The Sharpest Blade

by Sandy Williams

  Bracing myself, I cross the threshold. Then pause. The atmosphere inside the archives feels the same as the corridor. There’s no change in humidity or air pressure like there was the one time I entered before. But then, of course there’s not. Kavok was the one who magically regulated all of that. Since he’s gone, the archives aren’t being maintained the way they should. If she doesn’t want to lose all the history documented here, Lena needs to find a replacement for him, someone who can control the environment and keep the papers from deteriorating.

  Lena stops at a large glass display set against the wall at the back of the room. She tries lifting the top, but it doesn’t budge. That doesn’t stop her, though. Without hesitating, she lifts her hand then makes a slamming motion. I feel the atmosphere shift as she harnesses the air, then the glass shatters without Lena’s hand coming close to touching it.

  Heedless of the sharp glass, she grabs a heavy tome, then places it in my arms.

  Reflexively, I keep hold of it though I nearly fall forward at the unexpected weight of the book. It’s oversized and leather-bound, but I can’t read any of the Fae written on its cover.

  “What is this?” I ask. Similar books are hidden beneath the black bottom of the display case. Lena takes two of them out, then adds them to my arms. After she does, she tosses a pen to the floor. It’s black and carved with symbols.

  I realize what these books must be, so I amend my question. “What are you going to do with them?”

  She meets my gaze. “I’m losing it.”

  “Your mind?” I ask, surprised she’s admitting to it.

  Her eyes narrow. “The Realm, McKenzie. I’m losing the Realm. But I refuse to hand it over to the high nobles without a fight. These books will be my first true swing.”

  She drops two more heavy tomes into my arms, then carries the last one herself, leaving the archives as quickly as she entered them. Curiosity drives me to follow her. The books we’re holding are the ledgers Hison mentioned, the ones Atroth required every fae to sign. Their magics—at least, the magics the fae decided to admit to—are listed inside of them.

  The top ledger on my stack nearly slides off when I trot down the steps leading into the sculpture garden. It’s almost noon here, so the open-aired courtyard is crowded with Court advisors and the high nobles’ assistants. I recognize Lord Raen, Kelia’s father and the high noble of Tayshken Province. I’ve barely spoken to him since Kelia was killed. He hasn’t taken her death well. They were estranged, and he didn’t have time to make amends.

  “Lena?” Trev’s voice cuts through the air. He turns away from the fae he was talking to, his gaze tracking Lena as she crosses the white-tiled floor.

  “Not now,” she says without so much as a hitch in her stride.

  Trev’s gaze shifts to me.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, “but you might want to”—I run a few steps to keep up with Lena—“to come with us.”

  He mutters something to the fae standing beside him, then jogs to catch up with me.

  “What are those?” he asks, when the top book almost slides off my stack again. Instead of shifting it back into place, I shove the heavy tome into Trev’s chest. His breath whooshes out of his lungs in an oomph.

  “These are the magic ledgers,” I say. “I don’t know what she’s doing with them.”

  By the look on Trev’s face, he doesn’t know either.

  “Lena,” he calls after her. She leaves the sculpture garden, heading into the southern wing of the palace. When she takes a straight path to the huge, double doors that mark the main entrance, knots form in my gut. Now I know what she’s going to do, and it’s either a brilliant idea or a foolish one.

  “Open the doors,” Lena orders as the guards double tap the pommels of their sheathed swords in a salute. There’s a smaller, more practical door to the right she could leave through, but if my hunch is right, Lena intends to make a scene.

  “A crowd is gathered on the plaza—”

  “Good,” she interrupts the guard. He glances uncertainly at the other fae standing sentry.

  “Lena,” Trev tries again, this time jogging to get in front of her. “You can’t leave the palace like this. It’s dangerous.”

  “No one’s expecting me,” she says, sidestepping him.

  Trev places a hand on her shoulder. “You need more guards.”

  She freezes, and an icy silver gaze locks on the hand that’s touching her. Trev goes still as well, looking at his hand as if he’s not sure how it got there.

  He snatches the hand away, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Fear? No, that doesn’t make sense. Lena isn’t the type of person who’s going to say “off with his head” for a mere touch. Maybe it was a flash of disbelief? Not just for going against her wishes and touching her in public, though. If that was it, he would have apologized immediately. He doesn’t apologize at all.

  Lena steps around him. When she passes, he runs his hand over his face. It’s definitely the gesture of someone who can’t believe what he’s just done, but there’s more to it than that. If I had to guess, I’d say he can’t believe what he almost just revealed.

  Trev cares about Lena.

  Aren cares about her, too, I tell myself. That doesn’t mean he’s into her. They’re friends. Trev’s probably her friend, too.

  Probably.

  Trev looks at me. My expression must betray my suspicion because his face darkens. “Say a word, and I’ll kill you.”

  Holy hell, I’m right. He is into her. No wonder he puts up with her giving him crappy assignments like chauffeuring me to and from the Realm and babysitting Kynlee. He does anything she asks.

  “I mean it, McKenzie,” he says.

  I try really hard not to grin. That becomes a whole lot easier when I see the huge, double doors start to swing open. Lena’s serious about going out there.

  Still holding my two huge ledgers, I bump into Trev, urging him to turn. He curses when he sees her step to the threshold.

  “Find Jorreb and Taltrayn,” he barks at the nearest guard. “Bring them here. Now!”

  “Taltrayn’s already on his way,” I say before I think better of it.

  Trev scowls at me. “What?”

  “I sent for him before I saw you,” I improvise. Kyol’s on his way, but he’s not hurrying, probably because my emotions are confusing the hell out of him. Between questioning the vigilante, the make-out session with Aren, and the rush of fear Lord Kaeth injected into me, he has no idea what’s going on with me. I totally have to apologize to him later.

  Lena waits until the doors are completely open and she’s lit by a stream of golden sunlight before she steps outside. The plaza is crowded, and not just by fae going about their normal business. I can’t even see the kiosks that are typically set up around the perimeter. People clothed in blues and grays are gathered in groups throughout the open area, and there’s a buzz in the air, an energy that’s just barely on this side of chaos. One wrong move, and I have the feeling this crowd won’t be civil for long.

  Being here is a really bad idea.

  Trev issues more orders, calling for swordsmen to follow us.

  “Stay with Lena,” he says to me. “Watch for illusions and . . .” His gaze dips to my waist. He mutters something under his breath, motions to a swordsman, then plops the ledger I gave him back onto my stack.

  “Trev,” I grate out, because it’s not like these books are light. Then I feel him fastening a belt around my waist. A sword slaps against my left leg.

  He looks me in the eye as he makes the buckle a notch too tight. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

  “You’re just throwing around the death threats today, aren’t you?” My scowl is mostly fake, partly because I’m ridiculously happy that I have something on Trev and partly because I have no intention of letting anything happen to Lena.

  Still carrying all three tomes, I run to take up a position to Lena’s left. Before she’s taken a dozen steps ou
t of the palace, the swordsmen Trev called on for help create a semicircle around us.

  Several hundred fae are gathered here. I finally catch a glimpse of a few of the kiosks on the perimeter, see their colorful canopies, which are designed to attract attention and keep off the sun. Their owners sell everything from fruits, grains, and meats to silver dust and anchor-stones, and they’re usually the reason fae come to this plaza. Not today, though. They’re here now to make their complaints known.

  Lena’s guards effectively keep the crowd away, but they look uneasy. Understandably so. With this many people out, it’ll be difficult to protect her from an attack. The silver wall surrounding the Inner City prevents fae from fissuring, but it doesn’t prevent them from using magic, throwing a dagger, or aiming an arrow her way.

  A cool, gentle breeze moves through the plaza, but when Lena reaches the center of the cobblestoned area, the wind picks up. It’s unnaturally strong, circling through the crowd and making cloaks and capes whip around their legs. Two giant blue flags, both sewn with Lena’s symbol, come to life as well. Their poles are set to either side of the doors we just exited, and each time they snap in the wind, it sounds like a firecracker’s exploding behind my ear.

  This is a powerful display of Lena’s magic, and it captures the attention of the fae gathered in the plaza. They frown up at the clear blue sky. These kind of gales only come when there’s a strong storm rolling in . . . or when an incredibly strong air-weaver is present.

  One by one, everyone’s gazes lock on Lena. Trev and I and the rest of her guards are standing a few paces away from her, so it’s easy for the nearest fae to spot her. The buzz of conversation abates, then dissolves completely.

  A few seconds later, the wind disappears as well. There’s not even a breeze in the plaza anymore. Everything and everyone is seemingly frozen.

  Except Lena. She tosses the book she’s carrying to the ground in front of her.

  “King Atroth’s ledgers,” she calls out, making the air carry her voice across the entire plaza.

  “I promised you changes,” she continues. “The high nobles are promising you the status quo. The last signature was written over two months ago. Who here would like to record your magics? Your children’s magics?”

  Silence greets her words. I scan the faces of the fae. Some of them are shifting awkwardly, some of them are staring at me. If this is her idea of a motivational speech, she’s not off to an awesome start.

  “I promised you changes,” Lena calls out again. She turns to me, grabs the top book off my stack. She opens it, then she places her palm on the center of one of the pages. She’s not adept enough at fire to throw it, but she has no trouble making tiny flames lick over her fingers.

  “Here’s your first change.”

  I watch the page ignite, and despite knowing how much the fae hate the ledgers, horror creeps over me. I mean, the book is a book. It’s huge and heavy, but it’s carefully bound, and the cover is etched with an ornate design in silver. Each ledger looks like . . . Well, they look like the types of books you’d keep protected in a glass case. Plus, I am—or rather, I was—an English major. Everything in me objects to the burning of books.

  “Lena,” I whisper.

  She grabs the other two ledgers out of my arms, then throws them on the pile at her feet. She must do something to encourage the flames because they crackle and leap into the air, almost waist high.

  The only sounds in the plaza are the snaps and pops of the burning pages. No one has moved. I’m not even sure they’re breathing. I watch as the pages crinkle, turning brown, then black, and all I can think is that I’m going to English-major hell for being a part of this.

  “Cadig!” A single male voice calls out the fae equivalent of huzzah. A shiver runs up my spine because I don’t know if it’s a pro-Lena yell or a . . .

  Others take up the call, one at a time, starting from whoever first said it and moving through the crowd to the left and to the right, and soon, everyone’s yelling it. They’re yelling other things I can’t translate, too. Their words become a chant—a passionate chant—and I take an uneasy step forward, moving closer to Lena’s side.

  Lena doesn’t budge; she remains standing in the sunlight, her expression grim and determined.

  I glance at the crowd again. It’s moving, but not aggressively. Are they celebrating?

  The “cadigs” and chants escalate. Swords are drawn, but they’re raised in the air, pointed at the clear blue sky. Yes, they’re celebrating. They’re elated to see the ledgers burn.

  Lena waves her hand, and the small bonfire at her feet shoots higher. The crowd cheers, and someone slips through the guards’ perimeter. Trev moves between the fae and Lena, but the man just throws what looks like an empty crate—maybe from one of the merchant’s kiosks?—into the fire before he retreats, sword stabbing victoriously into the air.

  Another fae makes it past the guards, then another. They each add to the bonfire, throwing more crates—some that aren’t quite empty—and cloaks and papers and anything they can get their hands on. Lena maintains her position as the flames grow; so do I despite the heat coming from the burning pyre, and a tingle runs through me when I realize I’m watching history. I’ve only seen scenes like these on television: the celebration in Baghdad when Saddam’s statue was toppled, the open elation in Egypt when Mubarak stepped down as president.

  A flash in my peripheral vision makes my head snap to the left. A ball of flame, bright even in the full daylight, shoots into the air. It dissipates a couple of hundred feet up, but on the other side of the plaza, a second fireball is launched. Fire-wielders are in the crowd, ones who are at least as strong as Trev.

  Lena’s guards are having trouble holding back the fae. Some of them are chanting Lena’s name now. A few call out nalkin-shom, too. That’s when I realize what we must look like from the crowd’s point of view: Lena, dressed in tight-fitting black pants and a silky blue shirt that swoops over both her shoulders to cross in the middle of her chest, and me, a human covered in blue lightning standing with her behind a gathering mountain of flames with the silver palace as a backdrop. Lena might need to work on her speech-giving skills, but she’s a pro at making a scene.

  The crowd shifts again as fae jostle each other, everyone trying to get a better view and to get closer. A few more people slip past Lena’s guards. Most of them retreat back to their places but not all of them do.

  “Lena,” Trev says, yelling to be heard over the crowd and the flames. “You must go back inside now.”

  I agree with him. She’s made her point, and this could all get out of hand in a matter of seconds.

  The fire crackles and licks at the air; and then, finally, she nods once. As I turn to follow her back to the palace, a blur of red and black moves through my vision. My brain recognizes the pattern a second later, and a warning bell goes off in my mind. I turn back to find it.

  There. A name-cord. It’s braided into the hair of a fae who is not celebrating. He’s loud, and he’s angry. He grabs the arms of the people nearest him, yelling in their ears, pushing and pulling them. Then his gaze cuts across the plaza to another mass of people. I focus on them and spot the red-and-black name-cord worn by another fae.

  Elari. More than just a few. They’re strategically placed in the crowd, and they’re inciting the fae around them.

  While I’m watching, one of them motions to another, then jabs his fist forward, toward the great doors, which are still open and waiting for our return.

  Oh, shit.

  “Trev!” I shout, trying to get his attention, trying to warn him. He doesn’t hear me, but I’m not the only one who realizes the risk of those open doors. Kyol is there. His gaze sweeps across the plaza as a dozen swordsmen emerge from the palace behind him, forming a line.

  The giant doors slowly start to close, but before they’ve moved more than a foot, someone nearby, undoubtedly an elari, shouts out a call to storm the palace.

  FOURTEEN

>   “LENA!” KYOL BELLOWS the same instant I do. I grab her arm.

  She jerks away with a glare.

  “Elari,” I snap. “They’re mixed in with the crowd.”

  The glare remains as she scans the fae around us—fae who are much too close now. The south doors won’t shut in time to keep them all out. Dozens of people have heeded the elari’s call to storm the palace. Kyol’s swordsmen are trying to hold them back. They’re outnumbered, though, and the crowd surges forward.

  Mob mentality. The fae were on the verge of getting out of control before Lena appeared. Now, with a few not-so-subtle suggestions from elari, they’ve tipped over the edge, their celebrations turning into mindless violence and destruction.

  “We have to get in another way,” I yell into Lena’s ear. Either that, or we have to get out of here. Find some place in the city to hide until the fae disperse.

  “We’ll go to the eastern entrance,” Lena says. She grabs my arm like it was her plan to go there from the beginning, then directs me through the crowd. Her sword is still in its scabbard—mine is, too—but the air vibrates with the fae’s chants and shouts and stomping feet. We’re going to have to fight our way back into the palace, I’m sure of it.

  The gaps in the crowd around us shrink, then disappear. Lena shoves her shoulder into them, creating a few inches of space at a time, but our progress is slow. Too slow. An elari sees us. A woman. She’s moving through the crowd, dagger in her hand and hate in her eyes.

  The weapons belt Trev fastened around my waist only has a sword. The people around me are pressed too close for me to draw it. I try digging my elbow into the nearest fae’s stomach, try shoving him away and turning for more space. I get the sword halfway out, but someone shoves it back into its scabbard.

  I look for Trev, then for Kyol, who feels like he’s only a few feet away, but all the faces around me belong to strangers.