But the fae in the center with gray-streaked hair doesn’t look concerned. He doesn’t even unsheathe his sword. With the door burning behind him, he—Nimael—takes a rustic red cylinder from his belt and untwists a cap. A thin, coiled rope falls to the ground, then, with a flick of his wrist, the rope snakes out in front of him.
Aren and Trev are almost on him.
“Jump! Jump!” I scream, but they don’t understand, and with another flick of his wrist, Nimael’s rope whips out. It’s long enough to swing into both fae’s legs. They crash to their knees, are up in an instant, but the damage is already done. Dicer’s illusion breaks, revealing them both to the elari.
My sword is in my hands, and I’m rushing forward already, yelling for Aren to swing right and Trev to swing straight ahead. Both their blind attacks miss, and they roll, attempting to get out of the way.
Aren makes it, but Nimael’s whip is wrapped around Trev’s calf. It wraps around his knees during his roll. He curses, swings defensively once more, and his elari attacker hesitates the second I need to get there.
My blade cuts through the air, clashing against the elari’s with an impact that rattles me to the core. The elari’s invisibility breaks, and Trev’s sword stabs upward, sinking home into the fae’s gut.
I don’t wait for his soul-shadow to appear. I whirl around to find both Nimael and the second elari closing in on Aren from both sides. Nimael has dropped his whip; I assume he’s invisible again.
“Back, Aren!”
He misunderstands my order, twisting around to swing behind him. I won’t get there in time, so I palm the pommel of my sword and thrust it into the air. It soars javelin-style and clips the elari’s side. Only strong enough to break the illusion, not to draw blood.
Dicer gives me a what-the-hell-was-that look, then the kid splits. Maybe he’s decided we can handle this? It’s two-on-two—three if you count me—and after a quick sidestep and an incredibly fast counterstrike, Aren sends the second elari to the ether.
“Where’s Nimael?” he demands, rounding on me.
“There,” I point, “to the left of the darker part of the street.”
Nimael’s nostrils flare. The glare he gives me reminds me of how cold the rain-drenched night is.
Aren grabs my arm. “The whole street’s dark.”
“The ground,” I say. “The smudge on the ground that looks like a . . . a smiley face.”
He pushes me back, then rushes forward, nowhere near where Nimael’s standing.
Or was standing.
My cry of, “He’s running!” is nearly drowned out by Jacia’s, “They’re coming!”
Five fae—all with the red-and-black-stoned name-cords that mark them as elari—burst out from the passageway between Nimael’s building and the one next door.
“Nimael!” the dark-haired fae leading the way shouts, his gaze scanning the street for the fae. But Nimael is invisible behind his illusion, and speaking would give away his location, so with one last hate-filled glance at me, the older fae turns and runs.
“Aren, to the left. He’s leaving!”
But Aren can’t follow my directions. The dark-haired fae is on him. Their swords meet in a loud clash, clash, clash. Then the second fae is there, with Jacia right behind him.
We’re outnumbered, even with Jacia’s help. Taber was supposed to be with her. I don’t know where he is, but it looks like none of these elari are illusionists. Aren doesn’t need my help, and Nimael is getting away, fleeing down a road that will take him to the eroded silver wall.
Half a second passes, then my decision is made. I scoop up my sword as I sprint past it, then run at top speed down a passageway that parallels Nimael’s. If he’s the false-blood’s second-in-command, we need him captured and questioned, and since he’s running roughly in the same direction Kyol’s approaching from, we still have a chance to do both.
The storm and late hour have made Tholm more deserted than a ghost town. Not a soul hinders me, and the rain splattering onto the ground covers the sound of my footsteps. Buildings made of stone and stucco fly past me in a blur. I shrug out of my heavy cloak and keep running. I don’t have to reach the silver wall the same second Nimael does; I just have to be near enough to read his shadows when he makes it to the other side and disappears.
I’m at an all-out sprint, practically flying over the wet pavement. The alley is clean, well maintained, but I’m heading up an incline, and the rain, the damnable downpour that let up for all of two minutes, has returned.
I reach a cross street, veer down it, and am spit out onto Nimael’s road. He’s there, so much closer than I expected but still running for the wall. He’ll reach it soon.
I push on, funneling adrenaline into my legs. My lungs burn from the cold air, and my chest is tight, tight with Kyol’s worry.
Intercept him! I try to translate those words into emotion, try to tell him I’m not running from someone, I’m running after him.
The ground rises steeply enough for stairs. I grab the two wooden handrails, use them to help propel me up steps.
“McKenzie!” Aren’s voice is distant. It reaches me the same instant I see Kyol step into the street. His head whips to the left as Nimael sprints past him.
“It’s Nimael!” I yell. “He’s almost to the wall, dead center.”
I don’t think Kyol needs my directions. He’s already moving, taking off after the elari.
It feels like it takes me hours to reach the wall, but really, it takes no more than a handful of seconds. I unsling my notebook, open it on top of the low wall, and grab my pen. Nimael’s fissured out. Kyol’s standing there, sword in hand just beside the twisting shadows, waiting for me. Or rather, for my map.
Aren bellows my name again, closer this time, but I focus on the shadows and, using my body to protect my notebook from the rain, I begin to sketch what I see. A twist of shadow in the upper left corner of my page, the tail of a river curving down from a mountain, and a clearing. A valley maybe.
I flip to the next page of the book, watch the shadows contort into more detail, a sharper image of Nimael’s location. Mountains to the east. Maybe to the north as well.
Brow furrowed, I squint at the shadows. Did he fissure into the middle of a mountain range? Aside from the smooth curve of a dark shadow, all the others are spiky and rugged and . . . fading.
Damn it, I’m going to lose him.
Aren calls for me a third time. Kyol answers him, but I’m still focused on the shadows. Where the hell did Nimael go? I should be able to track him. I wasn’t that far behind him.
Maybe the rain is obscuring my vision? I swipe a hand over my face, slicking my drenched hair away from my eyes. It’s too late to start over. I try to modify what I’ve already sketched out, find a detail that I’ve missed, or something that jogs my memory. But there’s nothing, and the last of the shadows wink out of existence.
NINE
“I LOST HIM,” I say, meeting Kyol’s gaze. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. He knows as well as I do that I should have been able to pinpoint Nimael’s location.
I break eye contact. Rain splatters on the low wall. This is the first time I’ve tried to read the shadows since the life-bond. I saw them clearly, but what if I’ve lost the ability to identify them? If I can’t name the location, my maps are nothing, just scribbles on a page that no one can understand, and I’m . . . Well, I still have the Sight, so I’m not completely useless, but shadow-readers are rare. Lena only has two working for her: Naito and Evan. Evan and I have only met a few times. I helped him and Naito escape the palace eons ago when Atroth was still alive and king, but he’s apparently terrible at reading the shadows, and Naito is already overworked. He can’t continue to track Lena’s enemies twenty-four/seven.
“McKenzie.” Kyol’s voice cuts through my thoughts the same instant I feel his focus sharpen. Goose bumps break out across my skin. No fissures have opened on the other side of the wall, but my sixth sense is screaming an
alarm. We’re not alone here. We’re being watched.
“Back away from the wall,” Kyol says quietly, calmly as he approaches me. I do as he says, tucking my sketchbook under my arm as I scan the darkened street. I take one step away from the wall, two. The fae are standing so still, I don’t see them at first. It’s only after my gaze passes by them that my mind registers what I saw.
I look back at the main road, and this time, the six elari are clearly visible.
Kyol lets his mental wall slide away. If he was a man less in control of himself, I’d feel his worry, but all I feel is grim determination and a sense that he’s not just focused ahead of us; he’s attuned to something—or someone—behind us as well.
His sword is still drawn. Mine isn’t. I slammed it back into its sheath when I took off after Nimael so I could run faster. I’m afraid to reach for it now. I don’t want to trigger the fae surrounding us into attacking.
“Any chance they just want to chat?” I ask lightly, trying to reduce the tension that’s building inside of me. Kyol doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even crack a smile.
I want to tell him he can go. We’re outnumbered. There’s no reason for us both to be killed. He can sprint back to the wall, leap over it, and fissure out before the elari reach us, but I know Kyol will never leave my side. He’ll fight, and he’ll die.
The fae begin to close in on us. Now would be the perfect time for Aren to make an appearance.
The distance between us shrinks. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. To hell with triggering them, I drop my sketchbook and draw my sword. No way will I make this easy for them.
“I’m Kyol, son of Taltrayn,” Kyol speaks up suddenly. “Lord General of the Queen’s fae. I request—”
“There is no queen,” the fae nearest us spits out. He’s only a half dozen steps away now. I tighten my grip on my sword, say a quick prayer.
“I request an audience with the Taelith,” Kyol says.
Five strides away.
“Your request seems to be denied, Taltrayn.”
I have no freaking idea where Aren’s voice is coming from. Neither do the elari. They freeze. Then their gazes scan the street. Mine does, too. I look past the alley to my left, then to the wall behind us. Three fae stand in front of it. All elari. Where the hell is—
Kyol moves the same instant the six elari in front of us turn. It’s only after one of them disappears into the ether that I see Aren. He cuts down a second fae before Kyol reaches the man nearest him.
Time slows as I spin back to face the fae at our backs. They move forward, and I swear I can see each droplet of water rise into the air as their boots splash across the wet street. Life only crawls this slowly when something terrible is about to happen, but I stand my ground and let Kyol’s confidence sink into me. An instant before the first elari takes a swing at me, I sidestep to his right and bring my sword around in a wide arc.
I intend to take the fae’s head off, but he intercepts my blade, easy. A part of my mind registers the fact that I’m screwed. The other part is still unnaturally confident I can kick the fae’s ass.
My sword absorbs a blow from the elari. Then another and another, but there are two more fae trying to kill me, and I can’t fight them all.
“Mind if I help?” Aren slides between me and two of the elari. The third elari turns his attention away from me when Aren kills one of the others. Dismissing the human. His mistake. My focus zeroes in on his right side, the vulnerable area where his jaedric is bound together with leather cords. Instinct tells me he’s going to raise his right arm to take a swing, so I throw all my weight into a lunge forward, leading with the point of my sword.
It’s a perfect strike, sliding beneath his rib cage and through his gut. He enters the ether the same moment Aren finishes off his opponents.
“I expected you to hesitate,” Aren says, turning to me.
“What?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from the misty white soul-shadows. All but one of the other elari are dead. Trev is here, helping Kyol restrain him.
“You didn’t hesitate,” Aren says. He’s not breathing hard; I can barely catch my breath. It takes a few seconds for my mind to remember the conditions he listed when I first arrived in Tholm, and suddenly, I have an almost overwhelming urge to throw my sword to the ground and step away from my crime. He’s right. I didn’t hesitate. I killed without a second thought.
A string of expletives comes from the last elari. Trev is trying to wrestle him to the ground, so Kyol can bind his hands.
“Nimael,” Aren says. “You mapped his shadows.”
He bends down and retrieves my sketchbook. He wipes beads of rain off the waterproof cover, then opens straight to my map. “What city?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Looking at the mess of mountains and zigzagging lines again doesn’t help me identify where Nimael went. I don’t know, and that bothers me more than I ever would have guessed. I’ve always been able to read the shadows. Ten years ago, before I’d extensively studied maps of the Realm and of Earth, I wasn’t very accurate, but within a few months, I started nailing down locations. Occasionally, I’d have to reference a real map to figure out where a fae went. I haven’t had to do that in years, though, but maybe it might help me now? I’m certain Nimael stayed in the Realm.
At least, I think I’m certain he did.
“McKenzie?”
I shake my head.
“What’s that mean?” Aren asks. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, not ‘no,’” I say. “I just don’t know. I couldn’t track him.”
That admission kills me. I take my sketchbook from Aren, slap it shut, then sling it over my shoulder.
“The map looked finished.”
“It wasn’t,” I snap. I start to turn away, but Aren grabs my arm.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“If you’d listened to me, he wouldn’t have gotten away.” I yank my arm free. “I told you where he was.”
“You told me he was next to a smiley face. How am I supposed to know what that is?”
“It looks like a face that’s smiling,” I bite out.
“McKenzie.” Aren says my name so softly, I’d have to be deaf not to hear how angry I sound in comparison. Not being able to read Nimael’s shadows unsettled me, but there’s no reason to take it out on Aren.
“I’m sorry,” I say, deflating. “It’s just . . .” I close my eyes and draw in a breath before I reopen them. “I don’t know where he went.”
“Okay,” he says, like it’s no big deal. It is a big deal, though. A whole freaking province is opposing Lena because of the false-blood. She needs to be able to at least identify him to have any chance of disproving his claim. Nimael is the breadcrumb that could lead us to him. I doubt this other elari can help us.
I turn back toward that elari. His wrists are bound behind his back now, and Trev appears to have control of him. That isn’t stopping the elari from letting him have it verbally. He’s spitting out curses and slurs and angry words too quickly for me to translate. He’s filled with blind rage, and in my experience, people who are like him—people who can’t control their anger—are rarely trusted with important information. He won’t lead us to Nimael or the false-blood.
“We’ll question him in Corrist,” Kyol says. Trev nods, acknowledging Kyol’s words, then he begins to half walk, half drag the elari toward the wall. That brings him closer to Aren and me. The elari looks at me, spits on the ground, then continues his diatribe.
I’m pretty much tuning out everything he says, but as Trev wrestles him over the low wall, one of his accusations slowly translates itself in my mind. He’s accusing Lena of building an army of Sighted humans. It’s an outrageous accusation, especially considering that Lena is losing Sighted humans, not gaining them. I would entirely dismiss his words except for one thing: he used the word kannes. That can be translated into serum. Sight serum.
“Wait!” I say when Trev opens a fissure on the other side of the wall. “How does he know about the Sight serum?”
Trev frowns over his shoulder at me.
“He was talking about the Sight serum,” I say. “No one should know about it.”
Technically, that’s not true. Lena and a handful of people she trusts know about it. So do Caelar and a few of the remnants, but as far as I know, Caelar isn’t fissuring around the Realm talking about it, and neither side is using it. It’s fatal, and no one wants more humans than necessary to be aware of the fae’s existence.
The elari is still spitting out curses. Aren vaults over the wall; then, without a pause, he slams his fist into the fae’s jaw. That shuts him up long enough for Aren to ask what he knows about the serum.
The elari answers with the crap about Lena building an army again. He claims she’s selling it to any human who can pay, which is just plain stupid because what is Lena going to do with money that’s good only on Earth? It’s worth nothing here. Besides, she could just have one of her fae fissure into a store or bank and steal it. That’s what Atroth had his people do when he needed to pay the humans who worked for him. The elari has to be making crap up.
Still, when Aren nods, signaling to Trev that it’s okay to go, an uneasy feeling lingers with me. It’s too big a coincidence to ignore. If the elari said Lena was recruiting humans who already had the Sight or that Lena had found a fae with the magic to give the Sight to humans, that would be different. But he specifically said a serum gave humans the Sight. Somehow, he knows about the vigilantes’ serum.
There’s no way Lena would have let that information leak. The only way the elari could know about it is if Caelar told him, and why would Caelar tell him about the serum if they weren’t working together?
The Sharpest Blade Page 9
