The Shadow Reader ml-1

by Sandy Williams

While they search the room for some kind of disguise, I turn to Raen. “Watch for the other fae. Please. I promise I’ll talk to Kelia.”

  At first, I don’t think he’s going to budge. Cold, silver eyes watch Naito. The animosity in the air is almost tangible. This is hard for him, helping the human who took his daughter away.

  Finally, he sighs. He takes off his gloves one at a time, shrugs out of his robe, hands it all to me, then silently walks to the door to stand guard.

  “That’ll work,” Evan says, nodding at the robe in my hands. Then he holds out the dagger Raen gave me. “We haven’t exactly met. I’m Evan. I read the shadows for Aren before the Court caught me.”

  “McKenzie,” I say, taking the dagger.

  He nods. “The nalkin-shom. I’ve heard of you.”

  I manage not to roll my eyes. “Seems like everyone has.”

  He laughs and then helps me slip on Raen’s robe.

  We rummage through the room for another minute. Evan and Naito find armor that covers everything but their hands and faces. I end up giving Raen’s gloves to Naito. They fit him better, and we decide he’s the best swordsman out of the three of us—I wasn’t really a contender. We find only one other glove. Evan pulls it on and settles for pulling his sleeve down over his other hand. I plan to keep both my hands beneath my robe unless I absolutely have to take them out.

  Evan scratches at his beard. “That just leaves our faces.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about them,” Naito says.

  “Masks and hoods will draw too much attention.”

  “So what do we do when someone sees us?” I ask.

  “We kill them.”

  I must make some type of disgruntled noise because Naito looks at me. “If we can escape without killing anyone, we will. But if we don’t have a choice—” He shrugs.

  I might be turning my back on the Court, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone to die.

  Anyone else to die. My gaze slides to the bloodstain on the floor, then to the glowing blue torch in the wall above it. I walk over and take it out of its holder.

  “We’ll carry these. If we keep the orbs in front of our faces, the fae might not see our chaos lusters.”

  “The light will draw attention,” Naito says.

  “So will the edarratae,” I say, unwilling to back down on this. No more fae are going to die because of my decisions.

  “We can’t see in the dark,” Evan puts in. “McKenzie, you carry it since you know the way. Naito and I will stay behind you. We’ll take care of anyone who looks at us too closely.”

  Naito doesn’t argue this time. Good. We’ve already lingered longer than we should.

  Lord Raen waits for us by the exit.

  “Kyol will know what you’ve done,” I tell him.

  He nods, his expression unchanging. “But he won’t be able to do anything about it, will he? Not without admitting who he was hiding here.”

  And if the king or his lord general finds out Kyol didn’t execute either shadow-reader, he’ll be screwed. I don’t want him to get in trouble for this. Radath will be pissed enough when he learns I’m gone.

  I adjust my grip on the torch. “Will you tell him I’m sorry?”

  Lord Raen gives me a grim smile. “If you’ll tell Kelia the same.”

  “Let’s go,” Naito mutters behind me.

  Raen steps aside. “Quickly. To the left.”

  Naito slides past us and exits without so much as a glance at the fae. Evan whispers a quick thank-you. I follow on their heels.

  “Naito,” Lord Raen calls.

  Surprisingly, Naito stops.

  “If Kelia’s in Lynn Valley,” Raen says, “take her away from there. Please. The lord general intends to attack at tomorrow’s dusk.”

  Lynn Valley. Oh, God, that’s where I’d been. That’s where the rebels are, or were just a day and a half ago.

  “But that’s in my world,” I say.

  Raen’s lips tighten. “The king is that desperate.”

  Desperate enough to launch an attack in a residential area? I don’t want to believe it, but one look at Naito tells me I should.

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE CORRIDORS OF the basement are blessedly deserted. I lead Naito and Evan through the narrow tunnels, hoping I can get us out of here quickly. Both times I traveled to the storage room I came from the other direction. I would have turned right outside the door if Raen hadn’t told us to go left. I can only assume this way is safer, that the fae guard took the other way out.

  My torch lights the way, its glow bathing the stone walls in its blue-white light. I listen for footsteps, for the rustle of cloth, the creak of jaedric armor, or a soft inhalation of air. Anything to indicate someone’s approaching. I hear nothing, nothing but the sound of my heart thudding in my chest and the occasional shuffles of Naito and Evan.

  Despite the cool air beneath the palace, sweat dampens my forehead. I’m worried about Aren, about Kelia and Sethan, and—maybe just a tiny bit—about Lena. I need them all to be okay.

  Another corridor, still no sign of the fae. This escape attempt is going eerily well, a fact that makes my skin tingle with apprehension as I lead us up a set of stairs. They curve sharply to the right. I can’t see anything around the bend.

  I slow almost to a stop as I near the turn. God, I don’t like this. It’s too easy, too quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” Naito whispers.

  I shake my head to indicate nothing, force my paranoia aside, and round the curve.

  No one’s there. A gate is at the top of the steps, though. I hurry the rest of the way, praying it isn’t locked.

  It is.

  “Let me try.” Naito slides past me, taking from his pocket the ring of keys he confiscated from the unconscious guard. I wince when they clatter and scrape against the metal lock. Naito’s trying to be quiet, but with the corridor so silent . . .

  “Got it.” He pushes the gate open. Its screech echoes off the stone walls.

  Evan curses behind us.

  “Wait here,” I whisper. I’m barely able to squeeze through the narrow crack without opening the gate farther. I scan the empty corridor. I’m about to tell Naito and Evan it’s clear when a fae steps into the passageway no more than twenty feet to my left. The blue-white glow from my torch highlights his face. It’s Taber. Shit.

  “Hi, Taber,” I say, stepping toward him.

  “McKenzie?” He frowns at the open gate. “What are you doing here?”

  Think, McKenzie. Think!

  “Kyol gave me keys.”

  Taber scans me slowly, head to toe. “Your robe doesn’t fit.”

  I look down. “No . . . but it’s, um, warm.”

  He cocks his head. “Perhaps I should escort you back to your room?”

  “That would be great, actually.” I move toward him, praying he’ll turn around and walk with me, but his frown vanishes. He moves past me, shoving my arm aside when I try to block his path.

  A second before he reaches the gate, Naito and Evan burst out. Naito rams his shoulder into Taber’s chest, throwing the fae backward. Evan grabs his arms, holds him down while Naito grabs Taber’s head and slams it once . . . twice . . . three times into the stone floor.

  Taber lies still.

  Naito stands, wiping the fae’s blood off on his pants. Evan is slower getting to his feet—I think he’s weak from sitting in that tiny prison—but neither human holds my attention for long.

  “What’s wrong?” Naito asks. “He’ll be fine once a healer sees to him.”

  I start backing away, pointing the orbed end of my torch toward the three fae running toward us.

  Evan turns, curses. He unslings his crossbow from his shoulder, arms it with an arrow, then sights the weapon down the corridor.

  “Run!” he orders as the bolt thrums from the bow. It strikes the leg of the fae in the center.

  Evan nocks another arrow. The other two fae take cover in an alcove, pulling their injured comrade with them an
d calling out an alarm.

  I chuck my torch aside—no need to hide our edarratae anymore—and run.

  “Come on!” Naito yells.

  Evan abandons his attack and follows. We fly past a set of stairs.

  “There’s an exit,” I shout at Naito, who’s edged in front of me. “Ahead and to the right.” It’ll get us out of the palace. If we can make it into the city, we might have a chance.

  Fae rush into the far end of the corridor. We skid to a halt, lose precious seconds as we all seem to realize at once they’ll cut us off before we make it to the intersection.

  Naito shoves me the other way. The two uninjured fae emerge from their alcove at the corridor’s other end, sandwiching us in.

  Evan shoots off another arrow. Misses.

  Naito draws his sword. “Up!”

  I lunge for the staircase, fly up the steps two at a time with Evan and Naito on my heels.

  We’re going to have to hide, not run. I try the handle of the wooden door in front of me. Locked. I rush to the next one while Naito tries the doors on the left side of the hall.

  Evan fires down the stairs.

  “I can’t hold them off,” he yells, sliding another bolt into place. He fires again.

  “Here!” Naito shoves open a door.

  Evan reaches it first. I run through after him, an instant too slow. A fae grabs me, swinging me around as his two companions rush into the room. I brace a hand against the wall, manage to stay upright long enough to kick the door shut and slam the latch into place.

  My captor launches me against the wall. My head hits hard. My vision blurs, blackens. I blink the spots from my eyes in time to focus on Naito.

  He lurches forward, plunging his sword through the back of the fae holding me. It almost skewers me as well. The point of his blade stabs toward my stomach, just above my belly button. I flatten my back against the wall and suck in.

  Naito pulls his sword free and then grabs my arm as the fae falls. He curses as he stares at my stomach.

  “I’m fine,” I assure him as the fae vanishes into the ether. I push Naito farther into the room, away from the door, which is now being pounded on from the other side.

  The two fae who made it in circle Evan, their swords drawn, ready to strike as soon as he lowers his crossbow or shoots. Even if Evan kills one of them, there’s no way he’ll get another arrow nocked before the other fae cuts him down. I’m not even sure he has another arrow.

  Naito pulls me to Evan’s side. There might be three of us, but we’re human. The Court has the advantage. They’ve spent years honing their skills. If we weren’t in the Silver Palace, we’d already be dead. They’d fissure behind us and strike us down.

  And time’s on their side, not ours. They can wait for backup to break down the door.

  We’re in a parlor or some other type of sitting room. There’s only the one exit and then three arched windows set into the wall on our left.

  The windows. We’re one tall story off the ground. The fall is likely to hurt, but it’ll be better than a sword through the gut.

  I don’t pause to second-guess my plan. I grab a chair and launch it through the glass.

  Evan shoots the same instant. The bolt plunges into the shoulder of the fae on the left. The other lunges forward. He slashes into Evan’s forearm before the human dodges back.

  Naito attacks, swinging his sword at the fae’s head. The fae ducks, parries, and strikes out, seemingly all in one move.

  I shove Evan toward the window. He dropped his crossbow when the fae cut into his arm. He tries drawing his sword, but his hand is slick with blood.

  “Get out of here. Go!”

  He drags in a breath, nods. “Don’t leave him.”

  He hands me his sword. When he jumps, I turn back to the fight, swinging my blade at the fae who’s still standing when he takes a stab at Naito. He blocks my attack easily, advances with a thrust of his own. I parry and stagger back. Alone, I’d be dead—alone, Naito would be dead—but together, we manage to keep the fae off.

  “The window,” I say. “Go!” I grunt when a particularly hard hit rattles through my sword.

  “You first,” Naito throws back.

  I take a swing at the fae’s head. Miss.

  “He knows who I am,” I say, not knowing if I’m telling a lie or not. “He’ll turn me over to Kyol. You have to get back to Kelia. Go! Now!”

  He wants to protest—I see it in his eyes—but invoking Kelia’s name does the trick.

  The fae curses when Naito makes a leap for the window. I put myself between them, forcing the fae to focus on me. He parries my attack and strikes back. The sword flies from my hand and clatters against the wall.

  I draw my poisoned dagger. Throw it.

  The fae raises his off hand in defense and bats the dagger aside. The throw wasn’t hard or fast, but the blade is sharp and blood wells from a small cut on the top of his hand.

  I don’t wait for the poison to kick in; I lunge for the window.

  He catches me. I swing back with an elbow, manage to catch his chin, but his hold doesn’t loosen. He throws me to the floor, pins me there.

  I shove my knee into his groin, but there’s no momentum behind it. He slips to the side. His hands tighten around my wrists.

  “Be still,” he snarls in Fae.

  A flash of pain bursts behind my eyes when I head-butt him. He grunts, but I’m certain I did more harm to me than to him. I can barely focus. His face wavers above me. I struggle, bucking and twisting and trying to squirm away.

  He wavers again. This time, it’s not just my vision. His arms buckle and he collapses on top of me. I lie there, gasping for air, then somehow I manage to shove him away.

  Rolling to my stomach, I crawl on all fours toward the window, my arms shaking beneath me. I grab the window’s edge, ignore the glass biting into my palms, and will my muscles to cooperate.

  My upper torso drapes over the windowsill. Glass pricks my skin, but Raen’s cloak protects me from too much damage. The street below is empty. It’s going to hurt when I hit, but I need to get out of here. The fae are still beating on the door.

  My weight is split between the room and the outside world. I’m about to slide over the edge when something grabs me. It’s a Court fae, the one with the crossbow bolt through his shoulder. He drags me back inside the room as the door bursts open and the king’s swordsmen charge inside.

  I scream myself awake. Cold. Wet. Caught. My teeth clatter and someone throws a second bucket of water over my head.

  I cry out again. My skin seems to freeze over my bones.

  “Ah, there you are,” Radath’s voice croons just inside the reach of a hanging orb’s blue glow. He overturns his bucket at the edge of the light and sits.

  I wish I could remain unconscious. Everything hurts: my ribs and stomach, my back, and especially my shoulders and arms. My hands are shackled securely to the wall. There isn’t a length of chain or anything between it and my silver manacles; I can’t adjust my position at all.

  “You need to start talking,” Radath says. “You can start by explaining what you were doing last night.”

  I’m so damn cold it’s a struggle to pull my thoughts together. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them, and search the shadows of my prison. How did I get here? How much does Radath know?

  “Where did you get this?” Radath asks. He’s holding something in his hand. A dagger, the one Raen gave me.

  “I want to talk to Taltrayn.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I’m shivering too much.

  Radath laughs. “Of course you do.”

  Something moves in my peripheral vision. A tiny glimmer of hope rises in me. It’s snuffed out an instant later when Micid, not Kyol, steps into the light.

  Radath follows my line of sight. “I’ve brought along my ther’rothi. He asked to meet you.”

  The fae’s gaze oozes over me. I’m already shivering, but a deeper tremble runs through my body.

  “Micid is a rare br
eed,” Radath continues. “Possibly unique. Show her what you do.”

  The ther’rothi’s lips stretch into a smile one moment before he disappears. I press back against the wall, afraid of what he’ll do, but he reappears a few seconds later in the exact same spot. That’s when confusion sinks in. Radath said Micid wanted to meet me, but we already met. And I already know what he can do. Why the demonstration?

  Radath chuckles. “Does it bother you? Not being able to see him? I learned of his magic a few years ago and agreed to keep it secret—only the king and I know what he can do. In exchange, he works for me when I need him.”

  Someone’s not keeping it a secret, but I’m not about to correct the lord general.

  Radath leans forward, drops his voice to a whisper. “I also ignore his little trips to tjandel.”

  Tjandel. I recognize the word. Micid said he visited there.

  “Unfamiliar with the place?” Radath inquires. He wants me to ask about it. I won’t.

  “It’s a . . . What do your people call it? A whorehouse. Yes. It’s a whorehouse in an unsavory district on the edge of Corrist. It’s outside the silver walls, so its clientele can fissure in and out without being seen. I know of many nobles who have tasted the delights there. All would deny it, but not Micid. Micid is addicted to the whores. Addicted, in fact, to their chaos lusters.”

  It feels like Radath just dumped a third bucket of icy water over my head.

  “Most of the whores are there willingly,” he says, his voice saccharine. “Some of them aren’t. They don’t all have the Sight, and Micid has a fetish for humans who scream and thrash beneath him. He likes them slightly insane, grasping and clawing at the invisible demon they believe to be inside them. Since you do have the Sight, you’ll understand what’s happening, but I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to breaking you in. You’d scream for him, wouldn’t you, McKenzie?”

  Micid watches me with a small, sadistic smile.

  Then, suddenly, Radath gets to the point. “There were two others with you last night. Who were they?”

  He doesn’t know about Naito and Evan. Thank God. They must have escaped. At least I accomplished something last night. I sit straighter, trying to ease the bite of the shackles into my wrists.