CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The smell of coffee drifts up the stairs as I make my way down. Lochlain's pants were too big to stay on my hips for more than a night, but I have adopted the shirt he gave me when I arrived in Elenlea for the second time. I'm wearing it and the thick, tight black pants Ciara gave me when I appear in the kitchen, my feet cosy in their woollen socks. Ciara stocked up on some basic wardrobe items for me but I couldn't quite bring myself to let go of the shirt just yet.

Lochlain has his back to me, though I know he hears me coming. Ciara calls out a greeting before passing me on the stairs on her way to get dressed. I need coffee. How quickly it comes back as part of a basic need despite so long going without. Lochlain shoots out a hand as I pass by him to get the milk and snags the hem of my – his – shirt.

'What's this?' he asks, pulling me to him slightly, his eyes on my face.

Copper flashes and melts away into darkness as he glances at my mouth. My cheeks warm and I hope he can't see it, but I hold his stare.

'Oh, just some old thing I picked up somewhere,' I say with a nonchalant shrug of my shoulder, my blood thrumming in my veins.

'Lish,' he says, his eyes darkening further and creating a pool of heat in my core. 'I need to tell—'

I hear Ciara coming back down the stairs and I pull away, finishing the making of my coffee.

'Loch, it's bloody Giving Day, did you remember?' she asks.

His eyes shutter at that and I look to her. She's got her pants on with her pyjama top, the thought clearly catching her mid dressing.

'What's Giving Day?' I ask, the heat I'd experienced just a moment before draining away at the look on Lochlain's face.

'Something the Custodian brought in … almost 10 years ago now,' he says. 'You know it's nature that gifts us our abilities. Well, she's dying so—'

'What do you mean she's dying?' I ask. My mouth goes dry even as I know the answer. The toll it's taken on Rhyton.

'Nature, our world, it's dying – you call it climate change,' he says. 'Every month we have to give more of our gifts back to keep the Realm running.'

'But, how big is the Realm?' I frown. 'Surely you can't negate the effects of an entire planet being misused?' I ask.

'No,' Ciara says, 'we can't. But the intention was to try and sustain us for as long as we can. We were all in for that idea when it started. But we'—she looks to Lochlain—'don't believe it's working. Not yet, anyway.'

'How would you know?' I ask.

'Our people have never had to do this before, what we gave back naturally used to be enough. In theory, it's a cycle,' he says. 'If we can give back to nature, over time she can give back to us. But each Giving seems to take a little more of us and we're not seeing nature replenish herself. And, without our gifts, we cannot survive either,' he says.

'Are you telling me that once a month you give a bit of yourself, a bit you cannot replenish, and it is slowly killing you?' I ask.

Neither of them speaks.

•

I go to the Giving with them, wanting to see this for myself. Every individual that Gives is recorded so Lochlain and Ciara have no choice but to participate. Even if they did, I know neither of them would leave the others of the Court of Airlie to carry this burden alone.

Lochlain's tension is palpable at having me out in broad daylight. That Siosal might have Whispers looking for me here. But he was equally tense leaving me at Ciara's on my own and I refused to be left behind.

Ciara talks most of the way over the cobbled streets as I focus on the colour and the Calahi, not to mention the gorgeous buildings, attempting to soak in the beauty and not the roaring in my ears. Elenlea oozes character, its soul far more apparent than that of Rhyton. A storybook town full of small acts of magic. Like the woman ahead of me whose basket floats at her side, or the flowers that water themselves in the garden across the stone laneway, but there is a mix of those who openly show magic and those that don't. Of those who don't show their magic, only their beauty and eyes mark them as different to humans.

A small girl to my right slips on the stones, crashing to her knees. My heart tugs at her soft cry. A woman kneels before her, concern lining her eyes and lifts the child's skirts, placing her hands gently on the grazes. I can't drag my eyes away as a memory tries to make itself known. One of gentle warmth and kind hands and knowledge of pain wiped away. There was a lesson I was supposed to know but it's lost now to time.

We pass the pair and I shake my head, even as the nagging in my mind continues. What have I forgotten from that moment? I wrangle my attention back to Ciara who's still chattering, Lochlain quiet and watchful beside me.

'So, do you have a boyfriend?' I ask when she pauses for a moment, unafraid, given her own frankness with me.

'A dear one? Goodness no,' she says cheerfully and Lochlain bristles. 'I was due to be bonded, once, but it didn't work out. A good thing it didn't, too.'

I glance at her and catch the look she gives Lochlain.

'Bonded?' I ask, remembering Siosal's request of me.

'You know'—she waves a hand—'when you commit your life to another's. He wasn't my Soul Accord but, turns out, he wasn't going to be very good for me at all and Loch … helped move him on. Loch tried to help him, to give him another direction but he … is too attracted to the very thing we are fighting.'

'That's what Siosal asked of me.'

Lochlain stops dead. 'You didn't tell me that.' He stares at me, his eyes going black.

I frown, stopping along with him. 'Yes, I did—'

'You said he wanted to make it official.'

'Is it not the same thing?' I ask, frowning.

Lochlain's eyes slide to Ciara's.

'Yes,' she says eventually. 'It is, really. But it's still … overwhelming to hear it. It's not what we initially assumed.' She touches Lochlain's arm and guides him on again.

I want to ask what difference it makes but I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

The long, hooded cloak I wear helps cover my face and keep me warm – something that's new for me to need. My new riding boots, courtesy of Ciara, wrap my legs from the knees down in chocolate brown leather. In the cold Elenlea weather I don't feel at all out of place, a handful of people around me are in similar clothing. But here they mostly wear an amazing array of colours and textures, many of which I've never seen before, with everything seemingly designed to showcase their beauty. So incredibly different to clothes solely designed for air flow and heat protection.

We line up outside an official looking building, one that's reminiscent of the Rhyton library with its stone pillars. Lochlain and Ciara flank me and Ciara's talking peters out. Lochlain is close enough to touch me but doesn't; I know it's so he can have easier access to the weapons under his cloak, should he need them. The ones he has in addition to what's under his clothes.

We've come early, as I'm told it can take a little while to recover and Lochlain prefers not to be out of action overnight. Many others have obviously had the same idea and there are several groups in front of us and joining quickly behind. It seems an event the Calahi mostly come to with others but there are a handful of single Calahi in the lines as well. They all talk softly, it's not a joyous occasion but one they are used to. I assume it's the same at the other venues they are taking the Giving throughout the city.

'About time someone put an end to this,' the female Calahi in front of us says to the male next to her. Her soft brown hair is pulled up into a braid that runs up from the base of her neck. 'Have you seen this?' she asks as a large piece of cream paper appears in her hands.

I can't quite tell what it is, but it's covered in writing.

'We have neither our Queen,' she continues, 'nor the right General in place. And the Givings just go on and on. They've got so much of our magic. When will they work out what to do with it?'

The male next to her murmurs something, I think in agreement.

'It's no wonder Queen Nakiasha and King Kailoh are taking an interest in us,' the first one says. 'Apparently, the Queen is hoping to visit soon. Scoping us out, is more like it.'

I stiffen as a voice calls out behind me, forcing myself not to turn around as my throat tightens. The conversation in front rapidly losing my attention.

'It's not him, Lish,' Lochlain whispers. 'He's not here.'

My heart thunders as my mind races through the what ifs. The back of Lochlain's fingers brush mine and I know he can feel the trembling there but I can't still them. My breath catches. I hadn't thought this would be so hard, that I would be so terrified to be out in the open with so many people – Calahi – any one of whom could be Siosal.

Lochlain squeezes my hand and turns to me, leaving Ciara to survey the crowd around us. His black and copper eyes burn into mine.

'Lish.'

I breathe into the sensation of his calming emotions. The urge to fight against him is markedly less than when we first met. Now, I welcome them.

'If he tries to hurt you again, I will kill him. Do you understand?'

I nod mutely, my pulse evening out with the gentle assistance of Lochlain. Absorbing the promise of death in his low voice.

'Okay.' I exhale.

Lochlain studies me a moment before accepting what he sees in my face and stepping to my side once more. I turn my attention back to the crowd, still looking for any flicker of purple eyes.

A gruff looking male marks names off a list before sending the Giver into a large chamber teeming with Calahi. He directs us to a long row of tables lined with Calahi in simple, forest-green uniforms. The chairs before them are quickly filled by the citizens of Airlie, to Give before they are dismissed to the waiting area. In the busyness, I slip past the tables and join those who have already Given to watch. As my name is not on the list anyway, they can't worry me for not Giving. But they can wonder who I am, and I fear being discovered here either by General Siosal or as a non-resident of Airlie. And what the consequences may be for either of those things.

From the waiting area, I can see Lochlain and Ciara facing the small tables, Lochlain trying not to look at me directly but marking my every move. The set of his jaw says he is well aware of the distance between us. His desire to protect is palpable.

They each push up the sleeves on their right arms and lay them flat on the small black tables. The uniformed collectors produce what look like medieval, hydraulic syringes. Bronze, with two large, circular finger holes to draw out the magic. Given the flippancy with which that term can be used in Driarn, it doesn't seem to hold the required weight of what I've seen here. But it's still magic.

Everything I have seen so far has been incredible; Will's healing, Niamh's ability to get me in and out of the Realm – which is so close, and yet so far, from Rhyton. Even Rory's ability to make me throw my guts up by zapping me around the place is amazing. But the term 'magic' is somehow not enough for what I feel when I'm here and the sense that it's … right. That it calls to me somehow, the little gold flame in my chest burning brighter here.

Lochlain's collector is ready first and he braces himself as the needle is plunged deep into the inside of his elbow. She pulls hard and a copper-coloured, fog-like substance fills the syringe. Lochlain pales as she withdraws the needle and places the vial in a case at her feet having crossed his name from her list as well. She fills another two vials, each looking the same. I'm watching Lochlain so intently I don't notice Ciara approach. Holding a patch on the inside of her right arm, she slowly makes her way over to me.

'He is allowed to give less given his official place in the Whispers, but the stronger the magic in a person, the harder it is to have it taken. He'll be out of it for most of the afternoon.'

Over her shoulder my attention snags on a small group of people being forcibly pushed through the row of nurses towards a narrow doorway. They're silent but I can sense their fear from here. Some of them thrash against those that hold them. Others are already defeated.

'What – Ciara, what's happening?' My skin starts to crawl, a chill running along my spine.

She looks over her shoulder quickly before looking gravely at me.

'They're the humans that some Calahi sacrifice instead of Giving.'

My mind goes white. 'What?'

She looks at me, a combination of pain and sympathy.

'There are some who don't wish to, or cannot, Give and can afford to purchase a human to sacrifice instead.' She looks at me, her grief plain to see. 'They used to come from the groups General Siosal took – before we stopped him the first time. It's partly why Lochlain is so on edge having you here in the Realm. Having any trace of human in your blood can be enough for you to be seen as an opportunity. And … well, no one wants to lose you.'

'But how –' I gape at her, uncomprehending. My vision blurs and the floor shifts. Ciara grips my elbow. Sofia I think. This is what I saved her from. Peta as well. But the countless others I did nothing for feels like a fist twisting behind my ribs.

'The life of a human is something … somewhat magical in its own right, I suppose. And so it can be given in place of our actual magic.' She cringes as the words come out. 'Stopping General Siosal,' Ciara says quietly, 'instating the true heir, they are our best options for saving Airlie from itself as well as everyone else.'

•

Ciara and I deposit a very pale and wobbly Lochlain into bed, and I insist she rest up as well. Her eyes glaze over slightly as she agrees and heads towards her room. I wander aimlessly around the house for a while, looking at the small collection of photos Ciara has dotted around. Trying to distract myself from the horror of knowing those people at the Giving have been walked to their deaths for a world most don't even know exists. Of the knowledge that the Calahi face a death too, even if it's slower. One that comes on two fronts: the crippling of the Mother that provides them with their gifts, and the giving of it to the Court of Airlie.

There'd be protests in the streets of Rhyton if the people were asked to give something so important for no sign of what it was doing to help. I can't help but think this is part of the dullness that surrounds Elenlea. Not only the loss of their magic but their faith in the system.

I peek in on Ciara, who's sleeping peacefully and looks almost her normal colour, before heading to Lochlain's room to do the same. Cracking the door, I watch him breathing heavily. My feet move before my brain catches up and I find myself sitting on the well-loved, navy pinstripe chair next to his bed. The late afternoon sun stretches across the plush carpet bathing the chair and I soak in the glorious warmth.

Dark curls fall over Lochlain's pallid face, the faint smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose drawing my smile. They're quite endearing, really, and I can't help but marvel at him. When awake, he's watchful and guarded; but like this he seems so peaceful. Slowly, I reach out and brush a curl back from his face, the silky strands soft against my fingers.

'You'll have to touch me elsewhere if you want me to purr,' he says.

I snatch my hand back and slap his shoulder. Suddenly incredibly grateful he is wearing a shirt.

'You scared me! You're supposed to be asleep,' I say, my heart racing.

He chuckles and opens one copper eye.

'I was, until a certain someone padded their way across my room.' He smirks.

I narrow my eyes at him, but the side of my mouth gives me away and I laugh.

'Sorry,' I say. 'Clearly you're fine and I will leave you in peace.'

He gently catches the tips of my fingers in his as I stand to leave and looks up at me. 'Thank you for checking on me,' he says.

I squeeze his fingers, my stomach skittering.

'Dinner will be ready downstairs when you're up for it,' I say, willing the warm blush to leave my cheeks.