“I tracked Aylen to Eksan,” I murmur, mostly to myself. She was an “associate of an associate” according to Lorn. Maybe it’s more than a coincidence that she fissured to the same city Tylan was captured in.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Lena says.
“I know.” I let out a sigh and focus on the fae entering the room. He doesn’t announce his presence. I don’t find that odd until he’s walking down the length of the table. My brow furrows when he’s two chairs away from Naito, three away from Lena. Neither Lena nor Aren acknowledges the other fae’s presence, and Naito is still staring at the table.
The problem doesn’t click into place until he draws his sword.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“LENA, MOVE!”
My shout startles everyone into motion, and that’s the only reason she survives. Naito’s chair flies back, barely missing the remnant. The fae pauses long enough for Lena to draw her sword. She swings blindly, completely missing him, but Naito’s grabbed ahold of his overturned chair.
He swings it as Lena backpedals, as Aren leaps over the table, and as I grab the unopened bottle sitting on the silver platter.
But I don’t have to use my makeshift weapon. Aren knows where the remnant is the second Naito swings the chair into him. Aren slides off the table, his sword stabbing forward.
The remnant’s jaedric cuirass stops the attack. He faces Aren, but Lena steps left, then plunges her blade into his side. He cries out, falls to his knees, but he’s still alive. Still breathing.
“How did you get in here?” Lena demands, withdrawing her sword. The remnant’s hand goes to his side, but he can’t stop the river of blood from flowing between his fingers. He shakes his head as he gasps for air.
Lena’s sword point reenters the fae’s wound, and he screams.
The room tilts, and I’m suddenly nauseous. Lena asks him again how he got in here and what the remnants’ plan is, then there’s a shout from just outside the Mirrored Hall. Something breaks.
I sprint to the hall’s open doors, step out onto the balcony that overlooks the huge antechamber below.
My breath catches in my throat. Blood spills over the smooth, polished marble floor. The remnants are everywhere. I don’t know how. We’re inside the Silver Palace, which is inside Corrist’s silver walls. The only way for fae to fissure here is via a Sidhe Tol, but Lena has guards on all of them. It should be impossible for this many remnants to make it here at once.
Unless, of course, the remnants have retaken one of the Sidhe Tol.
As I back away from the railing, my gaze sweeps past the open doors to the king’s hall on the floor below. Kyol’s there. Remnants see him, too. They attack…
And he kills them as if they’re afterthoughts. He’s preoccupied, searching for…
He’s searching for Lena, I realize.
“Kyol!”
I don’t know how he hears me over the sounds of the battle, but he looks up. His eyes lock on me for two, maybe three seconds, then he’s running, sprinting for the stairs that will bring him to me.
“Lena’s in here,” I say, when he reaches me. I expect him to immediately enter the Mirrored Hall. Instead, he cups the back of my head and pulls me against his chest.
His embrace is tight, and I swear I feel a shudder go through his body when he lays his head against mine. God, the news of my supposed death must have rattled him. He shouldn’t be holding me like this—he should be rushing to protect Lena—but I lean into him, giving him a few seconds before I move back so that I can peer up into his face.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like I wanted to be captured by the remnants. But I definitely didn’t want to hurt him either.
I feel his chest rise as he draws in a breath, then he lets me go. Whatever he thought or felt when he pulled me into his arms doesn’t show on his face. His expression is as hard and unreadable as a stone’s.
After one quick glance at the fight below, he motions me inside the Mirrored Hall.
“Why are you here?” Kyol’s voice rings out as we stride toward Lena. The remnant she was interrogating is gone. Into the ether, I presume.
“Privacy,” she bites back.
He takes her arm when he reaches her side, starts pulling her toward the gap in the wall the servant entered and exited through earlier. “If you’d been in the king’s hall or your quarters, you could have escaped by now.”
“Escape?” She jerks free. “I’m not leaving the palace.”
“You are.”
“If I leave, I lose everything,” she says, her tone scathing. Then, when Kyol reaches for her again, she adds, “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”
I think she might mean that.
“If you die,” he counters, “the rebellion loses everything.”
Her nostrils flare. She tightens her right hand around the hilt of her sword, then, her gaze steely, she lifts her left. In it, she’s holding an anchor-stone. It’s jagged and an opalescent smoky gray.
“A remnant had this,” she says. “It will lead to a Sidhe Tol. A new Sidhe Tol.”
“They found another?” I ask, alarmed. King Atroth knew the locations of only three of the Ancestors’ Gates. Those gates allow fae to fissure into areas protected by silver. They’re located in my world, and I know Atroth had fae constantly searching for others, but what are the chances that they found one now?
“We need to secure the Sidhe Tol,” she says. The words are an order, and her rigid tone and regal posture say she expects it to be carried out, and quickly. She sounds very much like the daughter of a high noble, and it’s apparently a queenly enough tone that Kyol doesn’t argue.
His gaze remains on Lena. “Naito will go to the Sidhe Tol with Jorreb.” His jaw clenches. “You’ll stay with Lena, McKenzie. Make sure an illusionist doesn’t assassinate her.”
With that, Kyol turns and exits the hall.
“Looks like we have our orders,” Aren mutters. He doesn’t leave immediately, though. He turns me toward him, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me before I’m able to focus on his face. I feel more in his kiss than I’d ever see in his expression: affection, desire, and respect. Fear.
“Remember,” he whispers, pulling back slightly. “Be careful. Please. I can’t lose you again.”
Naito goes with him, leaving me alone with Lena. She waits all of five seconds before she uses her foot to scoop up the dead remnant’s sword. She catches its hilt in the air, then hands it to me with a terse, “Follow me.”
I stare down at the sword. It’s a long, slender weapon that looks elegant and light but is lethal and heavy. The blade is slightly longer than my arm, and the jaedric-wrapped hilt is grooved from the remnant’s fingers. My hand is smaller than his, so the grip is awkward.
“Lena, we shouldn’t—”
She’s almost to the doors of the Mirrored Hall.
“Lena, wait!”
I manage to catch her arm before she steps onto the balcony. “You can’t leave this room.”
Cold silver eyes rise to meet mine. “You would rather me let people die than go out there and heal them?”
“They’re fighting for you. I’d rather you stay alive, so it’s not in vain.”
“I’m not staying here, McKenzie.” She shakes loose.
I blow out a breath and follow her.
She must have forgotten I’m human because I can’t catch up, not until she stops at the top of the staircase, looking down at the battle below. Her face hardens. I think I know why: she’s not used to seeing so many fae injured in the middle of a fight. They usually fissure out if they’re hurt badly enough. They can’t do that here. Her people are hurt. Without her help, they’re going to lie there and die.
“Lena,” Trev says, climbing the steps.
Lena descends the stairs, passing Trev without a word. His gaze locks onto my sword, and I swear to God I see his eyes widen.
Great, I look as ridiculous as I feel carrying this thing.
“Stay with us,” I order as I go down the stairs two at a time, trying to catch up with Lena.
She kills a remnant before the fae is able to slam his sword into the rebel lying injured on the floor. His soul-shadow replaces his body. Lena passes through it, kneels by the rebel’s side, and places her hands on his mangled leg.
Another fae approaches. Before I have to make a decision on whether I’m actually going to have to try to fight him, Trev engages him.
Thank God.
I turn back to Lena, but she’s already moved on. Damn it. Kyol should have ordered her to stay with me. I can’t keep up, and I really, really don’t want to move farther into the fight.
I draw in a breath, start to move her way, when a cry to my left catches my attention.
It’s Jacia. She falls back, barely deflecting a remnant’s attack. The remnant’s back is to me, and he swings at her again, then again and again, relentless in his attack. Jacia is barely holding him off.
And his back is still to me.
She’ll die if I don’t help her.
I pull back my sword as I step left, giving myself a straight shot at the remnant’s side, where the bindings holding his cuirass together are tied. Putting all my weight behind me, I thrust my sword forward.
Only a few inches of the blade slide in, but those few inches hurt. The fae turns, screaming. He starts to lift his sword to attack me, but Jacia takes advantage of the distraction I caused. She swings her blade at the remnant’s neck. It slides cleanly all the way through. Blood arcs through the air as the head and body fall.
Jacia nods her thanks.
A nod of thanks for helping her kill someone else.
I clench my teeth together, turn, but I’ve lost sight of Lena and Trev.
“Shit,” I mutter. I have to find her. The illusionist in the Mirrored Hall was there because he was looking for her, and the remnants have other illusionists—Tylan is one. He might try to assassinate her.
Thinking about Tylan makes me think about Paige. Is she here? Is Lee? No other humans are in this antechamber, just remnants and rebels absorbed in destroying each other. Maybe Paige has gone back to Earth already.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest as I make my way to the wall, then follow it around until I reach a corridor that leads toward the eastern wing of the palace and the veligh, the waterfront. That’s where we’re the most vulnerable, so that might be where Lena’s heading.
I keep my sword held ready, but try my best to make myself look small and uninteresting. I’m lucky. There are more rebels in this corridor than remnants. I’m able to make it all the way outside the palace without having to defend myself.
Things are worse than I thought they would be out here. It looks like the remnants had two goals when they fissured in: to assassinate Lena and to break through this portion of the silver wall.
Approximately a hundred feet lies between the palace and the wall. The silver plating is bent and cracked around a gaping hole. The interior of the wall, made up of stone blocks and wooden stairs and balconies for the guards to stand watch on, is clearly visible straight ahead. It was only a few days ago that the remnants almost broke through there. They lit fires at the wall’s base while they pummeled it with rocks and boulders, some thrown by hand, others launched by magic. The rebels fought them off, but there hasn’t been time to repair the damage.
The remnants are attacking the wall from both sides now. They’re trying to chop down the beams of the scaffold that’s holding it up. Kyol and a dozen other rebels are trying to fight them off.
I tighten my fist around the hilt of my sword and press my back against the palace, scanning the strip of land for Lena or Trev or some way to help.
My gaze goes back to the scaffolding. It’s shaking and teetering, just barely holding out. Is there a way I can help there?
I push away from the wall, moving toward it, thinking I might be able to draw some fae away from it, when something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. A remnant stands far off to my right, focusing on the fight at the scaffold, too. He’s gathering a ball of fire in his hand.
Dread traps my air in my lungs. He’s going to throw it at the scaffold. The scaffold won’t hold up. It’ll fall. It’ll crush Kyol and the other rebels and open up a huge gap in the wall. The remnants will be able to pour in.
“Kyol!” I scream, but even if he could hear me, he can’t fissure. He wouldn’t make it to the remnant in time.
The fire in the fae’s hand turns blue.
My decision is already made. I’m already running, sprinting away from the palace. I have to get there in time. If I don’t, Kyol is dead, half the rebels and remnants out here are dead, and the eastern wall will be in ruins.
I’m running as fast as I ever have before, but I won’t reach the fae. I can only do one thing. If I fail, we’re all dead. If I succeed…
I promised Aren I’d be careful. This isn’t careful. I’m going to die doing this.
The ball of flame leaves the fae’s hand, but I make it in time, leaping between it and the scaffolding.
There’s a whoosh when the magic-wrapped flames slam into my right shoulder.
Shock stabs through me as I’m flying through the air. I expected the flames to be intangible; I didn’t expect them to be as solid as a cannonball. My back hits the edge of the scaffold and something in my chest—a rib or my collarbone—snaps. I don’t feel the pain of the fire until after my vision turns orange and red. Then some part of my mind notes that my skin is burning. My hair, my clothes, my shoelaces…they’re all aflame.
Another part of my mind notes that I’ve hit a beam supporting the right edge of the scaffold. And a third part of my mind—the tiny, naïve part that believes I have a chance to survive this—chants, Stop, drop, roll. Stop, drop, roll.
I stop, drop, and roll to my back. There’s a loud crack above me and a trembling in the wall. A section of it shakes loose. I see the stone blocks falling toward me just before my vision goes black.
I should be dead. I want to be dead. My leg is broken, my knee pulled up near my chest at a sickening angle.
“Sidhe, no. No!”
I can’t move.
“McKenzie.” Kyol drops down beside me. “Sidhe, don’t move.”
He says my name again as he scans me, head to toe. His hand reaches out like he wants to touch me, but he doesn’t. I’m grateful. My skin hurts. Everything hurts.
“Find Lena!” he barks in Fae.
I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrate on drawing air into my lungs. It’s a difficult thing to do with my throat closing up like this, but Kyol is trying to reassure me. He’s trying to make sure I’m not afraid.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says. He’s wrong. I can’t survive this.
I concentrate and manage to lift my right hand. He sees it. Ignoring the blisters, he intertwines his fingers with mine, and suddenly, there’s so much I want to say. So much I want to tell him. I want him to know that I don’t regret the ten years I spent with him. I don’t regret shadow-reading for him. I don’t regret losing my family, my friends, my human life for him. I don’t regret loving him.
I need him to know all of this, but more important than all of that is the one thing I do regret: leaving Aren. I wanted to have so much more time with him.
“Tell him, please.” My lips hurt when I speak. They feel dry, cracked. Burned.
Kyol leans closer. I swallow, trying to work moisture into my mouth.
“Tell him…” Desperate to make him understand, I tighten my grip on his hand until he bends even lower. “I’m sorry I wasn’t careful and—”
Kyol releases my hand. “No.”
No?
“Please, Kyol.”
“No,” he thunders. “I won’t let you die. You’re not dying.”
There’s so much pain in his voice. I hate it. I hate hurting him. I hate how much I’m going to hurt Aren.
“Aren,” I whisper.
“You’re
going to be okay, kaesha.”
“Kaesha,” I murmur.
SUDDENLY, the pain increases tenfold. I gasp, arching my back off the ground. I can’t touch it anymore, can’t touch anything.
I cry out again, draw in one deep breath after another after another until…I relax, my breathing slows, and I’m okay.
I’m okay. I know it’s shock. My mind isn’t able to process the pain. It’s shutting down. I’m grateful for the reprieve, grateful that I can say to Kyol, “Let me go.”
He shakes his head. Tears streak down his face. I’ve never seen him cry before.
I’ll never see him cry again.
“It’s okay. I don’t hurt anymore. I’m not afraid.”
“I can’t, McKenzie. I can’t.” His voice cracks. “I love you. Sidhe, I know I have no right to tell you this, but I do. I always will.”
I try to tell him I understand, but all that comes out is an incoherent mumble. I close my eyes.
“CAN you hear me? Say…” Something. Kyol wants me to say something. I’m too weak, too cold to do anything more than murmur a few syllables, but that’s not enough for him. He demands me to keep talking. I try. I try until I feel my heart lurch and then…
TWENTY-EIGHT
IT’S DARK. EONS pass.
MY heart is beating, but I feel wrong. Overfull. I’m distantly aware of someone above me. He’s talking, demanding some kind of response from me.
Aren?
He wants me to open my eyes. He says my name over and over and over again.
“MCKENZIE.” A different voice shatters the dark. Kyol’s voice. I try to murmur his name, but my lips won’t move.
“Open your eyes, McKenzie.” His order is wrapped in fear and hope. They’re such odd, conflicting emotions. I need to see his face. Need to see his eyes, his mouth. I need to see him.
I concentrate, pour all of my strength and willpower into the monumental task of opening my eyes.
The Shattered Dark sr-2 Page 29
