The Shattered Dark sr-2

by Sandy Williams

  Or maybe they’ll just kill her.

  No, I tell myself, pushing that thought aside. She’s more valuable alive. Alive, they can negotiate a trade.

  “Her purse was at my apartment,” I tell Shane, trying the doorknob. It doesn’t turn, of course. “I broke a ward when I picked it up. That’s why the remnants came.”

  “Hmm,” he says. He presses his lips together, but there’s no worry or sympathy in his expression. I clench my teeth to keep from saying anything. When I first met him, I had the impression he was a bit egocentric. He’s living up to that assessment.

  Stepping away from the door, I scan up and down the street. An occasional car passes by, but no one is outside. I can probably time a break-in so that I don’t get caught.

  I pick up one of the rocks lining the flower bed.

  “You know,” Shane says, “if the remnants do have your friend, it’s highly possible they know where she lives.”

  “You’re worried about them showing up?” I heft the rock in my hand. “Why? You can just switch allegiances. I’m sure they’d pay you whatever you ask.”

  “Ouch,” he says, sounding genuinely insulted.

  I hurt his feelings? Whatever. He’s only involved in this war because he gets paid. This shouldn’t be about money. Our actions have consequences. I didn’t realize just how dire those consequences were until a month ago. Back when I worked for the king, I thought the Court captured most of the fae I tracked. They didn’t. It was easier to kill them than to put forth the effort to take them as prisoners. If I’d known how much blood was being shed because of my shadow-reading, I wouldn’t have become so deeply involved in the king’s wars. I’ve caused more pain than I can stand thinking about.

  Before my thoughts darken further, I search the street again. It’s a weekday. Most people will probably be at work, but I make sure I check the windows of the nearest homes. It’s hard to see through the sun’s glare on the glass.

  “Here.” Shane grabs the rock from my hand. “You keep standing around, and eventually someone’s going to notice.”

  He launches the rock through Paige’s window.

  “And, yes,” he continues. “I took a while to make up my mind, but that doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit.” He grabs the curtain from inside the town house, yanks it off its hanger, then uses it to knock out the rest of the glass and clear off the windowsill. “I’ll open the door.”

  He climbs inside, and, of course, I feel guilty now. It wasn’t easy for me to change allegiances; why should it be easy for him? Still, I don’t apologize when he opens the door. If he really does give a shit, he should act like it more often.

  As soon as I enter Paige’s apartment, it’s obvious there was a struggle here. In addition to the shattered fishbowl, the narrow table behind Paige’s couch is on its side, and it looks like someone tried to throw a floor lamp across the room. It’s still plugged in, but the lampshade is crushed. I step over it and head to her bedroom. She fought there, too, launching her jewelry box at her attacker. Its contents are scattered through the doorway and into the hall, where shards of glass litter the floor. Paige put up one hell of a fight.

  She shouldn’t have had to put up a fight. She wouldn’t have had to if she wasn’t connected to me.

  “Are you sure the remnants took her?” Shane calls from the front of the town house. I turn away from the bedroom and head back his way.

  “I wish I wasn’t, but yeah. Why?”

  He’s standing at the kitchen counter staring into a large, yellow mixing bowl. “There’s a fish in this.”

  I frown, walk to his side, then peer down at a bright blue and very much alive betta.

  “If the remnants kidnapped her,” Shane says, “it seems odd that they’d stick around to take care of her fish.”

  “Maybe one of them really likes fish?” I say, even though he has a point. It doesn’t make sense at all.

  I scan the living room and kitchen. Looking for what, I don’t know—evidence, I guess—but there’s nothing here except the overturned furniture and shattered fishbowl. Maybe I should have searched Paige’s purse before dropping it on the floor of my apartment. The remnants could have left a ransom note in it.

  “We should go,” Shane says. He’s found a little container of fish food and taps some into the mixing bowl. “Aren’s waiting.”

  I don’t say anything; I just keep staring at Paige’s apartment.

  He sets the container down and looks at me.

  “The rebels will help you find her,” he says gently, as if he’s trying to reassure me.

  They might help me find her. The last two weeks have been rough, though. We won control of the palace, and Lena has claimed the throne, but convincing the high nobles—the fae who run the Realm’s thirteen provinces—that her bloodline is pure enough to become their queen isn’t going so well. Not only that, but the high nobles are hesitant to break tradition and allow a woman to sit on the silver throne. They’re postponing a vote on the matter, probably hoping a better option will step forward.

  The headache I had on the way here doubles in strength as I head for the door. The delay on the vote wouldn’t be such a big deal if the remnants weren’t taking advantage of the uncertainty. They’re launching attacks on the silver walls surrounding the palace almost daily, and we’re fairly certain they’re encouraging the protests and near riots that are occurring throughout the Realm. If we could just figure out who’s organizing them, arrest or kill or make a deal with him or her, then maybe Lena and the rebels could have a break. They need a break. We all do.

  FOR a people who tend to live a century and a half, the fae are incredibly impatient. It’s one of the side effects of being able to fissure from city to city or even world to world in a few seconds’ time. The drive from my apartment to the outskirts of the city would have taken about twenty minutes without our detour. With the detour, it’s been close to an hour.

  Aren whips open my door before the car completely stops. He isn’t as afraid of human tech as most of the fae are, but I’m still surprised he didn’t wait the few seconds it would have taken for me to open it myself. Edarratae protest the contact by flashing up his forearm. They keep flashing when he takes hold of my elbow. His eyes scan me head to toe, looking for injuries, I’m sure, and when he doesn’t see any—at least, he doesn’t see any that are serious—he visibly relaxes.

  “Did my directions send you in circles?” he asks, looking past me to Shane, who’s turning off the engine.

  “No, they were surprisingly good for a fae.” He opens his door and gets out.

  I swivel in the seat to face Aren. “The remnants have Paige.”

  He’s down on one knee, so his silver eyes are level with mine. “Who?”

  “Paige,” I say. “My friend. You met her at the wedding.”

  “The wedding?” His gaze dips to my mouth, and I can almost taste him. That was the first time we kissed. I was still in love with Kyol, but my emotions were a chaotic mess. Aren was making me doubt everything—even how much I hated him—and before he turned me over to Kyol, he left me with a diamond necklace imprinted with a location. I could have betrayed him with that necklace. I didn’t. I didn’t because I was beginning to fall in love with him.

  And I’m still falling.

  I clear my throat. “I have to find her, Aren. She doesn’t belong in this war.”

  “You’re sure they have her?” he asks, refocusing on my eyes.

  “The ward was on her purse.”

  His jaw clenches, and I almost wish I hadn’t said anything. His role in this war is changing. Before the rebels took the palace, he was always on the offensive. He’s used to launching brief surprise attacks on the king’s fae, on supply depots, and on the gates that are required to fissure anything more than what a fae can carry. Now, Aren’s trying to keep the remnants from doing the exact same things he did. With as few swordsmen as he has at his disposal, he’s doing a good job, but I don’t want to add to his responsibil
ities.

  “She doesn’t know anything about us?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. Few humans do unless they have the Sight. Keeping their existence secret has been a law in the Realm for centuries. If humans ever learn about the fae, there’s no doubt war would break out. Not all humans would be content to leave the fae alone. Some would want to kill them. Others would want to capture them. They’d want to find a way to enslave them for their magics. King Atroth enforced the secrecy law just as strictly as the previous kings, and whenever the fae decide to approach a human who can see them, they do so with caution.

  Most do so with caution. My introduction to their world was anything but gentle. A fae named Thrain abducted me. He starved and threatened me, demanding that I use my Sight to point out fae hidden by illusion. I did so once, the first day I was in his custody, and he slaughtered that fae right there in front of me.

  Aren draws in a breath. When he releases it, it’s like all his responsibilities fall away. I know they’re still there, still weighing on his mind, but he hides them behind a haphazard smile and confident attitude.

  “We’ll find her,” he says, pulling me out of the car. His confidence is contagious to other fae—I think that’s half the reason the rebels were able to win the palace—but I’m human, and I stopped believing in miracles years ago. Paige could be anywhere in the Realm or on Earth. The chance that we’ll just stumble across her is virtually nonexistent.

  “Hey,” Aren says, tilting my chin up with a finger. “I found you, didn’t I?”

  The half smile on his lips is cocky but reassuring. It’s sexy as hell, too, and despite all my worries, my stomach flips. I’m trying so damn hard to be smart about this. I’m trying to take things slowly, to carefully wade into this relationship because, God knows, we didn’t meet under the best circumstances. I don’t want Aren to be a fling or a rebound, but I tend to forget caution when he looks at me like this, like I’m the only thing that exists in this world.

  A chaos luster leaps to my skin, traveling along my jawline until it reaches the nape of my neck. Whether he leans in toward me or I lean toward him, I don’t know, but our lips touch then—

  “Aren.”

  It’s not Shane who speaks. I peer around Aren’s shoulder and see a fae—an illusionist named Brenth—stepping through the thin tree line that separates the road from an empty field. He’s one of Kyol’s swordsmen, a former Court fae who’s sworn to protect Lena. His armor isn’t shoddy like the rebels’. It has a smooth, even texture and an abira tree etched into its surface, but he’s added four branches to it, one for each of the provinces Lena plans to reinstate.

  “Perfect timing,” Shane mutters, just before Brenth says in Fae, “We were out of time ten minutes ago.”

  “It will be fine,” Aren tells the latter.

  I’m already following Shane to the tree line because I need to walk off the tingling sensation that’s swept across my body. I’m hoping the heat I’m feeling doesn’t reach my face or, if it does, the others think it’s a result of the bright Texas sun overhead.

  “So anxious to get away from me?” Aren asks, a note of amusement in his tone as he falls into step beside me. He knows exactly why I needed to move.

  “Call it a habit,” I retort, but I let the smallest of smiles bend a corner of my mouth when I slant a glance his way. I spent the first few weeks I knew him trying to escape. I was almost successful a number of times, but he just wouldn’t let me slip away.

  He chuckles. “I promise not to make you wear a blindfold this time.”

  A blindfold? We step through the tree line and into the field on the other side, but I don’t recognize this place until I spot the small pond off to my right. This is where he brought me after he abducted me from my campus. I had no idea—and, more importantly, the Court fae had no idea—that this gate was here, and I thought…

  I turn to Aren. “I thought this place was hours away from my apartment.”

  He lifts an eyebrow.

  “When you kidnapped me,” I say, “it took at least three hours to get here.”

  “Ah.” His gaze goes to my left temple. That’s where he hit me with the pommel of his dagger less than two months ago, knocking me out so I couldn’t call the police. “We had some difficulties getting you off campus without any humans seeing you.”

  I snort. Yeah, that would have looked odd, me being carried over the shoulder of an invisible man. With the cops searching the building and Kyol still looking for me, it couldn’t have been easy getting me away from there.

  We reach the pond just after Shane and Brenth. The gate is just a blur in the atmosphere to the fae’s left. Brenth turns to it, then scoops up a handful of water. The water is necessary to connect with the gate, and the fissure opens gradually, the stream of water turning into a stream of white light as it pours between his fingers. A second later, a deep rumble signals the connection to the In-Between. He hands an anchor-stone to Shane, then Shane grips the fae’s forearm, and they disappear into the light.

  It takes an effort to wrench my gaze away from the shadows the fissure leaves behind, but Aren takes my hand and leads me to the blur at the edge of the pond. He presses an anchor-stone into my palm. He can fissure to locations he’s memorized without it, but if I want to go along with him, I need it. Otherwise, I’d become lost in the In-Between.

  Aren reaches into the pond, opening his own gated-fissure. Before he pulls me into it, his hand tightens around mine, and he says, “I’ve missed you, McKenzie.”

  Then he finishes the kiss Brenth interrupted.

  THREE

  I’M BREATHLESS WHEN we step out of the fissure. That’s probably the In-Between’s fault, but I’m blaming Aren. He kissed me until his chaos lusters slid into my skin, making me forget everything but him. Then, just when the lightning built to a level where I swear I was seconds away from losing control, he pulled me into the In-Between.

  The icy In-Between.

  Going from hot to cold like that was both divine and torturous.

  As soon as I’m able to stand without swaying, I glare at him. He gives me a maddening grin in return.

  My hand is still in his, the anchor-stone still pressed between our palms. The lightning darting between our clasped fingers is white in this world, not blue, and it originates from me. Even so, it’s as hot and tantalizing as his is on Earth.

  I slip my hand free before the lightning builds further—it’s already difficult enough not to press my lips to his again—then scan the cobblestoned area outside Corrist’s silver wall. Brenth must have taken Shane back to Vegas because they’re not here. No one else is, either, and that makes me uneasy. Two weeks ago, this place was filled with fae haggling and making purchases in the shops to my left.

  We call the thirty-foot buffer zone between those shops and the silver wall a moat even though it’s level with the rest of the city and not filled with water. Kyol and the Court fae fissured me to this area hundreds of times over the last ten years, but it’s never felt so wrong to stand here. The pale yellow stone of the shops facing the silver wall is usually tinted blue at night, but no one has lit the orbs topping the streetlights, and I’m pretty sure most of the buildings are deserted.

  Deserted by the merchants, at least. Remnants have used the abandoned buildings for cover during their attacks. Some of the shops are two or three stories tall, and from down here on the ground, there’s no way of knowing if a fae is hiding on a tiled rooftop or behind closed curtains.

  “Any later and you would be dead, Jorreb,” someone shouts in Fae from the silver wall, using Aren’s family name.

  “Then my timing is perfect!” Aren shouts back, turning his grin on whoever’s watching us from one of the spy holes above the lowered portcullis.

  I clench my teeth together. Since the remnants have been launching random attacks on the wall, Lena’s issued an order not to wait to identify the fae who step out of opening fissures; the guards on the wall are to shoot immediately except at the
“safe” fissure locations. Those locations change every half hour. Lena and Kyol devised a rotating pattern, a code of sorts, that only the people they trust the most know.

  “Let us in,” Aren says.

  We duck under the rising portcullis. It’s made of pure silver. The metal doesn’t prevent fae from using their magic inside the wall—it only prevents them from fissuring in or out, or around inside the Inner City and the palace. Necessary of course, to keep us safe from attack, but it’s a significant handicap given that the fae are so used to being able to appear and disappear at will. Aren looks completely at ease, though, when he crosses to the other side.

  Two swordsmen emerge from an opening in the wall. More are on watch inside, I presume. The wall is eight feet wide and hollow between the stone blocks that support the heavy silver plating. Wooden stairs and narrow platforms allow the fae to stand guard inside the wall. I’ve stood guard inside it recently as well, making sure no one hidden by illusion was attempting to enter the Inner City.

  I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold in what little warmth I have left, while Aren exchanges a few words with the shorter of the two fae swordsmen. The taller fae is carrying a jaedric cuirass and a cloak. He hands them both to Aren, who brings them to me. He helps me slide the cuirass on over my head, then tightens the bindings on the sides.

  I’m more thankful for the cloak than the armor, and not just because I’m cold. The chaos lusters are bright on my skin. Supposedly, the fae who have remained in the Inner City support Lena or are neutral in this war, but it’s not like we’ve had time to interview every individual to see if that’s really true. Without the cloak, the lightning would draw too much attention, so I pull it on over my cuirass and adjust the hood so that my face is hidden beneath it.

  “One more thing,” Aren says, holding a third item I didn’t see before. He takes the two ends of the long strap in his hands, then buckles them around my waist, under the cloak. “Think you can keep up with this one?”