“Kyol,” Atroth says again.
“I want to know,” he says. “I want her to tell me.”
“I . . .”
“They’re stalling.” Radath draws his sword. “My lord, it’s foolish to let him live one moment more.”
Kyol’s expression doesn’t change, the muscles in his face don’t twitch at all except when he blinks, but something in that one action is more a wince than an involuntary movement. He is stalling.
Atroth sighs. “You’ve sealed your fate, Taltrayn. Kneel.”
“I’m sorry, kaesha.”
Radath walks forward. My heart thumps when he raises his sword and . . .
No, I can’t watch Kyol die.
Time blurs. My thoughts tangle. The Realm grows small and distant and I’m no longer standing where I was. I’ve leapt onto Radath’s back. I’ve torn the piece of shrapnel from my arm. I’ve drawn it across the lord general’s throat.
The metal is small, blood-soaked. My grip isn’t firm enough to really slice, so I bring it around again—
Radath grabs my wrist and twists. Something cracks. Then something slams into my face.
“McKenzie!”
Two people, three, maybe a dozen scream my name. I can’t separate the voices or the shouts or the whistles of flying arrows.
Blood drips from my face, splatters on the floor beside a leather boot, a leather boot that disappears. At first, I think my vision’s failing. Then the noise filling the throne room registers.
“McKenzie!”
I recognize Aren’s voice this time. He made it through the Sidhe Tol. He’s just inside the throne room, hiding behind the body of a Court fae. Arrows bounce off the fae’s jaedric armor, but puncture his throat and arms. When he vanishes into the ether, Aren dives back out the doors.
Half the fae follow him; the other half . . .
The other half target Kyol, who’s managed to free himself from the ropes binding him. He holds a dagger—the one Atroth offered him moments before—to the king’s throat. The muscles in Kyol’s arm quiver, and my heart breaks at the bleakness in his eyes.
“Taltrayn,” Radath grinds out, holding a hand to his bleeding neck. The lord general doesn’t move, though. He doesn’t have to, not with Micid moving . . . somewhere.
I throw myself across the floor, searching for the ther’rothi. My elbow hits something. I swing my arm around, ensnaring what have to be Micid’s legs. He stumbles, falls.
I scream when pain explodes through my injured wrist, but shouts from the other end of the throne room drown out my cry.
Somehow, I’m underneath a still-invisible Micid. I lock my arms around what I think is his waist, then wrap my legs around, too, as a fae screams behind me. The sound of metal striking metal becomes a steady percussion. I catch a brief glimpse of Aren and a dozen rebels fighting Court fae.
I lose sight of him, and I can’t see Kyol because Radath’s in the way. I can’t help either of them. All I can do is hang on to Micid. Hang on while he strangles me.
Black shadows creep in from the corners of my vision. My body tingles, demanding that I unlock my arms from around Micid and pull his hands from around my neck, but still I hold on. If I let him go, I’m dead. Aren and Kyol and the rest of the rebels are dead. No one will see Micid’s attack.
I can’t let go.
I can’t . . . let go.
I can’t . . .
Something wet spills across my chest. Air snakes inside my lungs, just enough to allow me the strength to blindly swing my fist. It’s no use, though. Something heavy weighs me down, stealing my breath again.
“McKenzie.”
I desperately try to shove Micid away.
“McKenzie, it’s me. It’s okay. He’s dead. The ther’rothi is dead.”
I stop struggling. Sometime later—seconds, millennia—my vision clears. Aren smoothes damp hair back from my face. He kisses me and then hugs me tight. I say nothing when my body screams in protest.
“I thought I lost you,” he says.
Edarratae warm my skin, then his magic seeps into me when he presses his fingertips to my swollen cheekbone.
I want to tell him I’m okay, but my throat refuses to work.
He glides his hands lightly down my neck. I manage a quiet moan as he heals the bruises Micid left behind. I swallow, try to sit, but only manage to roll to my side.
The fight’s not quite over, but some of the Court fae are dropping their weapons. A few of them are actually helping the rebels. Taber’s here and two or three others who I know Kyol trusts.
Kyol.
I look behind Aren to see him still standing with the dagger to Atroth’s throat. Radath . . . As I watch, Radath stalks this way, sword raised.
“Aren,” my voice cracks.
“Jorreb!” Kyol shouts. His gaze locks with mine, and in that one brief moment, I know. I know he sprung Radath’s trap and came here to die. He didn’t come prepared to kill his king. The horror of his choice, of his decision, is reflected in his eyes, and a part of him shatters when he draws the dagger across Atroth’s throat.
Aren turns toward Radath, but he’s too late. He can’t get out of the way, not without leaving me exposed. He presses me to the ground as Radath lunges forward, sword raised.
No!
Radath smiles.
No!
The smile’s still there when Kyol’s blade plunges into his back. Radath’s eyes widen. His mouth contorts into a sneer. With his last breath, he swings his sword down, but Kyol shoves him forward.
The lord general stumbles over us, his blade narrowly missing Aren. He vanishes into the ether the moment he hits the ground.
THIRTY-ONE
SOMETIME LATER—MINUTES, hours, days, I have no concept of time—the battle is over. Supposedly, it’s a victory. It doesn’t feel like one. I’m in the sculpture garden, sitting on a marble pedestal. Two stone fae rise up behind me, the shadows cast by their swords crossing at my feet. The bladeshadow on the left points to a smear of blood not too far away. There are a lot of those throughout the palace, a lot of them in my memory, too.
Naito’s rampaging somewhere nearby. Lena won’t let him leave the palace. At least for a while. Until the pain and anger subside. Until he’s no longer determined to hunt down his father. It’s for his own good, she says. She’s worried about the vigilantes killing him. I’m worried he’ll end up imprisoned for murder.
Something shatters, and Naito’s shouts end. I close my eyes, sympathizing with his pain, his need for vengeance. I doubt he’ll ever be able to go home.
I’ve only caught glimpses of Kyol and Aren since they left the king’s hall. They’ve been occupied securing the palace. The rebels have blocked off the residential wings. Every other room and corridor has archers—both rebels and the handful of Court fae Kyol trusts—standing ready to kill. Word has been circulated that they’re to shoot anyone who fissures here as soon as they step out of the light. So far, the strategy has worked. The Court fae have almost completely stopped using the Sidhe Tol.
I lean back against the legs of one of the stone fae. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is just now beginning its descent from the bright blue sky. Without Naito screaming, it’s quiet. If I keep my gaze away from the bloodstains, it’s peaceful even. There’s something very wrong about that. A day like this should be filled with darkness. It should be filled with clouds and the threat of violent weather.
“McKenzie.”
Lorn stands a few paces away. I’ve never seen him look so disheveled. His white shirt is wrinkled and dingy, his shoulders are slumped, and his silver eyes seem darker, duller, than normal.
My throat closes up. It did the same thing earlier when Lord Raen found me. I couldn’t say anything then, but I didn’t have to. Kelia’s father took one look at my face and paled. Tears blurred my eyes. By the time my vision cleared, he was gone.
Lorn sits beside me.
“I hired fae to protect her,” he says.
I look at him, but
he’s staring at the floor.
“I haven’t heard from them,” he continues. “I assume they entered the ether before she did.”
“It was chaotic.”
There’s something pensive in his soft hmm. We sit in companionable silence for a while. Then a stream of curses comes from nearby. Naito again.
Lorn looks in the direction of the subsequent crash. His Adam’s apple bobs once before he thins his lips and straightens his shoulders.
“That must end,” he says, almost sounding like his normal self. Almost.
He stands, starts to take a step away, but a flash of light cuts through the air. The Court fae is in this world for all of a half second before three arrows pierce his chest. I watch, not even flinching, as his soul-shadow rises into the air.
This time, Lorn’s hmm is heavy with perception. “You’re not doing well.”
“Nobody’s doing well.” Him included.
“True. But everyone else here reacted when that fissure opened. You didn’t. You would be dead if it wasn’t for the archers.” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “You’re not going to recover here. You should go back to your world.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You just pointed out nobody is fine. If you’re staying for them, you shouldn’t. Seeing you like this will not cheer either of them up.”
“If a fae uses illusion—”
“By the time you reacted, your warning would be far too late.” He shrugs. “Do what you will, but if you do decide to take my advice, I can have a fae fissure you to a safe place.”
“I’m fine,” I say again. If I keep repeating it to myself, maybe one day it will be true.
IN the end, Lena orders me to go back to Earth. She claims she wants me fresh and alert in case the remnants of the Court fae launch an organized attack. I don’t want to admit it, but she and Lorn are both right. Being back in my world helps some. I can almost pretend I’m normal, that I know nothing of the Realm and the fae and the war that has taken too many lives. Almost.
I switch off the television. The channel has been running the same story over and over again even though the Canadian authorities have no new information about what happened in Lynn Valley. Half a neighborhood caught fire—so did a portion of the forest behind it—and three humans died. The thing that perplexes the investigators the most is that the residents in four of the homes are missing. They can’t find the tor’um despite the fact that some of the neighbors are certain they were there when the blaze erupted.
I hate that the fae’s war spilled over into my world. A month ago, I would have sworn if that happened, it would be the rebels’ fault, but they were careful when they abducted me from campus. Aren didn’t allow his people to use magic that would be visible to humans, and he made sure they were careful when they aimed their bows—every arrow the rebels fired hit either a fae or a fissure. The Court fae weren’t as cautious, and the Canadian authorities don’t know what to make of the half dozen arrows they found during their investigation.
I rise off the couch. I’m staying in a suite in Las Vegas. Apparently, this is Lorn’s idea of a safe place. With all the tech infused throughout the city, he’s probably right. No fae is going to want to stay here more than a few minutes.
I’m heading for one of the three bedrooms, determined to sleep for more than two hours this time, when my skin tingles. I feel him, a familiar warmth I’ll never be able to forget.
“How are you?” Kyol asks.
I don’t know why his question brings on the tears—I haven’t cried since I saw Lord Raen—but my chin quivers and the dam I built to hold back my emotions shatters completely. I spin toward him and then throw my arms around his neck. His arms tighten around me, and he holds me like nothing has changed.
Everything’s changed. Nothing will ever be the same between us.
“Kaesha.”
I lay my head against his chest, hear his heart thumping. Somehow, it manages to sound heavy and broken. Or maybe that’s my heart.
“You’re okay,” I say.
“Yes.” He smoothes a hand over my hair. “Lena’s had me speaking with the province elders.”
“Will they support her?” I ask.
“Some might.”
His words are a whisper, and I know this isn’t the conversation we should be having right now. I have things I need to say, things I need to tell him.
“Kyol—”
“Shh,” he says. “I know.” He draws in a breath and takes a step back to look at me. “I wish . . . I wish things had turned out differently. I wish I hadn’t been such a fool.”
“But—”
“No. It’s okay. I understand why you’re leaving me. You’ve made the right decision. I’ve made so many wrong ones.”
The pain and regret in his voice kill me. I don’t say anything because I can’t. My throat burns too much. If there was a way to do this without hurting him, I would. He’s my protector, my first love, my best friend. He’s the one person in my life who’s always understood me, but what I said in Naito’s backyard is true: I never should have had to wait ten years for him. I should have respected myself more than that, known I deserved to be treated better. I should have demanded to be treated better. Maybe if I had, he would have given in. We would be together. But I was a coward. I never gave him an ultimatum because I was afraid he’d choose his king over me.
“I should go,” Kyol says. “The remnants are still attacking the palace and Lena is . . .”
There are a number of ways I could fill in that blank, but I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
“She is reckless,” he finishes. “She insists on being part of the guard rotation. We need more fae to keep control of the palace, but it’s foolish for her to risk herself.” He draws in a breath. “I just needed to make sure you were okay before I speak to her again.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but tears pool in my eyes. I try to hide them, but Kyol sees. He takes me into his arms again. I should push him away because I don’t want to make this good-bye any harder. I’ll see him again, but we won’t be like this. We’ll be . . . just friends. Acquaintances. Colleagues.
A sharp shrrip cuts through the air. Kyol tightens his arms around me, then focuses on something over my shoulder. “If Jorreb hurts you, I’ll kill him.”
He kisses my hand, lets his lips linger, drinking in my chaos lusters one last time. Then he steps back, lettings my fingers slip through his as he opens a fissure. A moment later, he’s gone.
Before I turn, I wipe the tears from my cheeks.
Aren stands a few feet away. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his hair is a wild, disheveled mess, but he’s no longer covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. He looks tired, though. Tired and maybe a little apprehensive.
He speaks before I’m able to make my voice cooperate. “If I were a good man,” he says, “I’d acknowledge that Taltrayn is an honorable fae, that he loves you and would take care of you. I’d step down and let you have the man you’ve always wanted, but, McKenzie, I’m not as good as Taltrayn. I never will be, and I can’t step down. I’ll fight for the chance to be with you.”
Those are words I waited a decade to hear from Kyol. But in all that time, I never prepared an answer to them. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell Aren that I need to see if we can be something together.
The way he draws in his next breath seems strained and his gaze flickers to the wall before returning to me. “I know we didn’t get off to a good start.” He lets out a laugh. “I know you hated me and I threatened you and provoked you, but we could start over. I wouldn’t hurt you again. Sidhe, I swear I’d never hold a sword to your throat. I’d protect you. I’d make sure you never had to jump out another window, and I’d . . .”
I’m tempted to let him continue, but he’s rambling, and that’s so unlike him I can’t help but smile. He stops midsentence.
“McKenzie?”
“I might give you another chance,” I say.
&n
bsp; His gaze moves from my eyes to my lips. He focuses on them as if he’s not sure he heard me correctly. Then a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Might?” He laughs. “I’ve always said you were stubborn, nalkin-shom.”
He approaches me then. There are still issues between us, things we need to discuss and disagreements we need to work out, but my heart thumps when his fingertips graze my cheek. It’s a light, tender touch, there just long enough to warm my face. He moves closer. I feel the heat of his body, smell cedar and cinnamon, and my lips suddenly ache to feel his. They’re so close. If he lowers his head one millimeter more . . .
“I love you,” Aren whispers.
I shiver when something hot strikes through me. Not an edarratae; it’s something deeper, more potent and powerful. He must feel it, too, because he captures my mouth in the next instant. The kiss is possessive, desperate, and delicious. He doesn’t hold back or let it end. He pulls me up in his arms until only the toes of my shoes touch the ground. I hold on, return his kiss, and flush with heat as chaos lusters fire through my skin. They coil around us both, melding us together, as the world fades away.
FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHORS
ILONA ANDREWS
YASMINE GALENORN
AND NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHORS
ALLYSON JAMES
JEANNE C. STEIN
HEXED
Four of the bestselling names in romance and fantasy come together in this collection of thrilling novellas featuring powerful women who know how to handle a hex or two ...
PRAISE FOR
Ilona Andrews
“Andrews blends action-packed fantasy with myth and legend, keeping readers enthralled.”
–Darque Reviews
PRAISE FOR
Yasmine Galenorn
“The magic Galenorn weaves with the written word is irresistible.”
The Shadow Reader Page 33
