The Sharpest Blade

by Sandy Williams

  “When is he supposed to be back?” she asks, closing her notebook and setting it aside.

  “Anytime now,” I say with a shrug. I’m trying to appear less worried than I am, but I can’t get a good sense of what Kyol’s doing right now. His mental wall is in place, and he’s a world away. He’s not giving me the slightest hint as to whether he’s found any of the high nobles or Lena’s swordsmen alive.

  Or someone more important than them.

  My throat tightens, and that weak, shaky feeling that comes with crying begins to spread over me. I don’t cry, though. Honestly, I don’t think I have any tears left.

  I need a distraction, so when Nick finishes in the kitchen and joins us in the living room, I ask him if there’s any chance he’ll use his Sight and shadow-reading skills to help Lena.

  I expect an immediate no. Instead, he says, “She told me she wants to protect tor’um.”

  “Yeah. She wants . . . I guess you’d say she’s fighting for the fae to all be equal, tor’um included. That’s why it’s been hard to get support from the high nobles. They don’t want to lose their power and their privileges.”

  “Why does she care what they want?” Kynlee asks. “Wouldn’t the majority like those changes?”

  “It’s not a democracy,” I say. “It’s . . . a different kind of society, based on bloodlines and magic.”

  “It’s based on the whims of the ruler,” Nick says.

  “That’s one of the things Lena wants to change.”

  He meets my gaze. “It’ll be interesting to see if she actually makes any changes.”

  She will. I have every confidence of that now.

  A flash of light draws my attention back to the window. An instant later, Kyol’s presence slams into me. I grip the arm of my chair, waiting for my equilibrium to level out. It does quickly—I’m getting used to being near him—but then I see a second slash of light wink out. He isn’t alone.

  The way I launch myself to my feet must startle Nick and Kynlee. They jump up, too, Nick reaching for the drawer in a side table.

  “Wait,” I say, waving him off. “I think it’s okay.”

  “You think?” Nick asks, his voice rough. His hand is on the knob of the drawer.

  “Lord Hison is with him,” I say. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but Kyol’s emotions are steady. He isn’t angry or alarmed.

  The back door opens, and the two fae step inside.

  Nick finally lets go of the drawer. Hison doesn’t look like a threat. He looks incredibly uncertain and out of place. It’s not just because of his embroidered black shirt, fae pants, and high boots. His shoulders are hunched, and his head is slightly bowed as if he’s afraid some piece of tech—the fan, maybe—is going to drop from the ceiling. He’s one of the most antihuman high nobles I’ve met, and I’m sure he’s never been to Earth before.

  He stops after just a couple steps inside the house. His face is twitching, probably because he catches an occasional glimpse of the edarratae flashing across his nose or cheekbones.

  “What’s he doing here?” Nick demands. I’m not sure if he’s angry because he knows Hison or if he’s simply mad because Kyol brought a high noble here without permission. He was supposed to tell Lena’s remaining supporters to meet us in Adaris in a week. That’s when we think Lena will be healthy enough to fissure between worlds.

  “He’s here to speak to Lena,” Kyol says.

  Nick’s jaw clenches. “You planning on bringing every high noble here?”

  “Most of the high nobles are dead.” Lena’s voice carries across the room.

  I look over my shoulder, see her standing just outside the hallway with one hand braced against the wall. She shouldn’t be out of bed—I have the feeling her knees could buckle any second—but she manages to make herself look tall and regal standing there, not pain-ridden and broken.

  I swear the life-bond growls. I glance at Kyol, but his expression is as neutral as always.

  “Sit.” His order isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but I catch a glimpse of relief on Lena’s face. She makes it to the sofa chair—the nearest seat in the living room—without showing any other sign of weakness.

  Kyol focuses on the high noble. “Sit.”

  Hison’s nostrils flare, and the way he eyes the couch makes me want to laugh. Furniture in the Realm is handmade while ours is made mostly with machines, but it’s completely harmless. Even the TV remote sitting on the side table is a miniscule amount of tech.

  When Hison still doesn’t budge, I roll my eyes, grab the remote, then elaborately motion for him to sit.

  His expression hardens as he takes two stiff steps toward the couch, then, not taking his eyes off mine, he gingerly sits on its edge.

  “Does he always act like he has a stick up his ass?” Kynlee asks.

  “Kynlee,” Nick snaps at the same time I answer, “Yes.”

  Hison doesn’t understand English, but his scowl deepens.

  Actually, Hison is stiffer than usual. That might have something to do with the fact that I tranqed three of his fae freeing Aren from his offices.

  “He should lighten up,” Kynlee says.

  Hison’s lip twitches when he looks at Kynlee. This is probably the closest he’s been to a tor’um in decades, and he’s not doing a thing to hide his distaste.

  With all the aplomb of an American teenager, Kynlee folds her arms across her chest, cocks her hip, and meets his glare.

  “Kynlee. Room. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” Nick says.

  She lets out a sigh as she turns and leaves the room.

  I sit on the arm of the second sofa chair.

  Lena levels her gaze on Hison. “You better have a good reason for bringing him here, Taltrayn.”

  “I can set up a meeting between you and Caelar,” Hison says.

  Lena studies the high noble, and I know what she’s thinking. We’re all but certain Caelar is working with Cardak. Is Hison working with him now, too? He looked terrified when he burst into his office, and he was desperate enough to make a deal to let Aren go free if we helped him escape. But maybe he didn’t escape. The elari were searching the foothills of the Corrist Mountains for Lena and me. They could have found Lord Hison then.

  “Why would I want to meet with Caelar?” Lena asks.

  “You need him and his swordsmen to retake the palace.”

  “If I recall correctly, Lord Hison, you have never wanted me in the palace.”

  “I want the false-blood there even less!” he says between his teeth.

  “False-blood?” Lena questions coolly. “He told me he’s Tar Sidhe, not one of their Descendants. I believe that makes him a completely different species of fae.”

  “That’s a ridiculous claim.”

  “Lord Ralsech believes it,” Lena says, referring to the high noble of Derrdyn, the province that declared support for the false-blood. “The elari do as well.”

  “Ralsech is a fool,” Hison says. “If you believe the false-blood is Tar Sidhe, you are as well, and I’m wasting my time.” He stands, takes one step toward the back door.

  “Sit!” Lena snaps.

  He takes another step, but then Kyol is there, cutting off his retreat.

  “Sit,” Lena orders again.

  Hison straightens. He looks like he’s about to tell Kyol to get out of his way.

  “You managed to escape the false-blood when many others did not,” Lena says. “And given our history, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical about your newfound cooperation.”

  It’s not an apology, but it’s enough of a peace offering for Hison to stiffly return to his seat.

  “The false-blood,” Lena says when he’s settled. “Do you have evidence he is not who he claims to be?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”

  Lena’s eyes narrow slightly. “We believe his name is Cardak. He’s the brother of Thrain.”

  “Thrain,�
� Hison says. “He’s dead. So are all of his supporters.”

  “What are they saying?” Nick asks quietly. I didn’t notice him approach.

  “She’s telling him we think the false-blood is related to Thrain.”

  Nick stiffens.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  He nods. “He was giving King Atroth problems about the time that I left with Kynlee.”

  “He’s the fae who found me when I was sixteen.” I don’t say more than that—Nick’s expression indicates I don’t need to. I turn back toward Lena and Hison and concentrate on their conversation again.

  “The word of a human won’t change anyone’s mind,” Hison is saying, his silver eyes darting to me briefly before returning to Lena. “We must return to Corrist and kill him. That’s the only way we’ll convince his followers they’ve been lied to.”

  “And I’m sure you would love to be there, fighting at our sides,” Lena says.

  I snort out a laugh.

  Hison doesn’t bother to look at me.

  “You need Caelar’s help,” he says.

  “Caelar refuses to speak to me.”

  He gives her a small smile. “With the kingkiller dead, I believe I can convince him to meet with you.”

  My muscles tense, ready to launch myself at him and wrap my hands around his throat, but Kyol drops his mental shield. Our link opens, and he sends steady, calming emotions my way. I glare at him, trying to shove those emotions back in his face. But I get the message: don’t strangle a potential ally, even if that ally is a bastard.

  “You’ve been speaking to Caelar for a while, haven’t you?” Lena asks. Her voice sounds tighter now.

  Hison gives her a single-shouldered shrug.

  “I’ll meet with Caelar,” Lena says. “But it must be in this world, somewhere public.”

  She looks at me. The meeting is going to have to be close by. She’s in no condition to fissure.

  “Is there somewhere nearby they can meet?” I ask Nick.

  “There’s a coffee shop over there.” He nods toward the back of his house. Beyond his fenced-in backyard is the shopping center I saw the first time I drove here. “It’s not usually crowded, but there’s enough traffic passing through to make everyone stay in line.”

  Lena looks at Kyol. “Do you have an anchor-stone you can imprint?”

  He nods. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  When he leaves, Lena says, “I assume I’ll have your support once the false-blood is killed?”

  “You are the strongest-blooded Descendant,” Hison says. “And the kingkiller is dead. I won’t oppose you anymore.”

  “You don’t need him,” I say. “Cardak’s killed most of the high nobles. You’ll have to appoint new ones.”

  “And they’ll vote for me,” Lena agrees. “But I can’t afford to make enemies right now.”

  “What is she saying?” Hison asks, staring at me.

  Lena smiles. “She’s very happy for your support.” She braces a hand on the arm of her chair, then stands. She nods toward the fissure opening in the backyard. “You’ll give that anchor-stone to Caelar. He’ll fissure directly to the coffee shop. You won’t bring him here.”

  Kyol opens the back door.

  Hison nods. “We’ll meet you at noon.”

  He accepts the anchor-stone Kyol’s just imprinted with the cafe’s location, then, as quickly as possible but while still maintaining some semblance of dignity, he flees Nick’s house.

  Lena remains standing until the high noble’s fissure cuts through the air outside. As soon as he disappears into the slash of light, her knees buckle.

  Kyol’s arm snares her waist, keeping her on her feet. It kills Lena, having to accept help from anyone, but even if she could get to her room on her own, at this point, Kyol won’t let her.

  “You must rest,” he tells her, his voice low and rough.

  She nods, clutching his shoulder.

  Without another word, Kyol scoops her into his arms and carries her back to the guest room.

  • • •

  I spend the rest of the day, the night, and the next morning alone. I don’t sleep. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see Aren’s face, and every time I see Aren’s face, I grow angrier. I know it’s irrational, that he didn’t intend to let the false-blood kill him, but he intended to let the high nobles do it. He told me his reasons for that, and on some level I understand them, but I don’t understand why he wouldn’t escape with me. If he’d just left when I asked him to, if he hadn’t argued and tried to talk me into leaving him behind, we would have been gone minutes before Hison pounded on that door.

  And Lena would probably be dead.

  I run a hand over my face, wishing I’d had two antidotes on me. I could have awakened them both. But, again, that’s Aren’s fault. He threw my damn backpack out the window. If I’d had that on me, I could have tranqed the false-blood without anyone needing to get close to him.

  If, if, if.

  I replay all the scenarios in my head, see so many different outcomes, so many ways I could have saved Aren and Sosch. By the time I stumble down the stairs a little before noon, I’m a wreck. I’m exhausted both from not sleeping and from grief, and I feel like I might throw up any second.

  Lena’s standing in the living room. Her back is to me, and she’s staring out the window at Nick’s backyard. Maybe she’s replaying the false-blood’s attack in her mind, too.

  “McKenzie.”

  Kyol’s deep voice makes me tense. He’s standing behind me, but I don’t turn. I owe him an apology for the chaos of my emotions, but telling him “I’m sorry” when they’re still so out of control is pointless.

  He places a hand on my shoulder. “You should eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to eat,” he says gently.

  I shake my head, take a step away from him, but he catches my arm and pulls me toward the kitchen. Reluctantly, I let him.

  “This?” he asks me, holding up a container of bagels. My shrug is enough of an affirmative for him to take one out, set it on a plate, then grab a jar of jelly out of the semicool fridge. The electricity is back on, but it was off long enough to spoil everything left in the fridge. Nick or Kynlee must have made a run to the store, though, because there’s a new, cold container of cream cheese sitting on a shelf. I exchange it for the jelly.

  Kyol watches me eat without a word. I’m pretty sure he thinks if he weren’t sitting here with me, I wouldn’t take a bite. He’s right, and in the end, I only manage to get down a little less than half the bagel.

  At five minutes to noon, he’s sitting beside me in the coffee shop. He and Lena are both invisible, so I pull out the chairs far enough for the fae to sit.

  The coffee shop is longer than it is wide, and one of its walls is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto a crowded parking lot. At exactly twelve o’clock, two fissures open on the sidewalk: Hison and Caelar. Paige isn’t with them. I was hoping she would be. It would make sense. Caelar should want a set of human eyes to make sure Lena doesn’t have anyone hiding behind an illusion.

  We rise as the fae enter the shop. Hison looks even less comfortable than he did in Nick’s house, and Caelar’s expression is hard and angry, pretty much exactly the same as the last time I saw him, when he held me captive in the Corrist Mountains.

  “Caelar,” Kyol says in greeting.

  Caelar’s glare shifts from Lena to her lord general.

  “Taltrayn,” he says, and there’s a note of begrudging respect in his voice. I forget how well they know each other. Caelar was one of King Atroth’s top swordsmen, and the Court fae looked up to him almost as much as they looked up to Kyol. If Caelar hadn’t been the one to rally the remnants together, Lena wouldn’t have had nearly as much opposition to her reign.

  Kyol sits when I do. Hison is next, followed by Caelar. Lena is the last to take her seat. All are careful not to let the few humans in here see the ch
airs move.

  Lena steeples her fingers together on top of the table. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

  Her words receive a single nod from Caelar. A bolt of blue lightning flashes across his stony face. He doesn’t look like he wants to be here, and I get the impression that, if Lena says something wrong, he’ll open a fissure and leave.

  But leaving is better than an ambush or a fight. I let my gaze scan the coffee shop and parking lot again, but there are no other signs of fae. If Caelar was working with the false-blood, and this was a setup, the elari would be here by now.

  Lena flattens her hands on the table. “We can agree that the false-blood must not remain in the palace?”

  Another silent nod from Caelar.

  “What can I say to make you support my petition to rule the Realm?” Lena asks.

  The table remains quiet. Caelar’s expression hasn’t changed, and Hison is sitting beside him, more concerned about the espresso machine hissing across the shop. He tugs at his shirt collar.

  Finally, Caelar says, “Nothing.”

  Lena’s lips thin. She stares at Caelar for a long, drawn-out moment, then her gaze slides to Hison. “Then it looks like we’re finished here.”

  Hison must be paying attention to the conversation as well as the tech. He stiffens, looks at Lena, then turns to Caelar. “We don’t have a Descendant to place on the throne.”

  “Someone will step forward.”

  “Who?” Hison demands, keeping his voice low, as if he’s afraid the cashier or one of the customers will overhear him. They can’t unless they have the Sight.

  “Someone,” Caelar says, not taking his gaze away from Lena. “The son of Hrenen. The son of Joest.”

  “They can barely call themselves Descendants,” Hison says. “Both their bloodlines are diluted.”

  “What, exactly, do you have against me, Caelar?” Lena asks.

  “You think nothing of the Realm’s traditions and magic.”

  “I care more for the Realm than Atroth did. The Realm would be nothing without the fae. Atroth might have claimed his policies were protecting our society and our magic, but they were only protecting himself and the nobles. He cared nothing about the rest of the Realm—the majority of the Realm. He made the strong stronger and the weak weaker. He turned his back on the tor’um, hid them away like they were plague-ridden. You had to beg him to release Brene to your care—”