I need him to stay alive.
“I don’t know,” I say. God, I hope those words don’t get him killed. Lena doesn’t owe me anything. She might not take action without a guarantee, but I can’t give her one. If Kyol doesn’t think she’s good for the Realm, he won’t help the rebellion.
“Sethan didn’t want this,” she says quietly, her gaze settling on the coffee table. I relax some. It has to be a good sign that she’s thinking about what Sethan would do. Sethan would take this risk.
“When the high nobles chose Atroth as king, he could have protested. He could have complained about the remapping of the provinces. There was a quiet outcry, but that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was Thrain.”
Thrain. Of course this would lead back to him. I might be oblivious to the existence of the fae if he didn’t discover me.
“There have always been false-bloods,” she continues. “But none were as successful as he was. He scared Atroth, and Atroth reacted . . . badly. He started making decisions based on how to keep his throne, not how to protect the Realm. Sethan . . .” Her voice cracks and, hell, I almost—almost—want to put an arm around her shoulders. “Sethan decided to overthrow the king only after Krytta.”
Krytta. The ghost town in the middle of what became the Barren. A magical implosion killed every one of its inhabitants when its gate was destroyed. Their essences, their souls, were ripped from their bodies. More than two thousand fae—they hadn’t gone into the ether—rotted in the sun for weeks before a caravan reached them. But that wasn’t Atroth’s fault.
“Thrain destroyed the gate,” I say. “Not the Court.” It sounds like I’m defending the Court. I’m not—not really—but the king and his fae did do some good things. They saved my life, got rid of Thrain, and have been trying to keep peace and order in the Realm. Plus, if the king was a tyrant or truly, thoroughly evil, Kyol would never have fought for him.
“It was Thrain’s fault,” Lena acknowledges, “but the fae in Krytta were protecting him. He wouldn’t have had that support if Atroth made different decisions. Krytta’s merchants couldn’t afford the gate taxes. They lied when they told inspectors what they were transporting, and the king responded by invading their businesses and confiscating their goods. Fae who fought back were imprisoned or killed, things escalated, and then Thrain destroyed the gate.” She meets my eyes again. “Do you think Taltrayn will see the damage his king has done?”
He’s already seen it. That’s why he stayed behind: he thought he could reason with Atroth. I’m sure he knows now how wrong he was to believe that, but whether his new perception of his king will translate into support for Lena, I have no idea.
That’s not the question she’s asking, though.
“Yes,” I say, putting confidence in my voice.
Maybe too much confidence. Lena’s lips thin. She looks like she’s about to stand when she moves to the edge of the couch. Then she goes still again. After another long moment in which I seriously consider dropping to my knees and begging for her help, she lets out a breath. She doesn’t look happy, but some of the tension ebbs out of her posture.
“I need you to talk to Aren.”
I frown. That’s not what I expected her to say.
“Talk to him about what?” It might be a stupid question, but Lena was here when Aren all but said he’d rather see Kyol dead than have him help the rebellion.
“You need to convince him to save Taltrayn.”
Maybe she’s hard of hearing or was totally spaced out during that conversation. I shake my head. “Aren hates Kyol. You’re going to have to send someone else. With the Sidhe Tol they can—”
“No one else will go,” she cuts me off. “Not without Aren.”
“I already tried—”
“You didn’t try,” she snaps. “You gave in. You gave in because you didn’t want to hurt him.”
The fact that she knows me this well annoys the hell out of me. Add to that annoyance a shovelful of exhaustion and I’m close to saying something I’ll regret. The deep breath I take in doesn’t do much to calm me, but I exhale, reminding myself that I can’t afford to piss her off.
“You saw how he acted,” I say. “He won’t listen.”
Her lips twitch into a brief, bitter smile. “Aren sent you to the Court with an anchor-stone. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never done something so careless, so foolish, before. He acts on instinct, but his instinct isn’t always right, and he’s angry and tired now. He’s not thinking clearly, but if you push him—if you really try to make him see reason—he’ll listen to you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. It feels like someone’s slamming a hammer against the backs of my eyes. “I need some time to think.”
“You don’t have time,” Lena says. “If you care about either of them, you’ll make Aren do this. He won’t give up on this rebellion until he’s dead or we’ve won. The only way to win is with Taltrayn’s help.”
The shower squeaks off in the bathroom, and snakes coil in the pit of my stomach. Lena knows Aren better than I do. Maybe he will listen.
“Can Aren do it?” I ask.
“If he can put a sword in Taltrayn’s hand, I believe so.” Aren and Kyol fighting side by side? It could work. If they don’t kill each other.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.”
AREN’S alone in the study, sitting in a black swivel chair with his back to the door. He stares at the center of a redwood desk and doesn’t turn when I enter. I’m not being stealthy, though. I’m sure he hears me.
This is going to go so well.
Light streams in through the window’s open blinds. On the wall to the left, two tall bookcases are crammed with atlases, loose maps, and spiraled sketchbooks. My shelves back home are the same, though Naito’s look like they’re much better organized. His desk is in order, too—clean, with all his pens in the holder beside a blank legal pad. There’s a jar of anchor-stones sitting there, too. I walk over, pick it up, and study the two world maps—one of Earth, one of the Realm—pinned to the wall. Naito’s marked the gates on both with red pushpins.
I rotate the jar in my hand, making the anchor-stones clank against the glass. “Aren?”
No response.
I bite my lower lip, trying to decide how to reach him. “Taltrayn can help you.”
A short, caustic laugh, and his silver eyes slide to mine. “You think calling him by his family name will change my mind?”
Okay. Bad strategy. “This isn’t about him. It’s about the rebellion.”
“It’s about you.” He stands, sending his chair careening toward me.
I catch it, grip its back, trying to think of a way to do this without hurting him. “That’s the problem, Aren. It shouldn’t be about me. You have a chance to end the war.”
“I can do it without him.”
“How?”
He stares out the window.
“I’d really like to know. Sethan’s dead. His supporters are abandoning you.”
His jaw clenches.
“Think about it, Aren. Kyol knows the king. He knows General Radath.”
Not even a twitch at those words.
“He knows the locations of the other Sidhe Tol.”
“Damn it, McKenzie!” Aren spins. “He lost you! He can’t have you back!”
My heart gives an angry thud. “I left him—”
“Because you had to.”
I dig my fingers into the chair’s leather. “I was leaving him before Radath tossed me into Chaer.”
“Because you had to,” he says again, acid dripping from his voice. “He wouldn’t compromise his honor for you.”
“He was going to tell the king about us!” I shove the chair at him.
He swipes it out of the way and storms forward. “He’s had ten years to make you fall in love with him. I haven’t had ten weeks! Tell me how that’s fair!”
I back away, my heart pounding.
“Do you know what he’s
been doing these last few weeks? Do you?”
“He—”
“He’s invaded the homes of every fae rumored to be connected to the rebellion. He threatened their families, knocked around anyone who didn’t answer his questions. If he didn’t like what they had to say, he arrested them. If they fought him, he killed them. Do you have any idea how many of my friends he’s murdered?”
“He wants this war to end just as much as you do.” I hate that Kyol has to kill. I hate that Aren has to, that I had to.
He rams his fist into the open door. It slams shut. “You’d say anything to make me save him.”
“Aren—”
“Go ahead,” he snarls. “Lie to me. Tell me you don’t still have feelings for him.”
Edarratae flash over his face. The blue lightning seems to buzz with his fury. The only time I’ve ever seen him close to this angry was when I called the cops with the vigilante’s cell phone, but after the initial blowup, he turned cold and indifferent. He’s not indifferent now.
I shift my gaze to his chest, watch it rise and fall with his furious breaths. He’s right: I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have feelings for Kyol—I do—but I’m not doing this just to save him. I’m doing it to save Aren, too.
“What happens afterward?” he demands. “What happens when Taltrayn puts his hands on you?” He grabs my hips. “When he begs you to forgive him?” He pulls me against his chest.
My hands go to the hard muscles of his forearms. Lightning leaps up and down his arms, heating my palms.
“Aren,” I whisper.
His mouth is close enough for my lips to pull a chaos luster across the air. I shiver when it sparks over my tongue. Aren doesn’t close those last few millimeters, though. He hovers there, his eyes daring me to initiate the kiss.
All thoughts of Kyol disappear. Aren’s hands clench on my hips when I slant my mouth over his. He’s stunned only for a moment and then he kisses me back, pressing the length of his body into mine. The edarratae pour out of him, into me. My muscles turn molten. They quiver. I slide my hands up his chest to grip his shoulders. I dig my fingers into his muscles as he dips his tongue into my mouth.
A moan. My moan. Warmth coils in my stomach, sinks lower. Aren hooks his hands behind my knees, lifts. I wrap my legs around his waist and weave my fingers through his disheveled hair. Everything’s moving too quickly, not quickly enough.
He sets me on Naito’s desk, then slides his hands under my shirt. Lightning bolts around my rib cage and I arch into him. He kisses my jaw, my throat, the scar along the side of my neck. He murmurs something in Fae, but my body is too full of edarratae, my mind too full of him, to translate.
I kiss him again, sucking chaos lusters from his lower lip. They taste so good, so tantalizing. He’s tantalizing. I press my hips forward, needing to feel him against me. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer, but this time he doesn’t budge. He removes my hands one at a time.
“Fine,” he says, his words coming out breathless. “I’ll save your precious sword-master, McKenzie. But I will never, ever give you back to him.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
“WOULD YOU PLEASE stop pacing?” Kelia says. Again. I ignore her. Again.
Pacing is the only way I can stay awake. The one time I closed my eyes I dreamed UPS delivered Aren’s and Kyol’s heads to the front door. When I tore the tape off the box containing Aren’s head, rage-filled eyes of red, not silver, glared up at me. I jerked awake, a scream lodged in my throat, when he accused me of killing him.
No. There will be no sleep for me, not until I know they’re both safe.
I walk from the back door toward the front, glancing at the time on the oven along the way. It clicks to 3:04.
They should be back by now. Aren took every fae but Lena and Kelia with him when he fissured out five hours ago. I shadow-read for the Court long enough to know the king’s men usually come out the victors of any battle that lasts more than half an hour. The rebels have always executed quick, surprise attacks, hitting their target and fleeing before the Court sends reinforcements. This isn’t good, Aren and his men being gone so long.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Kelia says.
I’m making myself dizzy. Not my fault. There’s not enough space to pace.
I reach the back door, see no fissures splitting the darkness on the other side of its glass window, and pivot. Straight into Naito’s chest. He puts his hands on my shoulders, steers me toward the sofa-chair, and forces me to sit.
“Aren’s broken people out of prison before. Relax.”
“He’s never broken anyone out of the Silver Palace.” I try to stand.
Naito pushes me back down and gives me a small smile. “You managed it. I think he might be okay.”
Not funny. I never should have convinced Aren to go. What the hell was I thinking? What the hell was he thinking to agree?
Naito waits a moment, undoubtedly making sure I don’t try to get up again. When he’s satisfied I won’t, he drops down on the couch beside Kelia. “The Court doesn’t know we have the location of a Sidhe Tol.”
“That gets him into the palace, not out of it.” I eye the arm he drapes around Kelia’s shoulders, wishing Aren was here to do the same. Just wishing he was here.
“It’s a covert operation,” Naito says. “He’s good at this type of thing. The Court fae won’t know he’s been there until it’s too late.”
Kelia rolls her eyes when I stand. I can’t stay still, though. I’ve been shaking for the last few hours, and more than once, I’ve made a run for the bathroom, certain I would throw up. I didn’t. I haven’t since I first got here.
On my trek toward the front door, I grab the camo-colored lighter off the kitchen counter. The candles placed throughout the living room and kitchen are already lit, but my hands need something to toy with. I flick the wheel and let the flame burn a few seconds before extinguishing it.
“How long until that runs out of fuel?” Kelia mutters.
I’m about to tell her I saw another lighter in a drawer when Naito launches to his feet. “They’re back.”
I spin toward the back door just as Aren slams it open. He stalks by without meeting my eyes.
Lena rises from the table when he enters the kitchen. She intercepts him, grabbing an arm that I’m just now noticing is stained red with blood. He savagely shakes off her hand, takes a glass out of the cabinet, and jerks on the water faucet.
The back door rattles again. I wrench my gaze away from Aren in time to see Kyol stagger inside.
Oh, God. His face is bruised and bloodied, his left eye almost entirely swollen shut. Beneath the tatters of his cotton shirt, bright red slashes snake around his ribs and over his shoulders. My chest constricts, imagining his back covered in a meshwork of ugly lacerations.
His good eye focuses on me. He leans heavily on a sword and takes another step inside. He stops. He wavers.
I’m there before he collapses. He hisses out a breath when I grip his arms to lower him to the floor.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” Jesus. There’s not a safe place to touch. His skin is ripped to shreds.
He’s still clutching the sword in his hand. I pry at his fingers.
“Kyol,” I whisper, urging him to let it go. He tries to answer but coughs instead, and the wet, gurgling rasp tears at my heart.
Lena drops down beside me. “Move!”
Shaking, I climb to my feet and back out of the way. I don’t breathe until she puts her hands on him. Kyol’s body lurches, absorbing her magic. She’s healing him, thank God. The shallowest lashes begin to seal shut. He’s going to be okay. He and Aren both are going to be okay.
I wait until Lena’s finished before I return to him. He looks so tired. I must as well. His brow lowers in concern. He reaches up to touch my face.
“Kaesha.”
“What happened?” I ask, ignoring the lightning striking through my core and putting a little distance between us because I do
n’t want to test Aren’s temper.
Kyol’s mask wavers for an instant. “I wouldn’t allow my men to fight in Lynn Valley. I tried to prevent the attack.”
“You failed,” Lena says. Behind her, Aren’s eyes are a sharp, angry silver. His body is so rigid I’m certain he’s one second away from an explosion.
Then, without warning, his shoulders relax. I’m not sure what to make of the transformation until I remember Amy’s wedding reception. As soon as Aren spotted Kyol, the tension slid out of his muscles. The change hit me as odd then, but I understand it now. Aren hides his emotions behind his half smiles and his nonchalance as completely as Kyol hides his behind his impenetrable masks.
“We need to talk,” Lena says. “Clean up. Quickly. Then join us in the kitchen.”
Kyol and I help each other rise.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say. Or I will be so long as he and Aren don’t kill each other. Aren’s doing his best to pretend like nothing fazes him, but his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. “Go on.” I point him in the direction of the bathroom.
Aren watches me as I walk to the table. Lena steps between us, insisting he let her heal him, but his gaze never wavers. It’s almost tangible, and an electric tingle rushes through my body. I glance down at my arms, assuring myself that his edarratae haven’t found some way to leap across the distance between us. No. Nothing but goose bumps on my skin.
I take a seat at the table. When she’s finished healing Aren, Lena joins me. So do Naito and Kelia, but Aren bypasses us and enters the kitchen. He returns a few seconds later carrying a glass of something red. I frown because I swear he’s almost grinning. Then I realize why.
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