The Shattered Dark sr-2

by Sandy Williams

  At first, I think he means that Lena’s going to need my Sight or shadow-reading skills, but the way his gaze locks on me as he brings my hand to his mouth indicates otherwise. His tongue tickles my palm before he releases my hand. Then he picks up a tray of bread and meats off the side table and sets it between us as if that’s the only thing that can keep him apart from me.

  My room has suddenly become hot. I have to concentrate on something besides the delicious ache that’s settled low in my stomach, so I pick up a piece of bread, and say, “I’m surprised Lena isn’t beating down my door.”

  “She’s meeting with Lorn,” Aren says. “Here.”

  He hands me a glass filled with a deep red liquid.

  “Cabus?” I ask.

  “Yes, nalkin-shom,” he says with a sideways grin.

  I make a face as I raise the glass then drink. It really is vile-tasting, but it’ll make me feel better.

  “Lena decided to let Lorn back into the palace?” I ask, returning my attention to the plate and trying to decide what will get rid of the taste of cabus the quickest.

  Aren places a pillow between my back and the wall. “Only temporarily. He’s still being difficult. He’s helping less and less every day.”

  “He’d rather cooperate with a band of merry men than a potential queen.”

  “A band of what?”

  “Never mind.” I pick up the tongs beside the plate. They’re wooden and similar to the kiddie chopsticks handed out at Chinese restaurants, but they’re a standard fae utensil. I use it to select the stringy, dark meat sitting on the edge of the plate. I think it’s brive. If I’m right, it’s delicious, even though it looks incredibly unappetizing.

  “Did Naito talk to Lena?” I ask. Then I nearly choke when I swallow down the stringy stuff. It’s not brive.

  “He did,” Aren says, and something in his voice makes me forget about the horrible taste in my mouth. He’s stiff, and his expression is guarded, almost as if he’s waiting for me to lash out at him.

  “You know about Caelar,” I say. And Brene, I add silently. Aren’s jaw clenches and unclenches, all but confirming my words.

  I give him a tight-lipped smile, then grab a wedge of cheese. After another few seconds, Aren relaxes slightly, realizing I’m not going to make a point about his past.

  “He’s made this war personal,” Aren says.

  I nod. “That’s why he won’t negotiate with Lena. He wants you dead.” I take another bite out of the soft wedge of cheese, then add, “He thinks you’re the garistyn.”

  “Caelar told you about that.” There’s no inflection in his voice.

  “He did,” I say, using the same tone Aren did a minute ago. “I won’t let Kyol die.”

  He gives me an insipid smile. “I know.”

  He retrieves the glass of cabus I set aside, starts to hand it to me, but almost drops it when someone pounds on the door. He’s on his feet, reaching for the sword propped against the wall, when Trev calls out, “Lena wants you.”

  Aren lets his hand drop without touching his sword. He looks at me and doesn’t say a word. What? Is he going to pretend he’s not in here?

  Trev pounds again. “She instructed me to break down the door if you don’t open it.”

  Aren lets out a breath that’s half sigh, half grumble.

  “She’ll want to know details about the remnants,” I tell him, setting the tray aside and standing.

  Reluctantly, he buckles his weapons belt around his waist. He starts to reach for the door but stops and looks back at me.

  “I know I can’t forbid you from helping us, but promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Promise me you won’t be reckless,” I counter.

  “I’m never reckless.” He grins, but only to hide his worry. We both know how easily we could lose each other.

  He opens the door. Trev stands at the threshold, his fist raised to knock again.

  “You couldn’t have delayed her?” Aren asks.

  “I did delay her,” Trev says, sounding almost offended.

  I think Aren was just harassing him because he gives Trev a brotherly pat on the shoulder as he passes. “Dealing with Lorn makes her short-tempered, I know.”

  “She’s in the Mirrored Hall,” Trev calls after us.

  Aren waves his hand in acknowledgment, then places it on the small of my back. “Why don’t you go ahead. Taltrayn will want to hear what you have to say, and I want Naito there, too. I’ll bring them both to the hall.”

  I nod, but before he leaves, I ask, “Did Shane ever show up?”

  Aren’s expression tells me the answer. My heart sinks. Lena sent rebels to search for him, but London is a huge city. If he isn’t at the gate or near the club, they’re not going to just stumble across him.

  “I’ll need to look for him,” I say. “He might have left a message at the hotel or he might be in a London hospital.” Or a London morgue, but I don’t let my thoughts linger on that.

  He takes my hand, plants a kiss on my palm. “I’ll take you back to Vegas after we talk to Lena.”

  He leaves me then, and I make my way to the Mirrored Hall on my own. I’ve never been in it before, but I’ve walked past it a time or two when the doors were open. Atroth only allowed entry to members of his Inner Court, which consisted of a few high nobles, his lord general and sword-master, and a few other select, privileged fae. It definitely wasn’t open to humans.

  It’s on the same floor as my room, but the residential wing of the palace is sealed off from the northern wing, which contains the throne room, the administrative offices, and Lena’s apartments. I have to go down a flight of stairs and through a corridor that parallels the statue garden. After I cross the antechamber outside the throne room, I reach another staircase. This one is elaborate, with silver banisters and polished white marble steps. I’m halfway up it when I see Lorn start to descend.

  “Ah, so you do live,” he says, his face lighting up with pleasure. At least, I think it’s pleasure. It’s always difficult to tell when Lorn is being sarcastic. “I always thought humans were breakable things, but you’re proving to be quite resilient.”

  “Hello, Lorn,” I say, veering to the right, so I can move around him.

  “You might want to delay your meeting with Lena,” he says. “She’s in a foul mood.”

  “I’m sure you tried your best to cheer her up,” I mutter.

  He puts a hand to his chest as if I’ve wounded him. “Of course I did. It’s not my fault she expects so much of me.”

  I pause on the same step he’s standing on. “Do you know who’s leading the remnants?”

  He gives me his most charming smile. “I know everything, my dear.”

  Or he pretends to, at least. In this case, though, I think he does know. If he didn’t, I suspect he’d try to pry the information out of me. No wonder Lena’s mad at him. He’s not giving us the information we need to end this war. Who knows what else he isn’t telling us.

  “Bye, Lorn.”

  “Have a wonderful day, nalkin-shom,” he calls after me.

  I roll my eyes. I want to like Lorn, but sometimes he makes it difficult to believe there’s a caring person beneath the apathetic façade he puts up.

  I climb the rest of the steps, then make my way to the Mirrored Hall. The room is lit by hundreds of tiny glass orbs. They hang from the ceiling, throwing their blue-white light over the length of the room. Lena is the only one inside. She’s standing beside a long wooden table with her hands clasped behind her back. She’s not facing me or the doorway, but I think she sees my tiny reflection in the mirror opposite her.

  “I’ll kill you if you hurt Aren,” she says without turning.

  It’s an empty threat, but I tell her, “I’m not going to hurt him.” I mean it.

  A fae enters the hall from a gap that’s almost invisible due to the gilded mirrors covering just about every square inch of the walls. He’s carrying a silver tray with two bottles and an assortment of cheeses
and fruits. Most of the latter is cut into cubes and covered with some kind of glaze. The fae sets it down, then asks if Lena wants anything else. She never once looks at him, just shakes her head no.

  After he leaves, I say, “You should be nice to the waitstaff.”

  I expect her to protest, to say something about the servants being below her station or some other typical, I’m-a-noble-and-he’s-a-peon crap, but she sinks down into a chair.

  “I know,” she says. She lets out a breath, and her shoulders sag. “I miss my brother.”

  She’s staring at the silver tray, so she doesn’t see my eyes go wide. She’s confiding in me? What am I supposed to do with that? Never mind that I suck at girl talk, she’s Lena. She’s supposed to tolerate me only because she needs my Sight and shadow-reading skills.

  “He’d know what to do with the high nobles,” she says.

  “He wouldn’t have the problem of convincing them that a woman can sit on the silver throne.”

  “True.” She looks up, and I think I see relief in her eyes. I understand it. It’s like she’s onstage every second of her life now. She can’t be anything but confident when she’s in public. Her supporters have to have faith in her. The high nobles can’t see a weakness in her resolve. She shouldn’t even let me see a weakness, but I’m not judging her. She’s exhausted.

  “The remnants let you go?” Lena asks, picking up an apple-shaped fruit.

  I pull out the chair across from her and sit. “Paige let me go.”

  “Naito told us about the serum,” she says. “He told us it’s fatal. I’m sorry.”

  My gut twists. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that Paige is dying. She looked perfectly healthy.

  “Will the remnants use the serum?” she asks.

  “Paige says they won’t. They know it’s fatal now, too.”

  “She trusts them?”

  I nod. “And she says the remnants didn’t kill the Sighted humans in London.”

  She looks up sharply. “We certainly didn’t kill them.”

  “I was thinking…” I draw in a breath, hoping I’m not just trying to justify Paige sympathizing with the remnants. “Maybe someone else is involved in all of this. Maybe we’re not fighting the right people.”

  She turns the fruit she’s holding in her hand, shining with the blue-white light of the magically lit orbs hanging above us. “Is it wrong to wish for that? If a false-blood was trying to take the throne, I think I could convince the high nobles to approve me.”

  “Before I went to London,” I say, “you mentioned you thought you could force them to vote. Did that not work out?”

  Lena gives a short, caustic laugh.

  “I’m the one postponing the vote now,” she says, setting aside the fruit as if she’s lost her appetite. “I’m at least a vote short of what I need. I thought I had Lord Hison’s support after you shadow-read in Rhigh, but he’s blaming us for the riot at the gate.”

  “That started well before Aren and I were there.”

  “That’s what I’ve told Hison,” she says. “But his people continue to talk about the human who can call the lightning and walk unhindered through a crowd of rioting fae.”

  “They say the nalkin-shom is untouchable.” That’s from Aren, who’s walking into the hall, with Naito at his side.

  I am so not amused. “This is your fault.”

  “Mostly,” he says with a devil-may-care grin. It’s both annoying and extremely enticing.

  Naito sits beside Lena, but Aren comes to my side of the table. He picks up one of the two bottles sitting on the silver platter in the center of the table and opens it.

  “Where’s Taltrayn?” Lena asks.

  “He’s at the silver wall,” Aren says, retrieving one of the empty glasses. “When he returns, a swordsman will have him meet us here.”

  “Does he know about Caelar?” I ask, watching Aren pour a red liquid into the glass. More cabus, I presume.

  Lena rests her folded arms on the table. “Yes. I mentioned Caelar’s name when I told him you were still alive.”

  Still alive. Crap. I was primarily concerned about Aren when the remnants captured me because he was the one who saw the illusion of my death, but Kyol wouldn’t have been unaffected by the news. He told me himself he cares about me. He still feels the need to protect me.

  Aren sets the bottle of cabus down with a soft thunk, then slides the glass toward me without raising his gaze from the table.

  “Did he have any insight on Caelar?” I ask.

  Lena’s silver eyes study me a moment before she answers. “Taltrayn respects him. He says Caelar is calm, charismatic, and calculating. But we have his weakness locked in a room underground.”

  “Brene,” I say, and Paige’s parting comment to me makes sense now. “We should let her go.”

  Lena raises an eyebrow.

  “You want to talk to Caelar, don’t you?” I ask. “It’s a good faith gesture. Tell him you’ll let Brene go when he meets with you.”

  “Brene might be tor’um,” Lena says, “but she’s still dangerous. She can fight, and she has information on the remnants.”

  “Information she’s not telling us,” Aren adds softly. Fae might not believe in ghosts, but his eyes are haunted. Are they haunted because he made her tor’um? Or are they haunted because he wasn’t able to save Lena’s father?

  I cup the glass of cabus between my palms.

  “Taltrayn has been asking her questions,” Aren tells me. “No one’s hurting her. She’s being cared for.”

  He misinterpreted my worry; I didn’t think they were abusing Brene.

  Lena lets out a sigh. “We’ll search the mountains again.”

  “It might not be their only camp,” Naito puts in. He leans forward to grab a wedge of cheese off the tray, then pops it into his mouth. “And they probably abandoned it as soon as they discovered McKenzie escaped.”

  I still think they should let Brene go, but I don’t voice that thought out loud again. Instead, I stare at the crimson surface of the glass of cabus I’m holding, and something tugs at the edge of my mind.

  Aren pulls out the chair to my right and sits. “We need to persuade Hison to vote for you. When you’re named queen, Caelar will lose support. He won’t give up his war, but he won’t be a threat to you anymore.”

  “He’ll just be a threat to you,” Lena says sourly.

  I’m still staring at my cabus. If I didn’t know what it was, I’d mistake it for a red wine.

  “You’re more important than I am,” Aren says. “Besides, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

  “He has to be killed or captured,” Lena responds. “I won’t allow him to plot my sword-master’s death.” They continue talking. I know I should be concerned about Aren’s safety—and I am—but I block out their words. Sara runs a wine store that caters to people with expensive tastes. Lorn buys from her. He brings it back to the Realm and sells it.

  “McKenzie?” Aren’s brow is creased. He must see something in my face.

  I look at Lena. “How did you find me?”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, frowning.

  “You found me on my campus. How did you know I was there? How did you find out my name?” The few Court fae who knew my name and where I lived on Earth were all trusted completely by Kyol and King Atroth. When the rebels found me, we were surprised they’d managed to learn who I was.

  “A letter came,” Aren answers. “It had your name and the name of your school.”

  “It was anonymous?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Like the anonymous note that told you I was in Nashville?”

  He nods again. “And it was like the letter that told us Paige was in London.”

  My heartbeat doubles its pace.

  “We get dozens of tips every day,” Lena adds. “That’s how we get half of our information.”

  “Most citizens who want to help are worried about repercussions if the other side ends
up winning,” Aren explains.

  “McKenzie,” Lena says, “what are you thinking?”

  It’s clear she doesn’t get it—none of them do—but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Atroth was a strong king. Sethan had a lot of support, but it was quiet support. The reason—the only reason—we took the palace was because we had Kyol’s help. He told us the weaknesses in the Court fae’s defenses. The rebels slipped inside, assassinating a few select guards to open up the way for Lena to lead in a whole contingent of her followers. Everything the rebels did had to be done covertly because they were no match for Atroth’s Court fae in an open fight. No fae in the last decade, no matter how charismatic, has been a match for them.

  “Kyol swore Atroth never gave the vigilantes my name,” I tell them. “Maybe he was right. Atroth didn’t give them my name. But somebody else did. It’s the same person who arranged for Paige and me both to be in London and to suspect the other side of slaughtering the Sighted humans. That someone is pulling our strings, making us kill each other. Weaken each other.”

  “So they can step in and take the palace,” Aren says.

  “Or maybe it’s just someone who wants the war to continue. He profits from it. He’s even entertained by it. I think it’s Lorn.”

  That statement is greeted with a long silence. I stare at my glass of cabus again. I don’t want to believe it’s Lorn. I want to believe he’s a good person beneath his selfish exterior, but he hasn’t been helping us since we took the palace. I could be misjudging him. After all, I misjudged Kavok.

  “He lost Kelia in this war,” Lena says, breaking the silence. “They had a life-bond.”

  “Lorn paid fae to protect her,” Aren says. “She should have been safe.”

  “He wanted to sever the life-bond.” Naito’s voice is as cold and quiet as ice. He’s as still as ice, too, and his gaze never wavers from the center of the table. I hate seeing him hurt.

  “Lorn gave you an anonymous tip so that you’d find me in Nashville. That’s how he works. Was the handwriting on any of the letters you received the same?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “They came months apart.”

  Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. I let my gaze sweep the hall, hoping I’ll be struck by inspiration, an idea to prove conclusively that Lorn is manipulating things behind the scenes, but the mirrors don’t offer any answers.