility—
At last the music stops, and I turn to Lord Hamilton. He offers his arm without comment and leads me to the perimeter of the ballroom. I eye the door again.
‘I say,’ Lord Hamilton murmurs, ‘where is Miss Stewart? I shouldn’t leave you alone.’
Thank heavens Catherine is nowhere to be seen. She is one less person I have to excuse myself from.
‘You’re forgiven,’ I say in that charming voice I hate. ‘If I might beg your pardon, I must take my leave to the ladies’ parlour for a few minutes.’ I touch my temple lightly. ‘A headache, I’m afraid.’
Lord Hamilton frowns. ‘Tch, how dreadful. Do allow me to escort you.’
Once we reach the double doors that exit into the hallway, I stop and smile. ‘There’s no need for you to leave the ballroom, my lord. I can find the parlour on my own.’
‘Are you certain?’
I almost snap at him, but force myself to breathe deeply and regain some composure. My desire to hunt is pounding, unrelenting. If it consumes me, politeness won’t deter me. I’ll want nothing but blood and vengeance and release.
I swallow. ‘Indeed.’
Lord Hamilton doesn’t appear to notice a change in my behaviour. He simply smiles, bows from the waist and pats my wrist again. ‘Thank you for the pleasure of your company.’
He turns to leave and I step into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief. At last .
As I tiptoe down the corridor, away from the ballroom and the ladies’ parlour, my mouth tingles when the faery power returns. My body is growing more used to the taste after its initial violent response, and I recognise the particular breed it comes from. A revenant.
I have only ever killed four revenants, but never on my own, so I haven’t yet grown as accustomed to the potent taste of their power as I have to that of the other breeds of fae I kill more often. In my limited experience, they have three vulnerabilities: an opening along the thoracic cage, just over the left pectoral; an abdominal cavity with a slight soft spot in otherwise impenetrable skin; and rather sub-par intelligence.
Revenants make up for their weaknesses with solid muscle, which makes them difficult to kill. Then again, I do love a challenge.
I reach into the small pocket sewn into the folds of my ball gown and pull out a thin, plaited strand of seilgflùr . A rare soft thistle nearly extinct in Scotland, seilgflùr gives me the ability to see faeries.
The thistle was almost entirely destroyed by faeries thousands of years ago to prevent humans from learning the truth – that the plant is a faery’s only true weakness. Oh, they all have some spots on their bodies that can be punctured by an ordinary weapon, but that would still only injure one of them. Seilgflùr , though, is deadly enough to burn their fae skin and even inflict a mortal wound. I use it in the weapons I make to hunt them.
I tie the seilgflùr around my neck and start forward again. My muscles are ready, relaxed, honed from twelve months of gruelling training with Kiaran. My techniques have improved during the nights when I have slaughtered faeries without his help. Kiaran claims I’m not ready to
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