The Shadow Reader ml-1

by Sandy Williams

  There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes. Pain? Disappointment? I can’t be sure.

  “Kyol, please,” I try again. “They can’t stay—”

  “They’re alive. That’s all I can do right now.”

  Before I can say anything else, he pulls me from the cell. When he turns to pick up the torch from its groove in the floor, I catch Naito’s eye. I hope the look I give him is reassuring. I hope it tells him I won’t leave him imprisoned. I’ll find a way to get both humans out of here.

  I’M not qualified to plan a jailbreak, but I don’t have a choice. As Kyol leads me out of the palace’s basements, I’m plotting how I’m going to return. I’m going to need help breaking Naito and the other human out. That much is clear.

  We don’t say anything to each other as we walk, not until we stop in front of the door to a room I’ve stayed in before. He takes my hands in his. My gaze darts down both ends of the corridor, but no other fae are in sight.

  “I love you, McKenzie,” he tells me quietly. “Despite what you heard today, I meant what I said last night. I want to be with you. In your world or mine, it doesn’t matter. But I can’t abandon Atroth with the rebels still trying to overthrow him.”

  Edarratae dart down my arms, over my wrists and hands, and into him. Things aren’t okay between us. He didn’t kill Naito—thank God for that—but he’s let me believe in things that aren’t true.

  When I don’t respond, he lets out a sigh. “I have some things I must take care of today. Will you be okay by yourself for a while? It may be late before I’m able to return.”

  I nod, feeling like shit for what I’m about to do.

  He starts to say something else, stops and squeezes my hands instead. Then he plants a kiss on the top of my head, turns, and walks away, back to his responsibilities as Atroth’s sword-master. It still hurts, being second to his king.

  I don’t go inside my room after he leaves. Being alone with my thoughts? Not a good idea. Instead, I find my way back to the sculpture garden. What I’m planning is risky—I could be betrayed or end up imprisoned or worse—but I have to take the risk.

  It doesn’t take long to find who I’m looking for. He’s here, sitting on a bench beside the statue of a cirikith, one not tethered to a merchant’s cart, but wild and rearing, his stone scales intricately carved. When my shadow falls over the fae, he looks up from the document he’s reading.

  “My lord,” I say in his language. “Do you still want to earn your daughter’s forgiveness?”

  TWENTY-ONE

  IF I DIDN’T have a prison break to distract me, I’d spend the rest of the day . . . Well, not crying in my room—that’s not me—but definitely wallowing in some kind of despair. Instead, I all but pace a rut in the stone floor because I’m nervous as hell waiting for dusk. A million things could go wrong tonight.

  Truth is, I think our plan sucks. It’s Lord Raen’s plan mostly. He thinks no one will stop him from dragging me through the basements because he’s a high noble. I tried to tell him “fat chance” in Fae, but apparently that idiom doesn’t translate. After he spent half a minute frowning in confusion, I finally just shrugged my shoulders. He took that as a stamp of approval.

  And maybe his title will get us to Naito and the other human, but Raen wasn’t so clear on how we’re going to get them out. He just told me to trust him. He’d take care of it. Even though I’m having a difficult time taking people on faith these days, when the sun finally sets, I’m waiting in the corridor he designated, leaning against the wall and trying to look inconspicuous. Unfortunately, I can’t control the edarratae on my hands and face, and even if I could, I’d still look human. There’s just something different, something unexciting, about my race when compared to the fae.

  Nervous, I take the imprinted necklace out of my pocket and fasten it around my wrist. It’s comforting to have it against my skin again, and I hope it acts as a good-luck charm. I hope this jailbreak goes off without a hitch.

  When the last rays of sunlight fade from the window across from me, Lord Raen approaches.

  “Come,” he says, walking by without so much as a glance. He doesn’t check to see if I’m following, not until we descend a staircase. Halfway down, he stops and draws a dagger.

  I freeze. Despite the fact that I’m standing three steps taller than him, it takes an effort not to scurry backward as he twists his wrist slowly back and forth. A menacing gesture if I’ve ever seen one.

  “Poison,” he says, and I see something wet glistening on the edge of the steel. “Draw blood and your opponent will fall.”

  “Dead?” I ask, heart thumping in my chest. I don’t want to kill anyone, especially someone who’s just doing his job.

  “Unconscious.” He slides the dagger back into the scabbard and holds it out. “Don’t cut yourself.”

  Something moves behind Lord Raen. I hide the sheathed dagger behind my back, tucking it into my waistband. The fae climbing the stairs is dangerous. I sense it in his slow ascent, in the way his gaze slides from Lord Raen to me. The hilts of two swords rise up over his shoulders like demon’s wings, but he’s not a palace guard or one of the king’s swordsmen. He’s dressed in black, nondescript clothing.

  Raen steps aside, but the fae doesn’t pass by. He stops beside Raen and the corners of his mouth tilt up in a barely there smile. Maybe he intends it to be pleasant, but to me, it’s just creepy.

  “This is Micid, son of Riagar,” Raen says. “He’s ther’rothi.”

  I frown. “Ther’rothi?”

  “It means,” Micid says in English, “one who walks the In-Between.”

  I blink. The fae’s smile widens.

  “I visit tjandel,” he explains.

  I have no idea where or what that is. I glance at Raen, but he looks just as surprised as I am to learn Micid speaks my language.

  “What’s that mean?” I ask. “To walk the In-Between?”

  Micid smiles. And disappears.

  There’s no flash of light. We’re inside the Silver Palace so he couldn’t have fissured anyway, but it can’t be an illusion. I have the Sight; I’d still be able to see him.

  When the fae reappears, I stagger back and nearly trip on the stair behind me.

  “It means,” he says, “I walk the In-Between.”

  I recognize the word Raen used now, ther’rothi.

  “That magic is . . .” I was going to say extinct, but the impression I always got from Kyol was that it never existed in the first place. It’s as impossible as bringing fae back from the dead. It’s a myth, a legend. “It’s . . .”

  “Rare,” Micid supplies, a gleam in his silver eyes.

  Lord Raen climbs a step. “Fae cannot conceal humans with illusion. This is the only way. Micid will take you into the In-Between. No one will see you. I will have Taltrayn’s guards open the storage room. You’ll direct Micid to where the humans are hidden. He’ll open the door and, one by one, he’ll take you out through the In-Between.”

  I started shaking my head halfway through his explanation. “No. I can’t walk the . . . This wasn’t the plan.”

  “I changed the plan,” he says, as if it’s not a problem. Never mind that I didn’t like his original plan; I really don’t like him bringing another fae into this. The only reason I’m trusting Raen is because I’m convinced he’ll do anything for Kelia’s forgiveness. I have no reason to trust this Micid.

  “I can’t enter the In-Between without going through a gate,” I say. “This will kill me.”

  “We’re not traveling through the In-Between,” Micid says. “We’re merely wading into it like a shallow pool. I’ve done this with humans before.”

  I don’t like this. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to Raen for help. Maybe I should have found a fae to take me through Corrist’s gate. I thought about it. Once I give Aren the location of the Sidhe Tol, he’ll be able to fissure into the Silver Palace. I could draw him a map to Naito’s cell. That’s the problem, though. Once Kyol finds out I’m m
issing, he’ll move the two humans. I’m sure of it. I can’t leave without them.

  I meet Raen’s eyes. “You trust him?”

  After a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation, he says, “He will do as I’ve asked.”

  That hesitation doesn’t do anything for my confidence, but I have little choice now. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

  Micid holds out his hand. When I wrap my fingers around his, he doesn’t seem bothered by my chaos lusters.

  “You’re sure this won’t kill me?”

  “Positive,” he replies. “You’re not leaving this world. You’ll be able to see it; it will not be able to see you. Fae can hear us, though, so you must remain silent.”

  He rubs his thumb across my palm, setting off every warning alarm in my head. I start to pull my hand away, but at that moment, everything goes black.

  I gasp when the chill hits me. My vision returns a moment later, but everything—the stairs, the arcing stone ceiling, even Lord Raen—is bathed in a blue light. When I turn my head, the world ripples as if it’s underwater. The air in my lungs is cold enough to threaten frostbite, but it’s not quite as bad as fissuring through the In-Between. I can endure this. I think.

  Raen says something. I can’t make it out because his voice sounds muffled, but Micid gives him a quick reply, then escorts me down the stairs.

  This is dizzying. Micid and I are apart from the world, moving through it at a different pace, it seems, even though we’re following Raen and reach the entrance to the storage room just one moment after him.

  “Unlock the gate,” Lord Raen says to the two guards, his voice still distant, still hard to understand.

  I expect them to protest, but the swordsman on the left asks, “Is there something we can help you find?”

  “No.”

  The guards exchange a brief look at the curtness of Raen’s response, but they open the door.

  Raen enters. One guard follows him inside. Micid and I slip past the other, who frowns after Lord Raen.

  “Perhaps I can shorten your search, my lord,” the first fae says. “What are you looking for?”

  “A sword.”

  The fae scans the hundreds of swords slanted in their racks against the wall. Cautiously, I urge Micid past him. I need to move before my teeth start chattering.

  “Where’s the inventory?” Raen asks.

  “Inventory?”

  “Yes.” Raen’s eyes narrow. “You’re guarding these artifacts. Certainly you have a list of the items stored here. How else would you know if something is missing?”

  “Artifacts?” the fae says, clearly seeing the contents of the storage room as discarded junk.

  “Get me the inventory. Now.”

  The guard blanks his expression. “Yes, my lord.”

  I’m face-to-face with him when he abruptly turns. Micid pulls me to the side, out of the way just in time. His free hand goes to my waist. It remains there even after the threat passes. I manage to resist the urge to elbow him in the gut. Instead, I step away, putting as much distance between us as possible, and pull him toward the back of the storage room. “There’s another guard around the corner.”

  The ther’rothi nods. As soon as Garrad comes into view, he releases my hand. I see Micid blur forward for an instant and then the blue glow of the In-Between vanishes. The Realm is hot, almost scalding, in comparison. I fill my lungs with air. It feels like I’m taking a breath in a sauna.

  Garrad leaps to his feet. His sword is halfway out of its scabbard when it’s suddenly rammed back in. The flesh at his throat splits open. Blood pours out the deep gash. It pours out of his mouth when he gurgles out a cough. He staggers into the wall, starts to slide down it, but vanishes into the ether before he reaches the floor.

  A cold fist clenches in my chest as I watch Garrad’s soul-shadow rise up.

  Micid reappears.

  “You didn’t have to kill him.” My words are barely a whisper. No one was supposed to die.

  He wipes his blade clean on his sleeve. “He would have prevented me from opening the humans’ cell. Where is it?”

  “You could have knocked him out.” Garrad was one of Kyol’s men. Kyol trusted him. He trusted me.

  Micid shrugs. “The humans, shadow-reader. Our time is limited.”

  My skin is clammy, my fingers prickling and numb. I can’t tear my gaze away from the bloodstain on the floor. I can’t forget the shock in Garrad’s eyes, but I jab a finger toward the wall. I don’t know what else to do. I’m committed now. I can’t not go through with this.

  Micid drags the cart out of the way. “Where is the triggerstone?”

  “Above you.”

  “Where?” He motions me forward. “Show me.”

  Heart stammering, I walk to the wall and stand on my tiptoes to touch the stone.

  “Here?” he asks.

  His hand brushes mine, and I jerk back. “Yes.”

  The stone glows blue with his magic. When I hear the first rumblings of the slab moving aside, I try to slip away, but Micid moves. I end up trapped between him and the cart. He bumps my shoulder—not accidentally—then catches me when I teeter off-balance. The way his hands grab hold of my hips is way too intimate. I panic.

  I shove away, but somehow end up even closer to him. He laughs when I struggle, then stops when I manage to get my dagger out of its sheath. I spin out of his arms and hold it between us.

  I cut him. His right sleeve is slit and there’s a thin line of blood on his pale skin. Really, it’s no more than a scratch, but apparently that’s enough to piss him off. His expression darkens a second before he disappears.

  Oh, crap.

  I scurry backward. My arm goes numb when my dagger is knocked from my hand. Micid, still invisible, launches into me. I crash down on my back. His hand tightens around my throat. I pry at fingers I can’t see, try to squeak out a call for help, but there’s no air. The wall was sliding open, wasn’t it? Where the hell is—

  “McKenzie?” Naito stands above me. As my vision blurs, I see him scan me from head to toe. Then, finally, he kicks out.

  Micid grunts. I suck in a breath and punch at where I think his head should be. I miss.

  “Naito!” I manage a shout before a hand clamps around my throat again.

  Naito launches himself on top of me. The other human joins him, striking at the space between us. I slide across the ground, away from the fight, and suck air into my lungs. By the time I’m breathing normally, the struggle’s over.

  “What is this?” Naito shoves Micid, apparently still caught in the In-Between, away.

  “Ever hear of a ther’rothi?”

  He scowls. “They don’t exist.”

  “Apparently, they do,” I say, climbing to my feet. The other human helps Naito up. “Lord Raen hired him to help get you out.”

  Naito, dusting himself off, stops midbrush and stiffens. “Lord Raen?”

  I don’t get a chance to explain. There’s the sound of running footsteps, then the fae who was left guarding the door to the storage room rounds the corner. He skids to a halt, surveying the scene behind the blade of his sword. I follow his line of sight to the puddle of blood on the floor.

  “We didn’t kill him,” I say, though guilt stabs through me. I’m at least partially responsible for Garrad’s death. I brought Micid here.

  “Back into the cell,” the fae orders, taking a step forward. I back up. Naito stands his ground, but the other human moves to the left, bends down, and retrieves my dropped dagger.

  “Back in the cell, Evan,” the fae tries in English.

  “No,” Evan says. He has no hope of taking down a fae, especially one of Kyol’s swordsmen, with that dagger. He must be desperate, though, because he strikes at the air with an aggressive—and almost comical—roar.

  I frown, wondering if his time in captivity has screwed with his mind. Then, out of the corner of my eye, something moves.

  The pole of a spear slams into the fae’s head. He drops
like a rock, Lord Raen standing behind him.

  “Where’s Micid?” Raen demands.

  I wave a hand toward the floor behind me. “Somewhere over there.”

  His jaw tightens. “He was your escort.”

  “Looks like we’re going to need a Plan B.” I won’t apologize for Micid. I don’t think the ther’rothi is dead, just unconscious, either from my dagger’s poison or Naito and Evan’s attack.

  “Plan B?” Raen asks. He doesn’t get it, and I’m not going to explain.

  Naito walks past Raen without so much as a glance and kneels beside the unconscious fae guard. He searches his clothing, finds a set of keys on a metal ring, and pockets them.

  Evan belts a sword around his waist, grabs a crossbow off the wall, then surveys the rest of the storage room. “Nice of Taltrayn to lock us in an arsenal.”

  Naito takes the guard’s dropped sword. When he rises, Lord Raen steps forward.

  “Kelia. I must speak with her.”

  When Naito turns his back on the noble, a throb of sympathy courses through me. I don’t know what Raen did to make Naito hate him so much or to make his daughter sever all ties. It has to be something worse than just disapproving of their relationship.

  Lord Raen makes a noise, then steps in front of Naito. “My daughter. I will speak with her.”

  Naito’s eyes are cold. “She doesn’t want to speak to you.”

  “You will make her.”

  “No.” He steps around Raen.

  Raen puts his arm up, not letting him pass. “You will make her.”

  Naito’s lip curls. “I won’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  “There was another fae guarding this storage room,” Raen says, his tone even more threatening than Naito’s. “He’ll return, and when he does, I can delay him or tell him where you are.”

  I step between the two men. “I’ll tell her to talk to you.”

  Naito turns his glare on me.

  “We’re wasting time,” I say. “We need to go.”

  Evan surveys the storage room. “We need to blend in if we’re going to walk out of here. Cover up our skin.”