And that’s why it scares me to see him like this. Kyol was King Atroth’s sword-master. He’s Lena’s lord general. He knows how to kick his enemies’ asses, and I’ve never seen him hurt this badly.
Breaking eye contact, I use the wall for support and rise to my feet. God, I feel weak, like I’m the one who’s lost half my weight in blood. My arm isn’t bleeding that much. It’s not a minor wound, but it’s nothing near as serious as the injuries Kyol has.
I inventory those injuries as I make my way to his side. Lena’s taken off his armor and cut open his shirt. Her long, slender hands are on his abdomen, and if the blood covering him is any indication, that’s the wound that almost sent him to the ether. It’s making him hold his breath now. My stomach clenches in sympathy when Lena puts pressure on the injury, but I’m thankful she’s here. Lena and Aren are the only healers I know now. It’s a rare magical ability that’s in huge demand with all the violence in the Realm, and it’s the only thing that’s going to ensure Kyol lives now.
Seconds tick by. Sweat glistens on Lena’s forehead, and her face is taught and pale. After she finishes with that wound, she takes his left fist in her hand and forces him to relax it. When he does, blood gushes from his mutilated palm. It’s not just a deep cut; at least two bones are broken. Maybe more. A wave of dizziness passes over me as I crouch beside him.
“Steady,” Kyol whispers. His eyes are closed again, but his right hand reaches for mine. I intertwine my fingers with his and move closer. A warm, solid relief runs through our connection. Being close to me makes him feel whole. It makes me feel whole, too.
My heart shudders at that realization. It’s wrong. A month ago, Aren was the one who made me feel complete. The only thing that’s changed between then and now is the bond, and I won’t let myself be manipulated by magic. I need to shut down my thoughts and feelings. I need to be clinical, objective.
But I need Kyol to feel better. I should slide my hand free from his, but I don’t. I tighten my grip and lend him whatever strength I can. It’s not enough. He grimaces in pain.
I can’t stand to see him hurt, so I turn my attention to Lena. That’s when I see the staircase behind her. Kyol is leaning against the wall at its base. When I first got here he was on the third floor. He’s on the second now.
“You should have stayed where you were,” I tell him.
“You should have as well,” he replies evenly.
I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath he drags in. I was so afraid I’d get here too late, that I’d see him take his last breath and feel his heart beat for the last time.
“I couldn’t,” I say simply.
His mouth bends into a grim smile. “I know.”
Beside us, Lena snorts, then mutters in Fae, “Life-bonds turn Tar Sidhe into tor’um.”
That has the ring of a proverb to it. My translation: life-bonds make people do stupid shit. That’s the only reason Kyol would attempt the stairs half-dead, and it’s the only reason I’d let a—
Oh, crap.
I sit back on my haunches, my eyes wide.
Lena wipes the back of her hand across her brow, then meets my gaze. Somehow, she knows exactly what’s leaped to my mind. “Do you want to tell him how foolish you were or should I?”
“She’s okay?” I ask.
“She’s fine,” Lena says.
Kyol’s brow furrows. “Who?”
“Kynlee,” Lena answers. “The tor’um who fissured McKenzie from her world to ours.”
“Tor’um?” Alarm jolts through Kyol.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I say in my defense. “I couldn’t think.”
“It should have killed you,” Lena says, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. She’s not just throwing those words around; she really thinks I shouldn’t have survived the In-Between.
“Maybe she’s barely a tor’um?” I suggest. Regular fae have different levels of avesti, of magical reserves. It’s possible tor’um could as well. After all, most of them can’t fissure at all.
Kyol pulls his hand free from Lena’s. It’s healed now—he’s healed—but he’s weak from her magic and from blood loss. I can feel his muscles tremble as he releases my hand, too, then carefully rises to his feet. All thoughts of being killed by the In-Between vanish from my mind when he sways.
“Maybe you should rest a little longer.”
He shakes his head. “I want you away from here.”
The way he says that makes me frown. He doesn’t want me here in this building, and for the first time, my mind is clear enough to process what I’ve seen. I remember the room downstairs, the lush, lobbylike feel of it, and I can visualize the room I was in. It didn’t have any windows, just walls covered in silklike cloth and a large bed. The sheets were rumpled beneath the woman, but I’m certain she wasn’t killed in her sleep. She was . . .
Shit.
“This is a tjandel,” I whisper. I first heard that word just under two months ago. King Atroth’s lord general threatened to send me to one if I didn’t give him information on the rebels. It’s a brothel where human women are imprisoned. Fae pay to have sex with them. They get off on the chaos lusters that leap to their skin when they touch, and some of them like tormenting the women, most of whom don’t have the Sight. They don’t see the thing that’s raping them.
“This is the third one we’ve discovered,” Lena says.
“The third?” I echo, disbelief leaking into my voice. “How many are there?” I thought there might be one, maybe two, because, really, how many fae can be demented enough to come to a place like this?
“I don’t know,” she says, wrapping her hand around my right wrist and inspecting my injured arm. I try to pull away. She’s just expended a ton of energy healing Kyol, and the dark circles under her eyes indicate she wasn’t well rested in the first place.
“Lena—”
She gives me a murderous look that almost makes me stifle my protest. “You look like hell. Your hands are shaking.”
“My hands are shaking because I’m trying not to wrap them around your neck,” she bites back. “Now stop being a fool and let me help you.”
Fine. If she wants to further exhaust herself by healing me, she can go for it. I let her place her palm against the slash on my arm.
“We found the other two tjandel days after the humans were slaughtered,” she says smoothly, as if she didn’t just threaten to strangle me. “We were provided with a tip to this location.”
“We thought they would be alive,” Kyol says.
“Was this a trap then?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. Lena’s magic burns as it heals. “Who gave you the tip?”
A few seconds pass before Lena answers, “Aren.”
Aren. The pain in my arm suddenly subsides. Now, the hurt is lodged in the center of my chest.
“Where is he?” I should get an Emmy. My voice sounds completely normal, and I’m certain my expression doesn’t change at all. Only Kyol feels the way my heart twists.
“Not in Corrist,” she says, “or he’d have come the instant we heard you were here.”
Would he? He hasn’t fissured to Earth once in the last three weeks, and the last time I saw him, he was . . . crushed. I don’t remember forming the life-bond with Kyol, but that didn’t matter to Aren. He thinks I’m still in love with Lena’s lord general, and that the bond will destroy any feelings I have for him. It won’t, but I don’t know how long it will take Aren to see the truth.
I don’t know if he’ll see the truth.
When Kyol draws in a breath, I realize my emotions are completely open to him. His aren’t open to me, though. They’re still very much there, but they’re not overwhelming me like they were when I first entered this world. He’s healed, and even though he’s weak, he’s strong enough to put his walls back into place.
I need to find myself some freaking walls.
Lena releases my arm. Her hands are still shaking. I don’t think that’s entirely due to the ener
gy she just expended. It’s getting to her, ruling the Realm and playing politics with the high nobles. She needs a three-week break from this world.
Kyol peels off the remaining shreds of his shirt. I lock my gaze on Lena. I know what Kyol’s body looks like—muscular shoulders, chiseled chest, and strong, washboard abs. He’s built like a warrior. I might have ended our relationship, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.
“The swordsmen who came with me,” Kyol says. “Have they reported in?”
“No,” Lena answers, her tone way too neutral. That catches my attention. I might not have been around for a while, but I doubt the number of swordsmen who’ve pledged loyalty to Lena has suddenly increased. She can’t afford to lose any fae.
“Some still may, though.” She accepts a clean cloth from one of her guards and methodically begins cleaning her hands. “Your attackers were concealed by illusions?”
Kyol’s responses to questions like that one usually come quickly, and with military precision. This one doesn’t. He hesitates just long enough to be noticeable—noticeable to me, at least—before he answers. “Yes. They were. This place felt wrong. I turned to order everyone to fissure out, and when I did, I must have bumped the fae who attacked me. His illusion broke, and I was able to redirect his attack.”
He wasn’t able to redirect it enough. His injuries prove that.
“You saw your attacker then,” Lena says. “Was he an elari?”
Kyol’s mental wall thins, but it holds. He very deliberately doesn’t glance my way.
Lena lets out an annoyed breath. “I don’t think she’ll shatter if she hears.”
“No,” I say, facing Kyol fully. “I won’t.” And I’ll kick his ass if he deliberately withholds information from me. He did that for ten years, and justified it by convincing himself he was protecting me.
His jaw clenches, and I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Yes, he wore the red-and-black name-cord that suggests he was an elari.”
The fae who attacked me had a similar name-cord. I only caught a brief look at it, but there were two shades of red stones separated by black ones. Only the most prominent families keep tradition and wear them now. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out which family it is. As for the word, elari, I’m not certain I’ve heard it before, but it sounds similar to enari.
“You were attacked by a servant?” I ask, translating enari into English.
“A follower,” Lena says without looking at me. “Already, a false-blood is opposing me, and his supporters are zealots.”
A false-blood. I want to groan. Lena has a strong, legitimate link to the Tar Sidhe, the fae’s magically powerful Ancestors, but not everyone who seeks the throne does. In the last ten years, when I wasn’t reading the shadows of fae criminals, I was reading the shadows of false-bloods and their minions. They were considered felons, too, of course, but they created so much more death and destruction than the other fae I tracked. If a false-blood is responsible for what happened here, he’ll be among the most violent and cruel I’ve ever encountered.
But if a false-blood is responsible for this, then most likely he’s also responsible for the slaughter of the Sighted humans in London. The bastard used the same modus operandi in both places. The problem is that fae is supposed to be locked up in the palace.
“Lorn,” I say out loud. “He’s the one who’s supposed to be behind all this violence, but if he’s still under arrest—”
“He’s not,” Kyol says. His gaze locks on Lena. “She released him.”
My eyes widen. “What? Why?”
“Too many of the high nobles were indebted to him,” Lena says, glaring at her lord general. “The others, he was able to blackmail. I didn’t have a choice.”
I barely suppress a groan. “You caved to the high nobles? Again? Lorn’s going to kill me, Lena.”
“I don’t think he’ll actually kill you,” she replies, expressionless. “Kidnap, threaten, manipulate, yes, but he’d see your death as a waste of a valuable asset.”
“Great,” I say. “I feel so much better now.”
Lena closes her eyes in a long, most likely annoyed, blink. She’s not a big fan of sarcasm. She’s probably right about Lorn, though. He might not kill me, especially since his arrest was, apparently, so short. But three weeks ago, I was the one who suggested he might be manipulating things behind the scenes. He knew who was leading the remnants, but he refused to give us the name, and he outright admitted he profited from the war. Plus, I’m all but certain Lorn is the fae who anonymously gave us the London address where we found the slaughtered humans. There were just too many coincidences for Lorn not to be involved.
Still, it was all circumstantial evidence. It definitely wouldn’t have held up in a U.S. court.
A little knot of guilt lodges itself in my chest. If Lorn is completely innocent in all of this, I’m going to feel like shit for falsely accusing him.
Kyol turns toward me. I don’t look at him because I can already feel his censure. In his opinion, I have no reason to feel remorse for what I did. He’s never liked Lorn, but Lorn has spies and informants everywhere. He knows the rumors behind every rumor, and if you pay him the right price, he can help you win a war.
“So there’s another false-blood,” I say, steering the conversation back to the subject that matters. “That’s not the end of the world. Kyol and I have hunted false-bloods for a decade. We’ll track this one down and take care of him.”
No one responds to my words, and Lena’s expression looks grim.
“What?” I ask.
“This one is different,” she says. Goose bumps prickle across my skin. I don’t think Lena’s words caused them. My sixth sense is tingling.
“They’re all different,” I say absently while I frown into the open doorway on my right. The room’s single bed is empty. No humans were killed there. That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
“The others didn’t kill like this,” Lena says. “They weren’t this cruel.”
The fae who first pulled me into the Realm was this cruel. Thrain might not have skinned humans alive, but he starved and hit me. He scared the hell out of me. I start to point that out, but I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right here.
Of course something isn’t right, I tell myself. This is a tjandel, and humans were just slaughtered in their prisons.
Kyol notices I’m distracted. I feel him grow more alert. His gaze sweeps down the long corridor, and he takes a step closer to Lena. Or closer to me. I can’t quite tell. It’s his duty to protect both of us, but Lena is far more important than I am.
“No false-blood in the last century has had the support that this one does.”
That statement makes my attention snap back to Lena.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“We’ve lost—”
Something moves in my peripheral vision. I turn my head toward the staircase and see the light from a magically lit orb reflect off a fae’s blade. He descends another step, then, just as I realize he’s not one of Lena’s guards, he lifts his sword.
FOUR
“WATCH OUT!” I shout, grabbing Lena’s arm.
The swordsman’s blade is already arcing toward her. I can’t get her out of the way in time, but Kyol’s fighting instincts are insanely accurate. He’s at the foot of the staircase, diving beneath the swinging sword and ramming his shoulder into the man’s knees.
I lose sight of the fae when Lena’s guards rush to protect her. By the time I get a better view, Kyol has one strong arm locked around her attacker’s neck. His struggles to get free cease when Lena and one of her guards rest the points of their blades on the fae’s cheeks.
His eyes widen with fear. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I thought you were one of them. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was you.”
That’s complete crap. The jaedric armor Lena’s wearing has been bleached white, and long strips of blue silk flo
w down her legs, almost creating the look of a long skirt. It’s definitely not the clothing that any normal soldier would be wearing, but even if her attacker is blind, I’d guess he was standing just out of sight on the stairs for at least thirty seconds. Maybe even a minute.
“You’re not a follower,” Lena says.
“Of course not,” he replies, looking affronted, and I can practically see an idea form in his mind. His voice takes on an overly innocent—and in my opinion weaselly—tone. “I would never follow a false-blood. Only true Descendants like yourself should sit on the silver throne.”
“Why were you here?” Lena’s question sounds like an accusation.
I feel my lip twisting. It’s clear why he would be here.
“I was just . . .” The bastard looks at me and immediately shuts up.
I’m not sure when I drew my dagger, but my right hand is clenched around its hilt, and I’m holding it like I’m ready to use it. Add to that the fact that I’m covered in blood and lightning, and I can see why he might suddenly go mute.
If Aren were here, he’d make a comment about how terrifying the nalkin-shom looks. Kyol doesn’t say anything; he just hefts the sleazy fae to his feet, then motions to one of Lena’s guards.
“I can tell you what I saw,” the fae says, as his hands are bound.
Lena turns her back on him. After the guards drag him down the hall, I ask her, “How did you know he wasn’t an elari?”
“No name-cord,” she says, sheathing her sword and crossing her arms over her chest.
“All the elari come from the same family?”
“No. They’ve twisted the tradition. The stones don’t denote their ancestry. They’re using them to show their allegiance to the false-blood.”
She’s definitely overworked. I can hear it in the slight edge of bitterness in her voice and see it in the set of her shoulders. Plus, she seems oblivious of the fact that she was just attacked.
The Sharpest Blade ml-3 Page 3
