The Falconer (Elizabeth May) Read Free Page B

unescorted. As you well know, Aileana. Need I remind you that this is yet another breach in etiquette, being alone in an empty corridor?’ She sniffs. ‘I fear your mother would be quite aggrieved, were she still with us.’
    Catherine sucks in a sharp breath. I clench my fists and gasp. Grief rises briefly inside me, quickly replaced by rage and the overwhelming desire for vengeance. For just one kill to bury the painful memory of my mother’s death once more. Even my careful control has its limits – I must find that faery before my need consumes me.
    ‘Mother,’ Catherine says deliberately, ‘if you could wait for me in the ballroom, I shall be there directly.’ When Lady Cassilis opens her mouth to protest, Catherine adds, ‘I won’t be long. Just let me see Aileana safely to the parlour.’
    The viscountess studies me briefly, lifts her chin a notch and strides to the ballroom.
    Catherine sighs. ‘She didn’t mean that.’
    ‘She did.’
    ‘Aileana, whatever you’re planning – be quick, or I may be unable to visit for elevenhours on Wednesday. Mother—’
    ‘I know. She thinks I’m a bad influence.’
    She winces. ‘Perhaps not the best.’
    I smile. ‘I appreciate you lying for me.’
    ‘I never lie. I merely embellish information if the situation calls for it. For example, I intend to tell Mother that this headache of yours is severe enough that you may miss a few dances.’
    ‘How very tactful of you.’ I pass Catherine my reticule. ‘Would you hold onto this for me?’
    Catherine stares at it. ‘I do believe the ladies parlour allows reticules.’
    ‘Aye, but carrying the reticule might make my headache worse.’ I press the purse into her palm.
    ‘Hmm. You know, someday, I’m going to ask questions. You might even answer them.’
    ‘Someday,’ I agree, grateful for her trust.
    She flashes a smile and says, ‘Very well. Go off on your mysterious adventure. But at least think of our luncheon. Your cook is the only one who knows how to make proper shortbread.’
    ‘Is that really the only reason you visit? The blasted shortbread?’
    ‘The company is also quite agreeable . . . when she isn’t having “headaches”.’
    She departs with an unladylike wink and saunters through the double doors into the ballroom.
    Freed at last, I advance down the corridor again. My skirt rustles, its deep flounces fluffed by three stiff petticoats. Since I began training a year ago, I’ve become keenly aware of how limiting a lady’s wardrobe is. The adornments are all beautiful – and absolutely useless in battle.
    As I round the corner, the faery power returns in force. I let the burning tang wash over my tongue; I thrive on the anticipation. This is one of my favourite parts of the hunt, second only to the kill itself. I imagine myself shooting it again, feeling the calm release at its death . . .
    Then, all at once, the taste tears out of my throat so fast, I bend over and gag.
    ‘Damnation,’ I whisper. The abrasive absence of its power means the revenant has found its victim and is drawing in human energy.
    With another muttered oath, I gather my bulky skirts and petticoats, slip the stole off my shoulders to tie around my waist – propriety be damned – and bolt up the stairs. I glance about in dismay when I reach the top. So many doors. Now that the power has gone, I have no way to tell which room the faery is in.
    I walk quickly down the hallway. The corridor is quiet. Too quiet. I’m painfully aware of every swish the fabric of my dress makes, every floorboard creak beneath my satin slippers.
    I press my ear to the nearest door. Nothing. I open it to be certain, but the room is empty. I try another door. Still nothing.
    As I palm the next handle, I hear a low gasp. The kind of breath someone takes with only scant moments of life remaining.
    I consider my options carefully. I have but a single chance to save the revenant’s victim. If I charge in, the faery might kill the person