I stay low and let my gaze sweep across the rest of the area. We’re on the outskirts of a town. Most of the buildings are spread out, but a strip of structures built closely together is off to my far right. I’m guessing they’re stores of some kind, maybe with a few small residences scattered among them. The street they’re on snakes back and forth, and I think I was wrong about a river cutting through the city. That road is the wavy line I saw in the shadows.
“Is he still here?” Kyol asks in Fae, climbing onto the rooftop behind me. Taber and the other two fae remain on the ground below.
The swordsman lying on his stomach nods. His brown hair is cut short enough to see a black cord hanging around his neck. “Yes, lord general,” he says. “He and three others.”
Lord general. The title puts a bad taste in my mouth. I’m not used to Kyol being called that. I don’t think he fits the role. The previous fae who held that position was overbearing, arrogant, and in the end, cruel. Kyol isn’t any of those things.
To me, Kyol says, “The house is protected by silver. Jielan will most likely fissure as soon as he exits, but if he doesn’t, you’ll need to be ready to move.”
“There isn’t a back way out?”
“There is,” he answers, “but he doesn’t know we’re here. He has no reason to exit the other way.”
Staying low, I inch forward until I’m at the edge of the roof. Kyol does the same.
“Where are we?” I ask, moving the buckle of the belt Aren fastened around me so it’s not so uncomfortable to lie on. That moves the sheathed dagger a little more to the left on my back, but I can still reach it fairly easily.
“Spier,” Kyol says.
I stare at him without saying a word. Each of the Realm’s provinces has a capital city with a gate, but Spier is nowhere near any of them. And unless there’s a Missing Gate—a gate not on the public maps—that I don’t know about, the nearest place for me to safely fissure is half a day’s walk from here.
“I needed a shadow-reader,” Kyol says without looking at me. Usually, his tone would be apologetic—he always hated keeping me away from my human life—but it’s firm now, just as it should be. I never needed to be coddled, and as frustrating as it is to be stranded so far away from a gate, it’s good that I’m here. Jielan could lead us to the other remnants. He could lead us to Paige.
I open the notebook on the roof in front of me, taking the pencil out of the spine so that I’ll be completely ready when Jielan comes out. The quicker I sketch his shadows, the more accurate my map will be. I just hope we don’t have to kill him.
“There he is,” Kyol says sharply.
My gaze snaps to the front door. Jielan’s there, stepping outside without so much as a glance at his surroundings. He immediately disappears into a fissure. The light winks out, leaving behind a twist of shadows.
My hand is already dragging my pencil across the sketchbook, dipping into a shallow valley near the continent’s southern coast. Jielan’s stayed in the Realm. He’s even still in Cadek Province, most likely. I scratch down a few more broad strokes—an ocean to the east, a fairly dense forest to the northeast—then flip the page as my mind zooms in on his location. A part of my brain registers that the other three fae who were inside the house have exited as well, but they don’t obscure the shadows. I keep my pencil moving, and within seconds, I identify a dark swirl to the west of a river. It cuts through a village that…
No, wait. It’s not a river. It’s a street. It’s the street.
“Watch out!” I shout, pushing up off the rooftop and spinning toward the ladder. My warning comes too late. One of the swordsmen waiting below lets out a bellow and the sound of clashing swords rings through the air.
“Stay with her!” Kyol orders, already moving. The fae wearing the black necklace takes up position at my side, sword drawn. I know Kyol wants me to stay up here, to stay safe, but as he disappears over the side of the roof, I grab my sketchbook and scramble to the ladder. Jielan might fissure away. If he does, I need to map his shadows.
I peer over the building’s edge just as Taber deflects a hard swing from Jielan, then counters with an attack of his own. Both their swords move impossibly fast, diving and slicing and stabbing through the air. Taber retreats a step, stumbling. He doesn’t look injured, but I’m certain I see red on Jielan’s blade. I don’t know if it’s from Brayan, who’s scrambling back to his feet, or from—
I spot a wisp of white shadow. Yes, the blood must be from the other fae. He’s nowhere to be seen now because he’s dead. Jielan killed him. All that’s left to mark his existence in this world is his soul-shadow, and even that disappears when Taber lunges through it, his blade narrowly missing Jielan’s shoulder.
Then Kyol’s there, leaping off the ladder and drawing his sword. Jielan sees him. He has to know he’s outmatched and outnumbered, but when he fissures, he doesn’t leave the fight. He emerges from the In-Between only a few feet away from where he disappeared. It’s the perfect position to snake his arm around the neck of a still-unbalanced Brayan. Jielan pivots, pressing his back against the wall and using Brayan as a shield.
“Taltrayn.” Jielan uses Kyol’s family name, not sounding surprised or concerned.
Kyol advances slowly now, moving away from the ladder in deliberate, measured steps. “You’ll lose this fight,” he says, stopping several paces away from Jielan.
Taber holds his position to Kyol’s left, waiting for his commander’s order. Kyol and his swordsmen are the most disciplined soldiers in the Realm. They’re all duty and sacrifice, and even though I can’t see Brayan’s face from my rooftop position, I’m sure it’s as unreadable as the others’. He’ll accept whatever action Kyol takes, even if it leads to his death.
But Kyol has never been one to needlessly sacrifice his men, not if there’s another way to achieve his goal.
“Release him, Jielan,” he orders. “We don’t have to be on opposite sides of this war.”
Jielan lets out a sharp laugh.
“The daughter of Zarrak does not belong on the throne,” he says. “She and her fae should be banished from the Realm, but you’re supporting her. You’re supporting her despite her refusal to turn…”
I don’t understand the last part. It’s something about a king or a Descendant, but the conjugation doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s clear Jielan is firmly against Lena and anyone who supports her.
“The high nobles choose who sits on the silver throne,” Kyol says. “Not you or I. Drop your sword.”
“Nobles can be bought and blackmailed. No, lord general.” He makes the title sound like a slur. “You’ve chosen your side. It’s the wrong one.”
The air erupts with a staccato of shrrip, shrrip, shrrips as three fissures flash into existence. The three other fae who were in the house step out of the slashes of light.
I realize this is a trap at the same moment Kyol grates out, “Taber!”
He doesn’t have to say more than that—it’s clear he’s ordering Taber to go for help—but before the fae can open a fissure, Jielan says, “Brayan dies if he leaves. So does the shadow-witch.”
The hair on the nape of my neck prickles. I start to turn, but a sword presses into my back. It’s the fae wearing the black necklace.
I close my eyes in a silent grimace. It had to happen eventually. Aren argued against allowing any former Court fae to remain in the palace, even if they swore fealty to Lena, but Kyol vouched for them. He trained them and trusted them, and he said that they would protect her with their lives. He was wrong.
The scabbard belted around my waist moves when the fae behind me confiscates my dagger.
“Down,” he orders. Even if I couldn’t understand his language, his meaning would be clear. I grip the part of the ladder that attaches to the roof, then start down before the traitor decides to draw blood. My mind works furiously on the descent. The fae doesn’t have his sword on me now—he can’t because he’s following me down—so I’m
safe for a very limited amount of time. We’re outnumbered, though, and I’m human and I’m unarmed.
I’m three rungs from the ground when I decide I have to act. I leap off and to the left, landing on Jielan’s shoulder. He snarls as he swings his fist, not his sword around, aiming for me. It’s a mistake. His blade is no longer against Brayan’s neck. I let go of Jielan when Brayan grabs his wrist and flips the remnant over his shoulder. Then, almost in synch, every other fae vanishes into fissures.
I back against the stack-house wall. The fae reappear an instant later, all in different locations. With the shadows replacing the white light, I’m disoriented. I have no idea who’s where, not until Kyol grabs my arm.
“That was foolish,” he grates out, pulling me alongside the building.
Alongside the building and directly toward a fae who’s standing ready with his sword.
“Straight ahead. Illusionist.”
No need to say more. Kyol lunges forward, sword slicing out in front of us. The attack takes the remnant by surprise, but he’s still able to deflect Kyol’s swing. Touch breaks a fae’s illusions, though, so Kyol can see him now, and in two efficient moves, he kills the fae.
As soon as the soul-shadow rises into the air, I turn, searching for more remnants who might be invisible. The only way to tell if Kyol and his swordsmen can’t see someone is to watch where they look. If they don’t react when a remnant approaches, I assume they’re hidden. I think there was only one illusionist here, though. Everyone’s fighting somebody. Unfortunately, the remnants outnumber us, and one of them focuses on me.
Shit.
I don’t call out for help—I don’t want to distract the rebels. Instead, I turn and run, sprinting around to the front of the stack house.
Its door is a few strides away. I pray it’s unlocked, reach out for it…
.…and hear a whoosh fly past my left ear. I throw myself to the right, hit the ground as something slams into the stack house.
Heat explodes behind me. On hands and knees, I scramble away from the burning door, look to the right for the remnant who must have thrown the fire. Taber is occupying him.
I leap back to my feet and make a dash across the thirty-foot stretch of land between the stack house and the building Jielan and his cohorts emerged from. The outside walls have silver mixed in with the paint. The fae won’t be able to fissure inside.
Lights erupt around me as I run, but I ignore the fighting fae. As soon as I reach the front door, I turn the knob, shoulder it open, then slam it shut behind me. Almost instantly, I realize I’m not alone.
SIX
I’VE ALREADY LOCKED the door. My back is to the dimly lit room, but I hear the softest tap, taptaptap, tap behind me. In my rush to get inside, I didn’t even think about the possibility of there being another fae in here. I draw in deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heartbeat. I listen for movement—the pad of a footfall, the swish of clothing, or creak of jaedric armor—but the only other sounds come from outside, and while I’m standing here trying to decide what to do, they, too, fade away. It’s silent except for the rhythmic tapping.
I stare at the door handle. It’ll take a couple of seconds to unlock it. Some gut instinct tells me not to try it, that it might trigger the person behind me. Slowly, carefully, I turn.
In the center of a sparse living area, a tall, slender fae woman stands between two backless couches. She’s ramrod straight except for her right arm, which is fully extended so she can rest her hand on the hilt of her sword. Its blade is pointed straight down, digging just a little into the surface of a low, wooden table. Aside from one index finger drumming down on the pommel over and over again, she doesn’t move; she just stares.
I stare back, not daring to breathe. Pale, wavering bolts of lightning fade in and out on her face and hands. We’re in the Realm. She shouldn’t have any chaos lusters here, but she’s not a normal fae. Even if the lightning weren’t visible on her skin, I’d know she was tor’um. Something about her feels off.
Her inky black hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing jaedric armor. The treated bark is dark, well oiled, and molded to the curves of her body. Etched across her chest is an abira tree with thirteen branches, the symbol of Atroth’s Court. Does she fight for the remnants? She’s standing there silent and unwavering, projecting the feeling that she’s competent with her sword, but tor’um are so magically handicapped that they can’t fissure. That makes her odds of surviving a fae swordfight not much better than a human’s.
“Your skin is bright.”
The bluntness of her statement makes me stare down at my arms. White lightning bolts around my left wrist. Another one scurries up to my right elbow. Chaos lusters always appear and disappear quickly, but I guess my skin could be considered bright. I just don’t get why it’s important enough to say out loud, or why it seems to annoy her.
“I told him you wouldn’t turn it off.”
Turn my skin off? I frown at the lightning again, and that’s when I realize: she’s speaking English. It’s a skill very few fae have. Usually, only those who work with humans learn my language. Maybe she lived somewhere on Earth for a time? That’s what the tor’um in Vancouver did before King Atroth attacked their homes.
I focus on her again, watch as she tilts her head to the side, wrinkles her nose, then tilts her head back upright.
Understanding sweeps through me. Some fae are born unable to fissure. They’re magically handicapped, but they’re sane. This fae isn’t. She lost her magic sometime during her adulthood and, now, her mind is broken. Whether that makes her more or less dangerous, I don’t know.
Without warning, she’s in front of me, grabbing my wrist. Her cold touch makes more chaos lusters shoot down my arm. They pool beneath her hand, almost as if they’re trying to keep my skin from turning to ice. I attempt to pull away, but she’s strong, and her dull, dark eyes are locked on me.
“You’re not Paige.”
I go still. Her Fae accent is faint; I’m certain I heard her right. “You know Paige? Where is she?”
“Why aren’t you Paige?” Her hand tightens to the point where it hurts. My back is against the door. I can’t move away when she leans forward, her face coming within inches of mine. Her eyes are narrowed, agitated. “You feel like Paige.”
“McKenzie?” Kyol’s voice from the other side of the door. He pounds on it, jiggles the handle.
The tor’um hisses, then swings me around with so much momentum, my feet leave the floor. My hip hits the table, sending a sharp lance of pain down my leg, and I slide off the other side.
A dagger is on a couch cushion, not ten inches from my face. I grab it, spin toward the fae, and slash at the air.
The tor’um isn’t near me. She’s standing above me with that same mix of anger and confusion in her eyes. My gaze moves to the sword in her hand. Her knuckles go white then back to normal as she tightens and loosens her grip. Then, all of a sudden, she looks 100 percent sane.
She whispers, “Nalkin-shom.”
“Kyol!” I yell, scrambling away because I’m certain she’s going to kill me.
“McKenzie!” There’s a loud bam as Kyol rams into the door. I reach it and manage to get it unlocked before the tor’um leaps forward.
The door slams open and Kyol is there, putting himself between me and the fae. His sword is raised to deflect her attack, but there’s no need to. She swings her blade well short of us, then stands there, looking utterly perplexed. After glancing around the room, she scowls at her feet.
“My fissure is broken,” she mutters.
Kyol’s muscles were already tense in preparation for her attack, but his stance changes. He’s somehow stiffer now.
The tor’um stomps a foot on the ground as if that will make a fissure appear.
“Outside,” Kyol whispers in my ear. I don’t protest. I back through the doorway, keeping my eyes on the tor’um until Kyol gently shuts the door. He stares at it a few seconds before he t
urns to me, then he takes a step back, looking for injuries I presume. That’s when I notice the wound just above his right elbow. A remnant aimed perfectly, slicing at one of the few areas not protected by jaedric. Kyol’s undershirt is dark with blood, but he doesn’t seem to be favoring the arm any.
“She knows Paige,” I tell him. His gaze returns to my eyes. His mouth thins before he nods once, then he motions Taber over. They speak quietly in Fae. I don’t catch everything that’s said, but Taber’s eyebrows go up briefly, and he stares at the house. They have to be talking about the tor’um. They know her, I’m sure of it.
A dozen of Kyol’s swordsmen are standing alert and ready in the space between the tor’um’s building and the stack house. They’re spread out in a honeycomb pattern. If a remnant fissures into the clearing, he’ll be surrounded by no less than four of Kyol’s men. I want to order them to break their pattern. We need someone watching the back door so the tor’um can’t escape. She may already have.
“They’ll take care of the tor’um,” Kyol says.
I stop midnod. Fae have told me some form of that sentence often over the past ten years. I assumed it meant that Kyol and the Court fae would fissure after and arrest a fae, but that wasn’t always the case.
“They’ll fissure her to the palace,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. He can’t; he just knows me well enough to know how I think. “We need to leave before the remnants return.”
This time, I finish my nod. I slip the dagger I found in the house into the scabbard at my back. Fortunately, it fits, and less than two minutes after exiting the house, we’re on our way, heading east. I’ve memorized a map of the Realm, so I’m fairly certain we should reach the outskirts of a forest in an hour or two. After hiking through it, the river curves its way to the north. A gate is on the western bank. It’s one of the gates that was lost during the Duin Bregga, an ancient war that resulted in the loss of a good portion of fae history, and the locations of an unknown numbers of gates. This gate isn’t labeled on any public maps, but I don’t think fissuring from there is going to be as safe as it used to be. It’s likely that at least one of the remnants was high-ranked enough to know the locations of all the Missing Gates Atroth knew about. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to set up an ambush there.
The Shattered Dark Page 7
