Naito brushes back his hood and steps to Kelia’s side. The fae on the desk—I assume he’s Lorn—steeples his fingers.
“Naito.” He greets the human with an insincere smile before shifting his gaze to Aren. “I’m surprised you’ve allowed him to come. From what I hear, you don’t have enough spare shadow-readers to risk losing another one.” He glances at me. “Or two.”
“You know why Naito’s here,” Kelia says.
I don’t know why he’s here. Maybe it’s a male thing, a competition or something. If so, it’s stupid. Naito doesn’t trust Lorn—that much is obvious—but he should trust Kelia. She didn’t leave him when the vigilantes attacked. She loves him. There’s no need for him to risk coming to Lyechaban.
“That was over a year ago.” He turns back to Naito. “And my kaesha insisted I apologize. Surely even humans don’t hold grievances this long?”
“It’s a lack of trust, Lorn,” Naito says. It’s clear the fae is trying to get under his skin, but he does an admirable job of keeping himself together, especially with Lorn calling Kelia his kaesha.
“Ah, yes. I suppose that’s not unfounded.” With a flick of his fingers, he straightens his cuffed white sleeves and stands. “At least I can make this a short trip. I have no intention to increase provisions to the rebellion. Atroth is already quite peeved I’ve supplied you with silver, as minuscule as the amount was. You’ll have to find somebody else to bribe.”
“We’re not here for silver,” Lena says. Even though Lorn has been speaking English, I feel like I’m missing part of the conversation.
“No?” His gaze shifts to me. “I had an interesting visit yesterday. Few things take me by surprise, but when the king’s sword-master himself comes knocking on your door . . . Well, even someone like me couldn’t have predicted that.”
Kyol’s still looking for me. Why does that make me feel more nervous than relieved?
“What did Taltrayn say?” Aren asks.
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Lorn motions to a shiny table to our left. It looks like it might be made out of jaedric. If so, it seems like an extravagant waste of money. This whole room is.
Lorn takes a seat at the table. Lena sits across from him. Kelia and Naito remain standing. I want to follow their example and lean against the wall, but Aren places his hand on my shoulder. “Sit, McKenzie.”
I shrug his hand off but sink down onto the chair.
“Is she shy?” Lorn asks, staring at me.
“Most likely she’s plotting an escape attempt,” Aren replies. Then he brushes my hood back. With my face exposed, I feel naked, but I manage to keep my expression blank. I hope I do, at least, because Aren’s right. I’m beginning to formulate a plan.
“Ah, there you are.” Lorn smiles. “And the edarratae. Quite beautiful. Taltrayn is very concerned about you. Odd, that. I’ve never seen the sword-master unsettled, but he very nearly slit my throat when he didn’t like what I had to say.”
“What did you tell him?” Lena demands.
Lorn’s eyes don’t leave me. “I told him, quite honestly at the time, I’ve never seen nor heard of a McKenzie Lewis. May I?” He holds his hand out, palm up.
I glance at Aren, searching for some kind of direction, but his face remains impassive.
Okay. Fine. I reach out and lay my hand in Lorn’s. I’m prepared for the hot lick of lightning, but Lorn sucks in a breath the second my edarratae seep into him
“Hmm,” he murmurs. “I’d wondered . . .” His grip tightens. The edarratae surge with the prolonged contact. Three bolts spiral around my wrist, then through his palm and up his arm. His coal gray pupils dilate, and I’m not sure if he’s going to let me go. Touching him feels strange and piercing, but I won’t tug free. I don’t want him to know how much this sensation affects me.
Aren straightens. Lorn’s gaze flickers to him briefly and then he releases my hand. “Well, that answers a few questions.”
I rub my palm over my pants leg, erasing the pleasant tingle. It’s easier to work with the Court, where no one but Kyol ever touches me.
“We need you to read her,” Lena says.
Lorn props his arm on the edge of the table. “She’s the Court’s toy. Certain people will be unhappy if she’s hurt.”
I glance between Lena and Lorn. Does she mean . . . Is Lorn a mind reader? Telepathy is supposed to be an extinct magic.
“I have money,” Lorn says after a moment. “I have silver. I have excellent informants and a good deal of influence throughout the Realm. What could you possibly offer in exchange for this service?”
“She knows the location of a Sidhe Tol.” Aren’s quiet words fall like a noose around my neck.
Lorn’s eyebrows go up. “Now, that’s interesting. Tell me, however did you learn that? I wouldn’t think Atroth would trust a human, not even his nalkin-shom, with that information.”
“I’ll work for you.” It’s a shot in the dark, I know. “Protect me, and I’ll read the shadows for you.”
“An intriguing offer,” Lorn says. “But I have no need of a shadow-reader, even one of your renown. You humans are tools for the Descendants, not for businessmen who stay out of wars for the throne.”
“If you force me to give them the Sidhe Tol, you’ll be taking sides. The king won’t let that slide.”
“I presume you’d disappear afterward.” He lifts an eyebrow in Lena’s direction. After she nods, he smiles. “The king will never know I was involved.”
I swear if I found some way to kill Lena, most of my problems would go away. Okay. I only have one more offer to make. “Protect me from the rebels and I’ll give the Sidhe Tol to you. You’ll be the only fae who knows its location.”
“Me and the king’s Inner Court, of course,” he says without missing a beat.
I feel a muscle twitch in my cheek. “Of course.”
Lorn glances at Aren, who’s standing over my shoulder. “I must say I’m tempted, Aren. I think you’ve captured more than you can handle.”
Aren ignores him, takes a parchment from his pocket, and unfolds it on the table. I stare at the blank sheet, knowing what he wants. I remember where the Sidhe Tol is. I can imagine the lines I need to draw, the curve of the shallow creek as it merges into the river.
“You’ve no reason to remain loyal to the Court, McKenzie. They’ve used you all these years.” Aren wraps my fingers around a pencil. “Help us.” My edarratae leap into him as he places the lead tip on the center of the page. “Please. I don’t want Lorn to have to pry it from your mind.”
My chest tightens. He looks and sounds so sincere, but damn it, I shouldn’t believe the word of my captor. Kyol didn’t make me fall in love with him just so I would help him fight his king’s enemies. He didn’t agree to a life-bond. He’s the man I think he is. Aren’s the one who’s been putting on an act. Lena came right out and said so.
I look at Kelia, how she’s relaxed into Naito’s arms by the opposite wall. They’re not putting on an act, though. Neither one is bloodthirsty or disillusioned.
“Negotiate.” I intended to make the word sound like an order, but it comes out more as a plea. If the rebels and Court fae would just agree to stop fighting, everyone would win.
“We’ve tried, McKenzie,” Aren says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. The tender gesture is a stark contrast to how he’s treated me since I called Paige. “We asked Atroth to restore the four provinces he absorbed into their neighbors. We asked him to stop invading our homes and to stop setting his nalkin-shom on us.” He kneels beside me and rests his hand on the back of my chair. “The only thing he agreed to was lowering the gate taxes. He did that within days of the meeting . . . for his friends and supporters. We didn’t want this war. Draw the map.”
My hand trembles as I drag the pencil down the page. The line is nothing but a delay tactic. Even if he’s telling the truth, I can’t give him the Sidhe Tol. It will only add to the violence.
“I wonder,” Lorn says above the soft
scrawl of lead on paper. “Why did you side with the Court?”
I raise my eyes.
“Atroth is quite antihuman,” he continues. “He makes exceptions for those of you with the Sight, but still, you must feel the hostility. The king’s men aren’t like Lyechabans—they won’t cut the edarratae from your skin—but they don’t like you, do they?”
Atroth is antihuman? The Court hates my kind? They’re cautious around me, but I’ve never felt hatred. They’ve taken care of me.
“Do they?” Lorn asks again.
So it wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“Some of them do,” I say. Some of them are my friends. They speak with me and are curious about my life and my world. At least, I thought they were. Nothing makes sense anymore.
I return my attention to my sketch. My map will have to be a real one. Otherwise, they’ll know I’m not cooperating when they aren’t able to fissure when I name a city. But where to send them?
“There’s rumor of scandal in Atroth’s Inner Court.”
My pencil stills on the shore of a river, a river that’s nowhere near the Sidhe Tol.
Aren, kneeling by my side, says, “Finish it, McKenzie.”
“My informants say Taltrayn has fallen for a human.”
Silence takes over the room. I stare at Lorn. His lips curve up almost imperceptibly, but the smile is obvious in his eyes. Beside me, Aren doesn’t move.
“I ignored the rumor at first,” Lorn says. “After all, Taltrayn was entering a life-bond with the daughter of Srillan.”
I close my eyes, gripping the pencil tight. It’s true. Oh, God, it’s true.
“Then I learned he refused the bond.”
My heart stops midbeat. “What?”
Aren curses.
“Taltrayn never agreed to the life-bond,” Lorn says. “Apparently, the sword-master loves you.”
I’m cold, numb, confused. My pencil trembles in my hand.
“He’s lying,” Aren says, still kneeling beside me. Lightning sparks along my jaw when his fingers touch me there. Gently, he turns my face toward his. “Ten years, McKenzie. You’ve waited for him for ten years. Do you honestly think he’s changed his mind? That he suddenly wants you now?”
There’s tension in his jaw and the glimmer of something else in his eyes, but I’m too angry to figure out what it is. The bastard. The son of a bitch. He knew Kyol refused the life-bond.
I spring from my chair. Before I even think about turning my pencil into a weapon, Aren wrenches it from my hand. He yells at Lorn in Fae.
“I was curious,” Lorn responds with a shrug. “She doesn’t have any more choice now than she did before. Sit her down. Make her finish the map.”
I pin him with my darkest go-to-hell look. “Screw you.”
Aren’s hand tightens around my arm. “It will hurt if Lorn has to pull it from your mind.”
“I don’t c—”
The door slams open. Versh bursts inside. “The Court! Taltrayn’s men, they’re—”
An arrow thuds through the fae’s back.
FOURTEEN
AN UNNATURAL GUST of wind slams the door shut. Lena’s most likely responsible for it, but everyone’s moving at once. I flatten myself against the wall as Lorn’s two guards rush to his side. Naito swings Kelia around behind him, and Aren sprints to the door, shouldering it shut when it cracks open. He locks it before they’re able to get inside.
Lena throws a barbed glare at Lorn. “Tell me you have a hidden exit.”
“Of course,” he says, hurrying behind his desk. He touches a spot high up on the wall. A blue glow fans out beneath his palm, then a vibration fills the room as the slab of painted stone slides aside.
Something rams the door.
“Kelia!” Lorn shouts from the hole in the wall. He motions her to join him.
“Go!” Naito pushes her forward. She doesn’t let go of his arm.
Kelia eyes Lorn. “Does it go to the gate?”
Exasperation takes over his expression. “You can’t stay with him, Kelia. The Court fae will—”
“Does it go to the gate!” she demands.
He winces as the door creaks. “Nom Sidhe. Yes! Yes! Come on!”
Naito shoves her toward Lorn. “Take care of her.”
“Naito, no!”
“Both of you go,” I find myself saying. “I’ll slow them down.” I mean it. I don’t want Naito or Kelia to get hurt. Somebody’s fairy tale has to have a happy ending.
“We all go,” Aren says. “Now. Run!”
After Lena disappears into the black hole, Lorn grabs Kelia, then Naito, propelling them both out of the room before following. I back away from the exit, but Aren catches my arm. An instant later, I’m half falling down a staircase.
Aren keeps me on my feet. He’s moving too fast and I can’t see a damn thing. I slip, landing hard on my left knee. No time to feel the pain. Aren wrenches me back to my feet. I catch sight of a flash of white lightning as edarratae brighten Naito’s cheek. He’s no more than a few feet ahead. Behind us, wood splinters as the king’s soldiers finally burst through the door. They’ll be inside this tunnel in seconds.
I try to tug my arm free. “They’re here for me, Aren. I’ll stall them.”
His grip tightens. “No.”
“You’ll have time to get away.”
“No!”
Damn it, why won’t he leave me behind? Dragging me with him only slows him down, and I have no clue how he expects to get past the inspectors at the gate. If they don’t turn me over to the Lyechaban citizens, they’ll call the guards. They’ll hold me until Kyol gets there and they’ll arrest or kill Aren.
“I’m trying to help you!” I yell.
“You can help by running faster.”
Okay. Fine. I don’t know why I’m worried about him anyway. He lied to me. If his insistence to keep me destroys him and his rebellion, so be it.
I stop fighting him and run. It’s not an easy thing to do blind. I trail my fingers along the damp stone wall and hold tight to Aren’s hand. We’re still not fast enough. The soldiers are gaining ground.
“Hurry!” Lorn’s voice breaks through the blackness. A second later something intangible breaks. It feels like the snapping of a cord. The tension in the air shatters and the temperature plummets. A deep rumble vibrates through the tunnel.
Aren stops running. He shoves me against the wall, pressing his body against mine and tucking my head under his chin.
It’s going to cave in on us. Whatever magical trip wire Lorn activated, he did it too soon. The ground lurches beneath my feet. My knees buckle. I cling to Aren, praying he has some kind of magic that can save us as the thunder grows louder and louder.
He swings me away from the wall. Something slams down on my shoulder. I stumble and lose Aren as I fall. When the ceiling hails down, I cover my head and pray.
An eternity passes before the quake subsides. I’m skinned up and bruised, but still alive. Nothing’s broken.
Rocks skitter across the ground. I have no idea which way I’m facing, but it has to be Aren making his way to me. I consider playing dead until I choke on a breath. My lungs are so filled with dust and micro-debris it feels like I’m coughing up an avalanche.
Aren kneels beside me. “You hurt?”
“Yes,” I force out between coughs.
Maybe his ears are ringing as badly as mine because he says, “You’re fine,” and lifts me to my feet. He starts to lead me down the tunnel, but my cloak drags me backward.
“I’m caught.”
“Take it off.” He unhooks the clasp holding the cloak together and shoves it off my shoulders. I look down when it falls and see an edarratae flash over my forearm. Short sleeves in Lyechaban. Not the greatest idea.
“I can’t go out like this.”
He tucks my hand against his side. “Just stay close.”
I have no choice but to follow. My lungs itch, my shoulder aches, and I feel so beat-up the heat of the edarratae sp
iraling from me to Aren doesn’t bother me.
“Watch your step here,” he says, and I’m hit with déjà vu. I’ve done this before, stumbled along blind and hurt, depending on someone else to get me to safety. Kyol’s always taken care of me, but little by little, Aren whittled away my faith in him. That shouldn’t be possible. I know Kyol—I’ve always trusted him—and he . . .
He refused a life-bond because of me.
Guilt cuts through my gut, sharp as a dagger. It’s this Stockholm syndrome. It’s totally screwing with my common sense, making me doubt things I’ve always known to be true. Everything will be better as soon as I get away from Aren.
I hold tight to his arm as I trip. Since it’s sudden, I almost take him down, too. He catches me before I hit the ground. I turn in his arms, sliding a hand behind his neck and letting my other hand drop to the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
God, his lips are close. A part of me doesn’t want to do this, but as soon as my fingers find a loose rock, I swing it toward his head.
He curses. Blind in the darkness, I swing again. This time, he catches my wrist.
“Stop,” he snarls.
He might be pissed, but so am I. “You lied to me. Deliberately lied!”
“I didn’t know he refused it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t know!” He shoves me away.
“You’ve manipulated me from the beginning,” I accuse.
Somewhere to my left, he laughs. “I’ve manipulated you? I’ve kept you alive and safe. I haven’t hurt you. I haven’t lied to you. In a few days, you’ve learned more about this world and this war than you have the entire time you worked for the Court. Kelia’s taught you our language. I’ve saved your life. I’ve healed you. You repay me with nothing.”
“You kidnapped me!”
“I should have killed you!”
There’s so much emotion in his voice, I swallow back my retort. I’m not sure if it’s all anger. Is he hurt? I only hit him once. Maybe he was injured when the ceiling caved in? I refuse to believe the undertone of pain is from anything else. He feels nothing for me. And I feel nothing for him.
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