“You have to talk if you want me to help you,” I say.
Glazunov stubbornly clenches his teeth together, but sweat glistens on his forehead.
Quicker than I can follow, Aren grabs the vigilante’s forearm. Glazunov squirms and the first signs of true terror shine in his eyes as he stares at the lightning on his skin, lightning he can suddenly feel.
“What’s wrong with the serum?” I ask.
Panic crawls across the human. He tries to pry Aren’s hand off his arm, and he starts shaking and scratching as if cockroaches are crawling over his skin.
I frown. I’m almost certain Aren’s not using any magic. Tiny edarratae would be flickering across his hand if he was, but there’s only an occasional flash of light when one of Glazunov’s . . . Oh.
I almost laugh. It’s Aren’s touch, the enticing, delicious heat of it, that’s freaking the vigilante out.
“Let go!” Glazunov screams.
“It’ll get worse the longer he touches you,” I tell him calmly. “What’s killing the humans? How do we cure them?”
Glazunov’s body lurches and a sob escapes him. “Please!”
A bright bolt of lightning strikes up Aren’s arm.
“How do we cure them?” I demand.
“You can’t cure them!” Glazunov screams. His shoes slide across the smooth ground as he tries to embed himself in the stone wall.
“That’s the wrong answer,” Aren says, grabbing the vigilante’s other arm.
“No. Listen. You can’t fix it because it is fixed,” he wails. “The serum is already fixed!”
TWELVE
AREN RELEASES THE vigilante’s arm. I’m not sure if he’s just ready to stop touching Glazunov or if he believes him. I’m not sure if I believe him. It’s too easy an answer to a life-or-death problem.
“You’re sure?” I ask, making my voice icy.
Glazunov curls into a ball, his left cheek pressed against the stone wall. “We changed the formula three months ago.”
The knots in my stomach loosen a fraction. Paige has had the Sight for around two months. I’m not sure when Lee injected the serum, but I think it was relatively recent as well. They might both be okay.
“So, if someone injected the serum in the last couple of months, they’re going to live?”
Glazunov’s gaze flickers my direction. There’s the slightest hesitation before he answers, “Right.”
Aren hears the pause, too. He leans forward, staring into Glazunov’s eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
A muscle in Glazunov’s cheek twitches.
“Tell us the truth,” Aren says, reaching toward the vigilante’s neck.
“I am telling the truth,” Glazunov says too quickly.
Instead of strangling the vigilante, Aren merely draws his finger down the side of Glazunov’s neck. It’s not anything close to a caress or gentle touch, but Glazunov throws himself on the floor, trying to get away from him. Aren grabs his arm, flipping him to his back.
“Okay. Okay, okay, okay!” Glazunov shouts, fists swinging wildly. When Aren merely stands over him, Glazunov splutters out, “We still have the old formula. Had the formula.”
“Keep talking,” Aren says.
“Some of the vials are missing.” He sucks in a shallow breath. “We don’t know where they went or who injected them. Only a few of us knew of the serum’s side effect.”
“Death is a side effect?” Angry, I step to Aren’s side.
Glazunov looks at me. “They took a pledge to eradicate the fae. They’ve lost people they love to the heathens. They all knew this wouldn’t be an easy or bloodless fight. You know it, too. Think about what you’ve lost. Your family, your future, your freedom. You’re their slave, but you could be free again. We can help you.”
What the hell?
Aren looks at me, a small smile playing across his lips. “I think he’s trying to recruit you, nalkin-shom.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Their magics have erased your good judgment,” Glazunov continues. “We can restore it. We can cleanse you.”
That sounds entirely unpleasant.
“The serum,” I say, returning the conversation to where it’s supposed to be. “Is there a way to tell which one someone injected?”
Cautiously, Glazunov sits up. “I don’t know.”
“Does anyone else know?” I ask. I haven’t checked my e-mail or voice mails in more than a day, but maybe Lee’s found Bowman or another vigilante and is trying to get in touch with me now.
“Maybe,” Glazunov says. “You’ll have to talk to them.”
“Next question,” Aren says. “Who is selling the serum?”
I glance at Aren, but he keeps his eyes locked on Glazunov. I keep quiet and look at the vigilante, too, holding my breath as I wait for his response. In terms of the fight against the false-blood and his elari, the answer doesn’t matter. They already believe Lena has something to do with the serum. But in terms of the fae’s status on Earth? If the vigilantes are selling the serum to any random human who will pay . . . That could be a problem.
Glazunov’s expression darkens. “With Nakano dead, we were running out of cash. Selling the serum was discussed as a new revenue channel.”
“Discussed?” I ask.
“I told them we weren’t going to sell it,” Glazunov says. “That should have been the end of the conversation.”
“But it wasn’t?”
He shakes his head. Lena is going to be so pissed.
“Who decided to sell it anyway?”
Glazunov shrugs. “Any of them. All of them. I don’t know.”
I believe him. He doesn’t know, and he’s pissed about that fact. He was Nakano’s second-in-command. He’s supposed to be in charge now, but he can’t keep his people in line.
Aren and I ask him a few more questions—where can we find the person selling the serum, how much was produced, where is the research stored and backed up—but his responses aren’t very useful. There’s a reason Lee decided to go after another vigilante: Glazunov is a dead end.
When we run out of questions, we start to leave, but Aren stops beside the open door, turning back to look at Glazunov.
“One last thing,” he says. “You’re going to start eating. If you don’t, I’ll come back and spoon-feed you myself. Do you understand?”
Glazunov doesn’t answer, but he goes still, indicating he does understand.
Aren steps out of the cell and closes the door. He stands there looking at me as the guard locks it. He’s tense—I’m not sure he knows what to say—and that’s when I suddenly become aware I haven’t showered in almost two days, and I’m wearing the same clothes I walked across the Realm in.
Well, isn’t this an awesome way to show him what he’s trying to push away.
He comes to some decision, and tension whooshes out of him in an almost visible cloud.
“That ended up being a surprisingly effective coercion technique,” he says.
His tone is light, and his movement as we walk down the row of cells is easy, languid. He’s always hid his troubles behind his devil-may-care smiles and his nonchalance, but I know him well enough to see through the façade now. He’s uncomfortable around me.
I tilt my head to the side. “You are very good at seducing people to your way of thinking.”
He laughs. “Too bad it doesn’t work on high nobles and elari.”
“You didn’t get anything else out of the fae captured in Tholm?”
“No,” he says. When his smile fades, I hate myself for asking the question. “We’ve captured other elari in the past few weeks. The false-blood doesn’t trust easily. None of them have known his name let alone his location.” A guard opens the door at the end of the corridor, and we leave the quiet cells behind us. “What made you think the vigilantes were selling the serum?”
“Nothing really,” I say. “It just bothered me that the elari knew a serum existed. I couldn’t get it off my mind and . . . Well, t
his doesn’t exactly disprove that Caelar is working with the false-blood, but the elari could have stumbled across the information somewhere else. Lorn, maybe.”
“Hmm,” Aren says. I’ve never heard a hmm so devoid of inflection.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I step in front of him, blocking his path. He manages to stop before he touches me. He even takes a step back, putting more distance between us so that we don’t accidentally come in contact.
“Lena sent you down here, didn’t she?” I ask. Then, realizing how stupid the question is, I say, “Don’t answer that. Of course she did. You wouldn’t have come knowing I was there unless you were forced to.”
“I passed her in the hall,” he says, confirming my words. “Hison wanted to meet with her.”
“Hison.” His name puts a bad taste in my mouth. “You’re running errands for him now?”
Aren stiffens. “No.”
“What’s going on with him?” I ask.
“It’s nothing.” He steps around me.
“Then why are you talking to him so much?” I demand, turning. “Is he blackmailing you?”
“I said it’s nothing,” he fires over his shoulder.
“That’s bullshit, Aren.” I grab his arm, and he spins so quickly I stagger back a half step.
“Here.” He slaps something into my palm. “I came to give you that.”
I look down. And stop breathing. It’s Kyol’s name-cord. He gave it to me years ago. I kept it in a jewelry box in my old apartment, and the last time I was there, I slid it into my pocket, intending to give it back to him. But the remnants came after me. We were trying to figure out who they were and what had happened to Paige, then I fell through the ice in Rhigh, trying to get to the city’s gate. That’s the last time I had the name-cord. Aren saved me. He brought me back to the palace.
And stripped me out of my wet clothes. He must have found it then.
“You’ve had it all this time?” I look up, suddenly angry. “Were you waiting for the right moment to throw it in my face?”
“If I wasn’t here, you’d be with him,” he says. The words sound more like a question than an accusation, but I take them as the latter.
“No, I wouldn’t,” I say, taking a step toward him. “If you weren’t here, I’d be dead. If you weren’t here, I’d still be blind and working for a king who cared only about staying in power. Years would pass, and Kyol would keep pushing me aside anytime our ‘relationship’ became too real for him.”
“But if I died—”
“I still”—I emphasize the word with a fist to his chest—“wouldn’t be with him. I can’t. I would always wonder if the life-bond manipulated my feelings for him.”
He catches my hand against his chest. Kyol’s name-cord digs into my palm.
“But if you weren’t so stubborn,” he says softly, “you could make it work. Even with the life-bond.”
“I want to make it work with you,” I tell him. “Even with the life-bond.”
“McKenzie.” The word sounds more like a sigh than my name. I lift my free hand to the side of his face.
“I love you,” I say. Then I slide my hand behind his neck and feel his resistance melt away.
He initiates the kiss, bending down to slant his mouth across mine. I’m addicted to his scent and his touch, to the way his arms encircle me, pulling me against him, but mostly, I’m just addicted to him. He’s a light in all this darkness. He’s strong and caring, and he’s sacrificed so much for Lena and the Realm. He makes me happy, and I want so much to make him happy, too.
His tongue flicks across mine, and I draw him closer.
“McKenzie,” he murmurs as he trails kisses along my jaw. When he nips my ear, lightning explodes through me, sending tendrils of pleasure through my scalp and down my neck. I stuff the name-cord into my pocket, then trail my hands up his chest. He’s not wearing jaedric. His muscles are firm and chiseled beneath my palms.
“I want you,” I whisper, and he murmurs something indecipherable into my ear.
Chaos lusters flash across my skin. They’re becoming so frenzied, they’re skipping to his mouth and hands, anywhere and everywhere our bodies touch.
I tug on Aren’s arm to pull him . . . I don’t know where. I draw in a breath, trying to figure out where we are, trying to think. Trying not to think. The corridor we’re in is empty. It might not stay that way for long. Someone could interrupt us any second.
“Aren.” I tug again.
He’s not budging. His hands are locked on my arms, holding me in place as he takes my mouth again, and that’s when I realize something’s . . . not wrong, exactly. It’s just not completely right.
It takes another long, languorous kiss to identify the problem. Aren’s not completely into this. Oh, he’s kissing me. He’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him, and it’s hot and delicious, but he’s holding back, not willing to cross the line with me.
I want to eradicate that line. I want to obliterate it, rip it into pieces, then burn all the frayed ends to ash. This is the same damn line I’ve treaded for a decade.
My hands move back to Aren’s chest, not to admire his body, but to push him away. When I manage to get a few inches of space between us, I say, “I don’t want your half-assed kisses.”
He looks completely disoriented for a moment. He leans back toward me, almost as if he’s starved for me, but then, after a slow, deep breath, he seems to pull himself together again.
“Half-assed?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I promise those were some of my very best kisses.”
He’s dismissing my words with a quip and hiding his feelings behind that relaxed, cocky smile. I know why he’s doing it—it’s his way of protecting himself—but it still hurts. And it still pisses me off.
“Three days, Aren,” I say.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Three days?”
“Yes,” I force myself to say. “That’s how long you have to pull your head out of your ass. Then we really are over.”
Part of me can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I’m giving someone I love so much so little time to choose me, but I won’t wait for him like I waited for Kyol. I’m stronger now than I was then.
An eternity passes in the span of a heartbeat. Then Aren lets the few inches between us grow to a foot, to two feet.
“Good,” he says finally. He gives me a nod, then shoves his hands into his pockets and leaves.
* * *
GOOD.
Good?
I repeat the word over and over as I climb the staircase to the ground floor of the palace. Aren is glad I’m giving him an ultimatum. And, of course, he is. If three days pass, and I’m strong enough to stay away from him, then he doesn’t have to be strong enough to stay away from me. He’s already proven he’s weak on that front. Nearly every time we’ve been together, his will has broken. He’s taken me into his arms.
I could ignore my own ultimatum. I could pressure him more, attempt some sort of seduction, but throwing myself at him is too sad and pathetic. I’m not one of those girls who can’t live without the guy she’s in love with. Even when I wanted Kyol, I tried to have a life separate from him. I went to college, Paige set me up on a few dates, and every once in a while, I went out to the movies, the mall, and sometimes to a bar. I was okay without him, and I know I can survive a heartbreak now; I just don’t want to have to.
Good? God, Aren is such a coward, either for not trying to work through the life-bond issue or for not telling me the truth about what’s going on. I’m not going to wait around for him to grow a backbone. I’ll find answers myself, and I know exactly where to start asking questions.
Lena’s apartments are on the third floor. Hison is a long-winded fae, and I have no doubt he’ll still be there meeting with her, so I walk quickly through the governing wing of the palace and enter an ornate corridor. Magically lit orbs are set into silver sconces, and the blue-white light they cast highligh
t the carvings on the walls and ceiling. I receive a few questioning glances from the fae I pass—mostly aides to the high nobles, whose offices are also here—but no one asks where I’m heading. I might have disappeared for three weeks, but my reputation didn’t diminish at all. They know who I am, and they know I’m Lena’s ally.
The guards let me into her greeting chamber, a large, comfortable room with silver carpets and waves of blue silk on the ceiling. Plush couches are arranged in an inviting setup to my left, and to my right is a long desk made from a dark wood. Lena’s symbol—an abira tree with seventeen branches—is carved into its front, and rising from a chair behind it is Andur, a rebel I remember seeing with Sethan on more than one occasion. He acts as one of Lena’s advisors now.
“Lena’s meeting with Lords Hison and Kaeth,” he says in thickly accented English.
“I know.” I eye the door to his right, the one that leads into a small meeting room. When I start that way, Andur moves out from behind the desk.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being interrupted,” I say before he can emit a protest.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” he says, trying but failing to hide a smile. He doesn’t move out of my way, though. No doubt, he knows Hison will be pissed if I walk in.
While he’s weighing the pros and cons of taking on Hison’s wrath, I pick up part of the muffled conversation behind the door. Or rather, the argument if I’m hearing the rise and fall of the voices correctly. I take a step closer to the door, then another when Andur doesn’t stop me. It’s not until I’m reaching for the handle that he says, “I’m strongly advising you not to enter.”
I freeze, expecting him to knock my hand away from the handle, but when I glance his way, he’s returning to the chair behind the desk. I start to give him a grateful smile, but then I hear a word that sends goose bumps prickling across my arms.
Garistyn. They’re talking about the kingkiller.
Forgetting caution, I turn the handle. I haven’t forgotten the problem of the garistyn, but I have conveniently shoved it to the bottom of my list of crises to take care of, mainly because I didn’t think it would be an issue anymore. The high nobles were using the garistyn as an excuse to delay confirming Lena as queen, but I’d assumed they’d confirmed her anyway while I was gone. She said they would.
The Sharpest Blade ml-3 Page 12
