The Sharpest Blade

by Sandy Williams

  “Lena is a beautiful, vindictive chessra.”

  I don’t know what that word means. Something not flattering, I’m sure. And I don’t see how she’s vindictive. She and Lorn worked together against the Court. They’re basically partners. On the other hand, Lorn isn’t the most altruistic person in the world. I’m sure he’s done something to piss her off.

  I shut off the faucet, grab a towel, and carefully pat dry my hands. “The fae you had me track in Nashville—Aylen. She fissured to Eksan. That’s where I tracked a remnant to a day later. It was too big a coincidence to ignore.”

  He scowls. “Lena arrested me based on that?”

  “Not just that,” I say. “You gave her the tip about Paige being in London, didn’t you?”

  “Of course, I did. That was our deal. I found her for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “How did you know she was there?” I ask.

  His expression doesn’t change, but something about him gives me the impression that he’s feeling a little less jovial than a moment before.

  “My sources told me,” he says.

  “Your ‘sources’?” When he doesn’t respond, I say, “The Sighted humans who worked for Atroth were there. They were dead. And the remnants received an anonymous tip saying that I’d be there. It was a setup.”

  He presses his lips together, then says, “That is a little incriminating, isn’t it?”

  I raise my hand in a there-you-have-it motion.

  “So, do you want to tell me who Aylen is? Why you needed me to read her shadows?”

  “In a moment,” he says, turning to look out the window as three fissures rip through the backyard.

  EIGHTEEN

  WE TAKE OVER the living room, Lena sitting on the edge of a sofa chair while Lorn lounges back in another one with a glass of cabus in his hand. Without so much as a hello to me, Aren drags in a chair from the kitchen. That gets on my nerves. He could at least acknowledge my existence, but he straddles the chair and drapes his arms over the back, all carefree and relaxed.

  “Are the breakers in the garage?” Naito asks me, as I take a seat on the couch. He fissured in with Kyol, Lena, and Aren.

  “I think so,” I tell him, and he leaves to go find them. Lorn’s edarratae are still slow and erratic, and Lena’s and Aren’s look slightly agitated, too. Kyol’s are steady, though, flashing only occasionally across his face and forearms. He sits at the opposite end of the couch, his mental wall holding back his emotions.

  I make an effort to establish my wall, but it doesn’t work very well. I keep looking at Aren. He never looks at me.

  The electricity clicks off. I stare down at my hands, which rest gingerly on my knees. Hison has to be blackmailing Aren. I have to find out what he’s holding over his head. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, though. It’s not like Hison will just hand over the information.

  My gaze locks on Lorn, a connoisseur of information. If he doesn’t already know what Hison has on Aren, he could find out, I’m sure of it. I just have to find the right price to buy it from him.

  “Well,” Lorn says lightly, when Naito rejoins us. “This is a familiar gathering. Are we making plans to lay siege to a high noble’s manor?”

  “The false-blood,” Lena says, obviously not entertained by Lorn’s cavalier tone. “You met him. Tell us what you know about him.”

  “I know that I want him dead.”

  “My patience is thin, Lorn. Give me details.”

  “Patience?” He smiles. “My dear, you’ve never had anything of the sort.”

  I think he’s trying to get under her skin. Why, I don’t know. She saved his life. He owes her. There’s no need to antagonize her, especially now. Healing him wore her out. The circles under her eyes are darker than they were a day ago. She deserves a break.

  “You were going to tell me about Aylen,” I say, before Lena snaps.

  Lorn looks at me. He raises his glass of cabus in a small salute, as if he knows exactly why I’ve spoken up. “Yes, Aylen. I had you read her shadows because I believed she was selling information to my competitors.”

  “Was she?” I ask.

  “She was,” he says, drawing out the last word in a way that makes it clear she’s no longer capable of doing so. Sent to the ether, I imagine. Lorn didn’t become lord of the Realm’s underworld by letting people cross him.

  “You could have just told me that,” I say. “Or told Lena when she questioned you.”

  “I never had the chance to question him,” Lena says. “The high nobles forced me to release him within a day of his arrest.”

  “The false-blood,” Kyol says. The hilt of his sword—his real sword, not the practice one—is clasped between his hands. “You gave McKenzie’s location to him. You spoke with him.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a conversation,” Lorn says. “But, yes, I’ve met him and his elari. Aylen wasn’t selling information only to my competitors. She sold it to the Taelith as well.”

  “The Taelith,” Lena says, her lips twisting as if the title puts a bad taste in her mouth. “Who is he?”

  Lorn sets his glass of cabus down on the side table and leans forward. “He is our nemesis, my dear.”

  Lena stiffens. I’m not sure why. If Lorn sees the false-blood as his nemesis as well as ours, it’s a good thing. It means there’s a better chance he’ll help us.

  “I need a name,” Lena says.

  “I didn’t learn a name.”

  “Then tell me how you met him. Tell me something, Lorn.”

  “Even my patience is growing thin.” That’s from Aren, who’s been silent until this moment. He’s still sitting backward in his chair, arms draped across it in a way that makes him look sexy and rebellious. He still won’t look at me.

  Lorn leans back in his sofa chair and drags a finger around the rim of his glass. “I’m afraid I may have been inadvertently providing the false-blood with information. And supplying him with silver. And weapons. And—”

  “Sidhe, Lorn!” Lena explodes to her feet. “Have you abandoned all reason and become an elari?”

  Lorn sets down his glass as he stands, too, albeit much more slowly than she does. Kyol rises as a precaution. And a threat. Lorn’s gaze slides to him. He looks more annoyed than worried, though.

  “I’ve always worked with false-bloods,” Lorn says. “It’s easy money, and they’ve always been ripped apart by the Court. They never had a chance of success, so why should I not profit from them? If I hadn’t provided aid to Sethan, your rebellion would have died within months of its inception.”

  “My brother was not a false-blood,” Lena snarls. “I’m not one either. You’ve always known that. You shouldn’t be supplying anything to my enemies.”

  “I should change my lifestyle and business practices to suit you?”

  “Yes!” she hisses.

  “I—” Lorn cuts himself off, shutting his mouth with a sharp click of his teeth. Seconds tick by. Neither of them backs down or looks away.

  “Sit down,” Aren finally orders. He’s still relaxed, but his expression is much more somber than it was a minute ago.

  Lorn gives in first, plopping into his chair and reaching for his cabus. Lena and Kyol sit next. Lena still looks tired and pissed.

  Lorn takes a sip of his cabus and clears his throat. “As I said, the information I supplied was inadvertent. The majority of the Taelith’s elari come from Lyechaban. He’s taken advantage of their hatred of everything human and has made promises to cleanse the Realm.”

  “Cleanse?” I ask. That word has been tossed around a lot all of a sudden.

  “Cleanse it of everything that might weaken the Realm’s magic. That includes tor’um, human tech and culture, and, especially, humans. He’s particularly interested in capturing the nalkin-shom.” He looks at me. “You have a reputation. He wants you as an example. He’s promised his elari that he’ll skin and hang the shadow-witch.”

  My gaze slides to Aren. For the first time, he
looks at me.

  “Maybe I’ve exaggerated your reputation a little too much,” he says.

  “You think?”

  Aren gives me a sheepish grin that makes me roll my eyes. It also makes my stomach do a flip.

  He turns back to Lorn. “How many followers does the false-blood have?”

  “More than he should,” Lorn says, “And they’re quite passionate in their support for him.”

  “Why?” Lena demands.

  “I imagine it has something to do with his magic. He’s a cacer. He has the ability to put people to sleep with a touch.”

  My eyebrows go up. That’s an extinct magic. It hasn’t been around since the Duin Bregga.

  “And he isn’t claiming to be a Descendant,” Lorn continues. “He’s claiming to be Tar Sidhe.”

  Tar Sidhe? That’s ridiculous. The fae’s Ancestors lived centuries ago. The Realm’s been ruled by half-blooded Descendants ever since then.

  I sit back, waiting for someone to laugh. When no one does, I look around the room. No one is moving. No one is making a sound.

  Dread slides over me. It feels like someone’s punched me in the chest. Or rather, they’ve punched Kyol in the chest. It’s hard to breathe, and I wish Naito hadn’t turned off the breakers. I need the air conditioner—or at the very least a fan—to circulate the air.

  “That can’t be true,” Lena finally says, either fear or exhaustion making her voice break. “The Tar Sidhe entered the ether thousands of years ago.”

  “Or they created the ether thousands of years ago,” Lorn says with a shrug. “It all depends on which legends you believe.”

  “But either way, they’re all dead,” I find myself saying. The Duin Bregga, the war that erased most of the fae’s history, was fought about five thousand years ago. That’s when the Tar Sidhe disappeared, and that’s when many of the fae’s magics became extinct or endangered. Other than that, my knowledge of the Realm’s ancient history is sketchy at best.

  “Yes, they’re dead,” Lena snaps. “Fae don’t live five hundred years, let alone five thousand.”

  “Of course they don’t, my dear,” Lorn says. “But if the Tar Sidhe created the ether, they have control of the ether. One might also think they have control over who enters and exits it.”

  I’m suddenly aware of Naito sitting next to me. A month ago, the palace archivist convinced him he knew someone who could bring Kelia back from the ether. Naito wanted her back so badly, he believed the fae and agreed to help him escape the palace with Caelar’s brother, Tylan. It’s cruel for Lorn to bring up the possibility of fae returning from the ether again. He knows how much Naito loved Kelia.

  “If that was possible,” Lena says, her voice flat, “all the Tar Sidhe would be here.”

  “Would they? Or would they turn their backs on a world that’s become polluted with violence and human technology?”

  “He’s not Tar Sidhe, Lorn,” Lena says.

  He holds up his hands in a gesture of mock self-defense. “I agree. I’m only playing demon’s advocate.”

  “Devil’s,” I murmur.

  “I’m only telling you what the Taelith is telling his followers,” Lorn continues. “The elari believe he is Tar Sidhe. He’s not telling anyone his ancestry because, supposedly, he doesn’t have one.”

  “He has to be related to someone,” Lena says. “He didn’t raise himself.”

  “What if he grew up imithi?” I ask.

  Lena looks at Aren.

  “I would know about him,” he tells her. “We may not have family, but we band together for survival.”

  “Maybe he was a loner,” I say.

  Aren shakes his head. “If he didn’t have someone he trusted watching his back, he would have been killed. He has ties to someone. The problem is finding out who those ties are to when he may have murdered anyone who had knowledge of his past.”

  “So, basically, you’re saying it’s going to be impossible to prove he’s not Tar Sidhe.”

  “It’s going to be difficult,” Aren says. “Not impossible.”

  It might as well be. It’s not like the Taelith—or any fae for that matter—is going to submit to a DNA test.

  “We need to find him so we can question him,” Lena says. “So far, Nimael is the only fae we know who might be in direct contact with the Taelith.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” Lorn asks.

  She gives him a cold glare. “And you, but for some reason I doubt you’d be willing to reconnect with him.”

  “He’s always found me. I’ve never found him,” Lorn says. He sounds a little bitter about that fact. I’m sure it doesn’t make him happy that his network of spies can’t gather the information he needs. “I was referring to someone else who’s spoken directly to the false-blood.”

  Lena’s brow wrinkles slightly. She doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but I do.

  I let out a sigh, then say, “Paige left me a message. She wanted to talk about Caelar and the false-blood.”

  Lena closes her eyes in a long blink. When she reopens them, she stares at Kyol. “We have to assume the rumors are true. They’re allies.”

  The life-bond passes along his disbelief—no, his refusal to believe—that Caelar would join forces with the false-blood.

  “I didn’t say they are working together,” Lorn chimes in. “I merely suggested that they’ve been in contact. You should talk to him.”

  “I’ve made numerous offers to speak with Caelar,” Lena says. “He hasn’t responded. We’ve tried tracking him down with no luck.”

  Lorn empties his glass of cabus, then sets it aside. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to meet with you because you’re still sending swordsmen out to kill him and the few supporters he has left.”

  “If I don’t send fae after him, he’ll come after me again.”

  “Will he?” Lorn asks. “Perhaps he’s just trying to survive now? Or, perhaps all he wants is Aren’s head?”

  Lena’s gaze moves to Aren. Mine doesn’t. A decade ago, just after King Atroth took power, Aren exposed the fae Caelar was in love with to tech. Brene was in a position to become Atroth’s sword-master, but she succumbed to the tech, losing her mind when her magic broke. Caelar won’t forgive Aren for that. He’s a conservative fae, but if not for Aren’s involvement in the rebellion, I think he would at least be more open to a discussion with Lena. He’s angry King Atroth was killed, but he wants a lawful Descendant to be placed on the throne.

  “Making Aren your sword-master might not have been your wisest decision,” Lorn says. “Your fragile position as would-be queen would be going better if he were out of the equation.” He looks at Aren. “No offense intended, of course.”

  “None taken,” Aren says, deadpan. His gaze is on me. I can’t decipher his expression. It almost feels as if he’s trying to figure me out. But I already know about his past, and I’ve forgiven him.

  “I need you to call Paige, McKenzie,” Lena says.

  “She’s already tried to get him to talk to you,” I tell her.

  “Make her try again,” she says. “I need to meet face-to-face with Caelar. Paige is the only human who’s allied with him. He needs her Sight to see illusioned fae, and that gives her some influence. She needs to convince him to meet with me. It can be in public. It can be here in this world.”

  “Lena—”

  “Make it happen, McKenzie.”

  Her tone of command makes me swallow down my protest. If Caelar’s working with the false-blood, any meeting with him could be a trap, but Lena isn’t going to take no for an answer. A day ago, she asked if I was committed to her cause. I told her yes, and I meant it, so I just give her a curt nod as I stand.

  And stifle a litany of curses. Holy hell, I hurt. In the short time I sat on the couch, my muscles locked up. They’re bruised and sore from sparring with Kyol. For no reason other than pride, I do my best not to let it show as I walk across the living room. I didn’t grab my cell phone when I fled my apartment with Lor
n, so I have to use Nick’s landline.

  I check my voice mail first. There’s one new message. From Lee. Just a “call me” and a click. Since the conversation with Paige is likely to be longer than the one with Lee, I dial him first. He answers on the first ring.

  “It’s McKenzie,” I say.

  “He committed suicide.”

  “What?” My last conversation with Lee feels like it was ages ago. He left Glazunov with me because he wanted to talk to—I assume he really meant kidnap—the vigilante who was primarily responsible for developing the serum.

  “He gave the serum to his son six months ago.”

  Oh. Six months ago. That’s long before the serum was supposedly fixed. I don’t have to guess what happened to the son. He died, and apparently, his father couldn’t forgive himself for not being able to save him.

  “I talked to Glazunov,” I say, then I give Lee a quick rundown of what the vigilante said, telling him the serum might not be fatal anymore and ending with the information that the vigilantes are now selling it.

  “Christ, they’re selling it? It damn well better be fixed. How long ago did Glaz say they changed the formula?”

  “Three months,” I tell him. “You injected Paige two months ago, right? When did you inject it?”

  A pause. There’s road noise in the background, maybe the clicking of a blinker.

  “Three months ago,” he says finally. “If I can get a vial of the old serum and one of the new, I can do some tests to see what changes it makes to our blood.”

  “I might be able to help you with that. I sent an e-mail to the Web site. I’ll let you know if I get a response.”

  “I’ll be at your apartment in an hour,” Lee says.

  “Okay— No, wait. Not my apartment. It’s not safe there.”

  “Where then?”

  “Um.” It can’t be here. Not only is Nick likely to kick us out the second he gets home, but I don’t want Lee to know about Kynlee. Once we’re out of here, she and her father should get back to their normal lives.

  There’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn, see Naito holding out his hand for the phone. I give it to him.