The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  “It’s never convenient to be here,” I snap. “But I’m doing what I can. I’m trying to keep a job and my apartment and a glimmer of a real life because I need to stay sane.”

  “Naito is sane. He doesn’t try to be someone he isn’t.”

  “I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. I’m just trying to be halfway normal.”

  A level gaze and her silence are her only responses to my statement, and I can practically hear her thoughts. I’m not normal, not even halfway.

  Frustrated, I turn away, continuing down the corridor before she sees that I get her point. In fact, I made the same argument to Aren yesterday.

  “You think you’re more a part of your world than ours,” she continues, walking beside me. “You’re wrong. You’re one of us more than you’ll ever be one of them, especially now. You’re tied to Kyol, to us, for the rest of your life. Ignoring the Realm isn’t an option anymore.”

  My jaw is tight. Lena’s always been brutally blunt, but with her bluntness comes truth. She’s right. But why is she right? A normal life is what I’ve wanted for the last ten years. Why am I okay with giving it up now?

  It’s not the life-bond. That makes me want to run as far away as I can.

  I glance at Lena. Is it her and the fact that she sees me as one of them? Atroth and his Court fae always treated me as something other. Even Kyol treated me that way when we weren’t alone. I wanted a future with him, but I could never picture it because he swore it would never be allowed. It’s allowed now, and . . .

  He’s not pushing me away anymore. He wants me to be safe, yes, but he accepts me being here. Lena and all the rebels do. They would let me call the Realm home.

  “Thank you,” I say softly.

  Lena’s brow wrinkles, not understanding my response. “You’re with us?”

  I nod. “I’m with you.”

  After a few more paces, she says, “Good.”

  “I need a favor,” I say, keeping my voice low as we make our way down a set of stairs.

  She glances my way, her expression hardening as if she expects me to ask something impossible of her. And maybe I am.

  “I need to find a way to sever the life-bond.”

  Her mouth tightens. Before she says she can’t help me, I say, “I have to at least learn how to block my thoughts from Kyol. I’m hurting him.”

  “Your relationship with Aren would hurt him anyway,” she says. “You’re just aware of it now.”

  “I have no relationship with Aren right now. He won’t get past the bond.”

  A single, concerned wrinkle forms between her eyes. “Aren hasn’t been acting like himself since you left. He’s . . . I don’t know how to describe him. It’s like he feels trapped. I think the palace suffocates him. He’s not used to being restrained behind silver walls.”

  Aren grew up as an imithi, fissuring from province to province without ever having a real home. It makes sense that he wouldn’t like staying in one place, and I know he’s more comfortable designing attacks rather than defending against them, but that doesn’t explain why he’s not willing to attempt to get over the life-bond. He breaks rules and traditions; he doesn’t abide by them.

  “He’s been speaking with Lord Hison a lot lately,” Lena says.

  I feel myself scowl at the name. Hison is the high noble of Jutur, but from what I’ve heard, he’s just barely in charge of the province now. A month ago, the fae in his home city were rioting. He blames that on Lena and me, since I happened to be there when things got really bad. Personally, I think they’re rioting because he’s a crappy leader. Of course, my opinion might be biased because he’s not exactly pro-human.

  “Any idea what they’re talking about?” I ask. The suspicion that someone might be blackmailing Aren circulates through my mind again. If Hison has anything on Aren, he’s the type of man who wouldn’t hesitate to use it to get what he wants.

  Lena shrugs. “Aren’s been talking to all the high nobles who haven’t promised to confirm me as queen.”

  My eyes widen. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. “You haven’t been confirmed yet? Are you kidding?”

  She stiffens. “Transitions take time.”

  “You’ve held the palace for two months!”

  “I didn’t intend to hold it at all,” she fires back. “The few high nobles who supported my brother have had to be reconvinced that the Zarrak bloodline is strong enough to sit on the throne. Those who do still believe it worry that the Realm will grow angry if we break with tradition and allow a woman to rule, and now I have a false-blood to deal with. I would have been confirmed if Lord Ralsech hadn’t declared his support for the Taelith.”

  Lord Ralsech. He’s the high noble of Derrdyn Province, someone I’ve always steered clear of because of his hatred of all things human.

  “Are you ever going to be confirmed?” I ask. Her eyes narrow. I’m getting under her skin. I don’t care. I assumed she’d been named queen despite the false-blood’s appearance. She hasn’t, and it seems like the political situation here is worse than it was when I left. Lena’s been running in place this whole time, and it pisses me off. I didn’t join the rebels to fight for the status quo. I joined them because the Realm needed to change.

  “Atroth was king for fifteen years,” she says. “That’s considered a short reign. Even in your world, these things take time.”

  “Will they ever confirm you?” I demand.

  The set of her jaw tells me she very much does not want to answer the question, but finally, she says, “Not until the false-blood reveals his ancestry.”

  “Why hasn’t he?”

  “Because he’s a false-blood,” she says, practically spitting the words out. “He can’t prove he’s a Descendant of the Tar Sidhe.”

  “Then why would Lord Ralsech support him?”

  “The Taelith caters to his hatred of humans,” she says. “He’s telling people what they want to hear.” Her hand reaches toward her face—I think to rub her eyes—but she stops herself and lowers the hand back to her side. “I need a majority of the provinces to vote in my favor. I’m four votes short.”

  “What about the dissolved provinces?” I ask. “You said you would reinstate them. Surely, their high nobles support you.”

  “They do,” she says, “but I’m still short. The nobles in charge of the provinces that lost territory with the reinstatements were not fond of that decision.”

  I roll my eyes. “I hate politics.”

  She lets out a bitter laugh. “So do I.”

  “This can’t go on,” I tell her. “You can’t stay in limbo.”

  “I know, McKenzie. I’m working on it. The high nobles—”

  “I’m sick of hearing about the nobles,” I interrupt. “Maybe you should stop trying to convince them that you should be queen and start trying to convince the rest of the Realm.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Lena,” a voice calls out from behind us. The fae approaching us is wearing a fitted blue jacket with a gold design sewn into the wide cuffs of his sleeve. I’m pretty sure the loops and crossed threads mark him as an aide.

  “Lords Hison and Kaeth request an audience with you,” the fae says. “They’re waiting in your anteroom.”

  Lena’s face remains smooth. Her eyes, though, betray her irritation. Hison is one of the sharpest thorns in her side.

  “I’ll be there soon,” she finally says.

  The aide’s mouth thins. “They’ve been waiting for quite some time.”

  “Then they can wait for more.”

  He stiffens. Then, after a brief hesitation, he nods and turns to leave. Lena scowls at his retreating back.

  “Plotting an unfortunate accident?” I ask her.

  Her gaze slips my way, and I shrug. She just shakes her head.

  “Come on,” she says, continuing down the cold corridor. “Glazunov’s guard won’t let you see him without my permission.”

  When we reach the palace’s prison,
I look into the barred windows of the doors we pass. I’m looking for the elari Trev captured in Tholm. His claim that Lena is selling the Sight serum still bothers me. I don’t see him, though. He’s either out of sight in one of the cells we pass or he’s being held elsewhere.

  “He hasn’t eaten or drank anything since he’s been here,” Lena says, directing my attention to a cell at the end of the hall.

  My stomach sinks. “You’re not feeding him?”

  She turns to look at me. “He hasn’t accepted anything we’ve offered him. I need you to find out what you can about the Sight serum. I want to make sure it’s destroyed and that it’s not being given to anyone anymore. If more people can see us, more people will see us.”

  “What are the chances of that actually happening, though? I didn’t see a fae until I was sixteen. It’s not like they’re walking around in shopping malls.”

  “A number of tor’um have chosen to migrate to Earth, especially in the last decade,” she says. “Atroth shunned them, but I don’t, and I won’t. They’re still fae. I’ll do what I can to protect them.”

  We reach the door at the end of the corridor. The guard opens it at Lena’s request, revealing a small room with a cot against the right wall and a pot in a corner. Glazunov sits against the left wall, a tray of food and water untouched at his feet. He looks awful, pale and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and dry, cracked lips. His clothes—the same ones he was wearing when he was tied to my bed—hang off his slumped shoulders, looking like they’re a size too big now. It’s a huge change, especially considering he’s only been here about three days, Earth time.

  “I’ll leave you with him,” Lena says. “The guard is trustworthy, and he doesn’t understand English. You can talk about the serum freely. When you’re finished here, I’d like to speak with you again.”

  I nod without looking at her. Glazunov has gathered up what strength he has left and is giving me a murderous glare. It’s not intimidating at all, though. He might be able to stand, but I doubt he’s able to do so quickly.

  Entering the cell, I sit cross-legged a few feet away from him. The tray of food and water is between us.

  “Do you not trust what they’re offering you to eat?” I ask.

  “I have no intention of staying here forever,” he says.

  It takes me a second to understand his response. I’m so used to the fae, to their customs and traditions, that I never relate them to my world’s folklore. So little of the reality made it into our literature that, in my mind, they’re not even close to being the same.

  “It’s safe to eat,” I say, demonstrating by grabbing a wedge of cheese and popping it into my mouth. “I’m free to leave whenever I want. I even have an apartment and a job back home.” A job I’m probably going to be fired from and an apartment I’ll be kicked out of, but he doesn’t need the details.

  “They’ve seduced you,” Glazunov says. He’s breathing hard, as if talking is difficult for him. He’s in a lot worse shape than I expected.

  “Will you drink something, at least?” I ask, holding out the wooden cup filled with water. I genuinely feel bad for him. I know it isn’t reasonable, that I’m not responsible for the state he’s in and that, if he’s anything like Naito and Lee’s father, he’s a hate-filled man who can’t be reasoned with, but I can’t help it. This has always been my problem—I care too much.

  Glazunov licks his cracked lips, then, to my surprise, he leans forward and accepts the cup. He stares at its rippling surface for a handful of seconds—

  —then launches the cup at my head.

  It thumps against my temple. A weak throw, but the water soaks into my shirt, and it’s freaking cold.

  I blow out a breath between my teeth. “Okay. I should have seen that coming.”

  He reaches for the tray. I lean forward, slapping my hand down on it before he can flip it into my lap. He uses my close proximity against me, grabbing a fistful of my hair. Damn!

  I swing the tray into his side. He lets out a curse, but doesn’t let go of my hair.

  I’m not afraid. I’m pissed—mainly at myself for getting too close to him—so I swing a blind punch at his face. Another into his gut, but the damn vigilante won’t let go.

  “If you want your hand to remain attached to your arm, you’ll release her.”

  Aren’s voice is calm and close. He’s standing just to my left, I think. I’m able to turn my head enough that I can peer up at him sideways, my hair half-covering my face. I blow out a breath, moving a few locks aside for a better view.

  His expression is as calm as his voice despite the fact that he has a dagger pressed against Glazunov’s wrist.

  Glazunov’s fingers finally loosen. I pull my hair free, then slide back a couple of feet.

  “Perhaps another scoot,” Aren suggests, looking down at me, his eyebrows slightly raised.

  I feel myself blush. I should have known better than to get too close to the vigilante. The fact that Aren saw my, um, predicament, is downright embarrassing.

  “What would I do without you?” I mutter as I get to my feet with some semblance of dignity.

  He chuckles.

  I glare at Aren before turning my attention back to Glazunov. He’s backed himself against the wall again and is dragging air into his lungs. He overexerted himself. I would have gotten free from him on my own eventually. I might have lost some hair in the process, but I didn’t need saving.

  “I see you’ve made a lot of progress with him,” Aren teases.

  I ignore him as I squat down a safe distance from the vigilante and meet his eyes. “Lee said you’re in charge of the vigilantes now and that you helped create the Sight serum.”

  “And he and his little friend, Paige, are going to die,” Glazunov says. Apparently, he has enough strength to sneer. “Yes. What a pity.”

  I do my best not to let his words affect me. Aren never lets his enemies affect him. He makes it look easy to shrug off their hate-filled words. It’s not.

  “You’ve given the serum to other humans. To vigilantes,” I say. “You want them to survive, don’t you?”

  I’m watching his face carefully, looking for some sign of compassion or remorse, but he just stares at me as if he’s imagining strangling me. Gentle questions aren’t going to get answers from him. He was Nakano’s second-in-command. You don’t rise to the top of an organization like his by compromising on your beliefs. Glazunov hates the fae and any human who associates with them.

  “We have ways of making you cooperate,” Aren says. His arms are loosely crossed, and he’s standing beside me all cool and relaxed. It’s a calculated indifference, though. His posture is saying he’s in control and that Glazunov is so insignificant he could squash him with his thumb.

  My heart thumps in my chest, and my need for information wars with my conscience. Firmer methods of persuasion are common in the Realm. I don’t like that fact, but I like the idea of the serum killing Paige, Lee, and other humans even less.

  “Look,” I say. “Lee is talking to the person who created the serum.” Talking to is a stretch—I imagine he’s abducting Charles Bowman the same as he did Glazunov—but I’m trying to find a painless way to get the information out of Glazunov. “We’ll find a way to fix it, but we need to know who’s taken it. We need to know if you’re still giving it to people.”

  “We have magics that can make you talk,” Aren says, taking a too-casual step forward. “You won’t like my methods. I suggest you not make me use them. It would be . . . uncomfortable for you, and the outcome will be the same either way.”

  “I won’t tell you anything,” Glazunov says, but he doesn’t look as certain as he did before. He’s pressing his back against the wall, putting as much space as possible between him and Aren.

  “You’ll tell us everything,” Aren says in a level, confident voice. “You’ll tell us how you developed the serum. You’ll tell us who knows about it and who’s taken it. You’ll tell us what makes it fatal and how
to cure the humans who’ve already injected it.”

  “And you’ll tell us if you’re selling it,” I put in.

  Glazunov’s gaze locks on me, surprised, I think. But I have a sinking suspicion I know the answer to that last question. The elari in Tholm said the serum was being sold. Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth in that accusation. The serum is being sold, but not by Lena. It’s being sold by the freaking vigilantes.

  “You can go roast in hell,” Glazunov says.

  Aren steps forward, then crouches down a couple of feet in front of Glazunov. “You’re going to start answering our questions now.”

  The vigilante’s nostrils flare. “You’re going to have to kill me.”

  Aren’s cold laugh raises goose bumps on my skin. “No, we won’t do that. After all, you don’t kill the fae you manage to capture.” A pause. “Yes, we know what you do to them. Your experiments. We want to learn more about you, as well, and we’re always looking for a disposable human to dissect.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from calling bullshit right there. The fae always go out of their way to protect humans. Well, most of the fae do. Aren’s bluffing.

  “Tell us how the Sight serum kills,” I say, putting a gentle plea into my voice. The look I give Glazunov says that he can trust me. I’m with him and want to help him.

  Glazunov shakes his head. No loud, profanity-laced outburst. I think he might be breaking.

  “This is Jorreb,” I say, indicating Aren. “He has an . . . interesting magical ability. He can pry the information we want from your mind. I don’t want him to have to do that. It will hurt. You may not survive it.”

  Those are the words Aren said to me the first time I met Lorn. They nearly broke me. Never mind that it turned out that Lorn’s mind-reading magic doesn’t work on humans, no one knew it at the time. I believed the rebels would get the information they wanted out of me one way or the other. Glazunov looks like he believes it, too. His gaze flickers to Aren.

  This is going to work. If I didn’t know Aren, I’d be terrified of him.

  “My patience is running thin,” Aren says.