The Shattered Dark

by Sandy Williams

  “I promised to give you her location,” he says. “And I will. Just as soon as I learn where that location is.”

  He doesn’t know. Damn it.

  Sara hmmphs as if I should have known better. I did know better. I came here on a gamble that didn’t pay out, but I’d do it again. I’d do it again because I owe it to Paige.

  “The deal is off,” I tell Lorn.

  “The deal is not off,” he says, a warning slipping into his tone. “You have ten seconds. If you don’t name the city, I’ll leave you stranded here and your kimki stranded in Las Vegas, and you’ll never find your friend.”

  “You’re not my only option,” I say.

  “If I don’t want you to find her, you won’t find her. Five seconds.”

  I grit my teeth. I don’t know if he can see that threat through, but I definitely don’t want to make him my enemy. “You swear you’ll try to find her?”

  “I do.”

  Another second passes. I curse, then finally relent. “Eksan.”

  Lorn gives me a curt nod as he tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ll let the rebels know where to find you. Have a good day, ladies.”

  Shadows fill the space he occupied. I squeeze my eyes shut until my hands stop itching to draw them. When I reopen them, I’m able to focus on Sara.

  She glares at me through the twisting shadows. “Get the hell out of my store.”

  TEN

  I’M NOT ABOUT to rely on Lorn to send a fae back to get me, so I ask a man on the street to use his cell phone. Unfortunately, Shane isn’t at the suite when I call. I leave a message telling him where I am, but I don’t know if he’ll notice the tiny red light on the hotel phone when he gets in.

  At least Lorn stranded me in my world, not the Realm. I blend in here, and if my bank account weren’t at zero, I’d have the option of booking a flight back to Vegas. I suppose if worse comes to worst, I can go into my overdraft protection. I shouldn’t have to, though. Either Lorn will keep his word and send a fae for me, or I can stake out Sara’s wine store until another fae shows up. I might be able to talk whoever it is into fissuring me to Corrist on the promise that they’ll be well paid if they do.

  So, I decide to spend the rest of the afternoon at the cafe two doors down. It has outside seating, and I have just enough change in my pocket to order a cup of coffee. That ends up being a mistake. It makes me jittery. I’m no closer to finding Paige, and with each passing minute, I worry more about her and about what’s happening back at the palace.

  An hour passes. Then another. I flip through Naito’s sketchbook. Two more pictures of Kelia are sketched on its pages. One of them is in the corner of a shadow-reading. Naito’s ten times the artist I am, but his maps look like a child’s scribbles just like mine do. I wish I knew where this one leads to—he’s drawn an elaborate frame around the entire page, so it’s probably somewhere important—but shadow-readers can’t decipher anyone’s maps but their own.

  I miss Kelia. It’s weird, admitting that. I only knew her for a few weeks, but we were close to being friends. I think she was honest with me, and I think we’d get along well if she were still alive. I could ask her about Aren. I miss him, don’t know if I’m doing the right thing with him. I don’t know him any better than I did two weeks ago. For us to work out, we need to spend time together, time where we’re not running for our lives or tracking somebody. Not for the first time, I wonder if it’s a bad idea to try to start a relationship right now.

  Sara locks up the wine store. I think about following her, but a flicker of blue light in the corner of my vision catches my attention. It’s Trev. The last time I saw him was yesterday back at my apartment. Blood was gushing from a bad leg wound then. Aren or Lena must have healed him because he’s not even limping now.

  He doesn’t see me until I close Naito’s sketchbook and stand. His gaze travels down to my feet, then back up. “You’re not injured?”

  A couple is sitting at one of the other tables, so I just shake my head, tuck the sketchbook under my arm, and start walking.

  “How did you find me?” I ask when I’m far enough away.

  “The kimki,” Trev says. “He came to the palace with an anchor-stone and your name tied around his neck.”

  Looks like Lorn kept part of his promise. Maybe he’ll keep the rest of it and find out where Paige is.

  Trev increases his pace. I’m barely able to keep up. It’s annoying—he knows humans are slower than fae—but I don’t complain. Trev isn’t my biggest fan. He puts up with me when he has to, but he’s never exactly liked me. I helped the king hunt down his friends and family. Like most of the rebels, he has a reason to resent me. Those reasons didn’t disappear just because I joined their side of this war.

  My feet are sore, but I jog to catch up with him when I fall too far behind. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  He glances my way for a whole half second. “Lena healed me.”

  I frown, then realize he’s talking about the remnants’ attack at my old apartment. He almost bled to death because of me.

  “No, not for that,” I say, then I grimace. “Well, yeah, for that, too. But I’m sorry for what happened before I met you. I didn’t know everything that was going on.”

  “You’re forgiven, of course,” he says. His accent makes it difficult to pick up the sarcasm in his tone, but I’m certain it’s there.

  I don’t jog to catch up with him when I fall behind this time. He can either slow down, or I’ll meet him at the gate. That’s where we’re heading. I’ve never been to Nashville before, but I’ve seen Atroth’s maps of the U.S., and while I haven’t memorized every single gate known to exist in this country—there are way too many to keep track of—I do remember one being on the lake to the east of the city. I’m pretty sure the highway up ahead runs to the west of it.

  It takes twenty more minutes to reach a small, wooded cove on the lakeshore. Trev dips his hand into the water without a word. After the fissure rumbles open, he reaches into the draw-stringed pouch tied to his belt and takes out an anchor-stone. Chaos lusters flicker over his hand when he imprints it. He hands it to me, then holds out his arm.

  It’s awkward, touching a fae who hates you, but I wrap my fingers around his forearm and brace myself for the In-Between. Cold, harsh air clenches around me, squeezing for what feels like an eternity, before it spits us back out. My body is stiff and sore and pissed at me for traveling so soon after Lorn’s hellish fissure. My vision turns white, the world tilts, and I have to hang on to Trev in order to stay on my feet.

  I’m still freezing. I don’t realize why until I let go of Trev’s arm and force my eyes to focus. I expect to be in the Realm; I don’t expect to be in a city that is not Corrist. It’s night here, but the streets are white with snow except for the circles of blue beneath the magically lit street orbs. Long, thin icicles cling to the eaves of the row houses lining the street. They’re single-storied, but there’s quite a distance between their front doors, which means they’re big. We’re in an upscale part of this city, and something about the architecture—the curved rooftops and pale blue stucco of the walls—is familiar. I think I’ve been here before.

  An uncomfortable, nervous feeling pools in my gut.

  “Where are we?” I take a step away from Trev and lock my gaze on the shadows from our extinguished fissure. I dropped Naito’s sketchbook when we stepped out of the In-Between. I bend down to retrieve it from the snow-covered ground, my heartbeat picking up its pace because I don’t know if I can trust Trev.

  “We’re in Rhigh,” he says.

  The sketchbook slips from my fingers. A gust of wind flips it open before I recover. I slap it shut, dust off the snow that sticks like powder to its cover. This place is familiar because I have been here before. With Thrain.

  I hug the sketchbook to my chest as if it can keep me warm. It was cold ten years ago, too, but I was wearing long sleeves and a jacket when Thrain abducted me, not a thin, short-sleeved T-shirt
. After three days in this weather, though, the extra layer of clothing didn’t matter. Thrain didn’t warm the air in the house he imprisoned me in. I would have frozen to death if Kyol hadn’t found me.

  Trev starts walking down the street, toward a multistoried, ornate building. The high noble’s home, maybe? Rhigh’s gate is in the other direction.

  “Trev,” I call out. Either he doesn’t notice my reaction to this place, or he doesn’t care. It’s probably the latter. He hasn’t asked why I was in Nashville or who took me there.

  I hate being on this street with him—there’s no telling who might be watching from a window—so I grab his arm and pull him into a narrow walkway. If he didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t shake free until after we’re off the main street.

  “Why aren’t we in Corrist?” I demand.

  “Lena wants you here,” he returns. That’s it. No elaboration.

  If this wasn’t Rhigh, and if I didn’t need a fae to fissure out of here, I’d turn on my heel and leave. With the exception of Kyol and a few others, this was how the Court fae treated me. They were usually more considerate than Trev—they never would have brought me here without a cloak—but they were mum when it came to explanations. When I was a teen, I didn’t have the confidence to demand more information from them, then it became a bad habit, doing what they said without knowing the reason why. I’m not putting up with that from the rebels.

  “Why does she want me here, Trev?”

  “Because I asked for a shadow-reader.” Aren’s voice comes from my left. A tingle runs through me when I see him. He wasn’t on the main street before, but he must have seen Trev and me slip between these buildings. And he must have been outside somewhere because the wind has made his hair even more disheveled than usual. He doesn’t look like a bum or an unkempt tor’um, though. He looks good. I don’t know how he pulls that off. Maybe it’s the armor hugging his torso and his arms and legs, or maybe it’s the way his silver eyes drink me in. Whatever it is, it makes him undeniably attractive.

  His gaze drops suddenly, following the path of a chaos luster down my neck, I presume, then he frowns down at the rip in my jeans. My knee is scratched up and sore from stumbling into the parking lot in Nashville, but it hurts less than the bruise on my thigh that I got when Shane hit me with a car. Neither is serious enough to need healing. Aren must realize that, but he closes the distance between us as if I’m two seconds away from dying.

  “Sidhe, Trev. She can’t keep warm,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders.

  His warm hands. I step closer, breathe in his cedar and cinnamon scent, then shiver when his touch sparks through me. I’m sure he feels the lightning, too, but he’s still glaring at Trev.

  “Are you trying to make her sick?”

  “I forgot—”

  “That she’s human?” Aren cuts him off.

  Trev opens his mouth to say something else, but swallows his words when he focuses behind me and Aren.

  “Lord Hison,” Trev says instead, with a shallow dip of his head.

  Lord Hison, elder of Dice and high noble of Jutur Province, stands only a few feet away. His midnight blue cloak is embroidered with gold leaves. It looks warm and heavy, a sharp contrast to his silver eyes, which are cold and so light they almost look white. That’s the snow reflected in them, I think.

  Aren’s tense. He moves back slightly, and I see the battle he’s fighting with himself. He doesn’t want to keep his distance from me, but like Lord Kaeth, we need Hison to vote Lena to the throne. I’ve met the high noble a few times before. He barely tolerates the presence of humans in the Realm. He definitely wouldn’t approve of Aren’s relationship with me.

  I make the decision for Aren, taking a long step back. A brief wince appears on his face before the stiffness leaves his posture, and he turns.

  “Lord Hison,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to follow.”

  Hison is focused on me. Normally, I’d avert my gaze. I don’t this time. I’m in his world trying to end the war that has spilled so much blood these last few years. I’m helping him and his people. He’s going to have to accept that I’m here.

  “Be careful with that,” Hison says, his gaze still on me. “Rumor is she seduced Taltrayn. She may try to do the same to you. Atroth should have discarded her years ago.”

  The only reason I don’t react is because he doesn’t know I understand Fae, and I want to keep it that way.

  “She is bewitching, isn’t she,” Aren says smoothly. “I’d caution you against touching her.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it, too.

  Hison stiffens.

  “The nalkin-shom needs to be inside,” Aren continues, before the high noble decides to take offense at his words. “Humans are susceptible to the elements.”

  Fae are susceptible to some extent, too—they can’t use their magic to keep warm indefinitely—but I don’t complain. I’m twice as cold as I was before Aren touched me.

  “Send your man for a cloak,” Hison says. “She’ll survive until he returns. We’ll continue on.”

  Aren’s eyes narrow just perceptibly, but Hison is already moving.

  “I’ll return quickly,” Trev mutters. Then he opens a fissure and disappears.

  I’m so cold, I’m numb to the pull of his shadows. I’m not numb, however, to Aren’s next words.

  “Lena shouldn’t have sent you.”

  All the warm, fuzzy feelings I had when I first saw him vanish. “It’s good to see you again, too.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Was I not clear that I want you to come along?” Hison asks, peering back down the walkway.

  Aren draws in a breath. I start walking before he lets it out, partly because I’m hoping moving will warm me up and partly because I’m just a tad bit hurt. I’ve been worried about him. Has he been too busy to worry about me?

  He’s fighting a war, I remind myself. He has more important things on his mind.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, falling into step beside me. His gaze dips to my bare arms.

  “I’m fine,” I say. I intend my response to be short, but it comes out harsher than I wanted. It’s the weather’s fault. My face is going numb. I am going to get sick if Trev doesn’t return soon. I’m sure he’s staying in this world; he shouldn’t have to wait too long before he fissures back.

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way,” Aren says, keeping his voice so low I wonder if Hison understands English. Two fae are with the high noble. Only the woman is a guard, I think. She’s on Hison’s right, trailing slightly behind him. The fae on Hison’s other side wears a name-cord in his hair. He’s carrying a sword, too—all fae carry them—but he doesn’t seem as ready to use it as the woman does.

  “I’ve missed you. I’ve been wanting to see you, too, just not like…” He stops, clenches his jaw, then continues. “Not here. Not like this.”

  He almost sounds pained. I scan him, searching for injuries. He looks okay, but he looks different. He’s not the same Aren who held me captive. That Aren was cavalier and sly, always ready with one of his infuriating half grins. This Aren is tense. Stressed-out. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.

  Not for the first time, I’m struck by just how little I know him. I was his prisoner for two weeks. I’ve been his ally for two and a half.

  His ally. Is that all our relationship is? It feels like it sometimes, but I want to be so much more than that.

  “This province has been unstable since we took the palace,” Aren says, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “Hison issued a curfew to try to keep things under control.”

  A curfew. That explains why the streets are empty.

  “It’s not working,” he continues. “The gate isn’t being monitored. Merchants are fighting over who gets to use it first, and while their backs are turned, fae are stealing their goods. They’re breaking into their stores, too. Hison should be able to take care of it, but the gate guards were paid by Atroth. Even if the
y’re willing to work for Lena, we don’t have the tinril to pay them. The high nobles won’t send the gate taxes to us because they haven’t voted Lena to the throne.”

  I frown. I think I do, at least. My face is so numb I can’t tell for sure. “Sethan was against taxing the gates.”

  Aren looks at me. “No.” His gaze drops to my bare arms again. He seems agitated. “We wanted fair tolls. Atroth’s were designed to keep him in power. He let merchants from the provinces he dissolved fissure for free so they wouldn’t protest. The gates need to be taxed, but we don’t have enough fae to spare to monitor them and…And I can’t watch you freeze like this.”

  His arms are around me before I process his last sentence. I look at Hison. He’s still walking, but he could turn around any second.

  “Screw him,” Aren says.

  I’m too cold to step away. Instead, I meet Aren’s eyes. “Did you pick that phrase up from Naito?”

  The corner of his mouth tilts up. “From you, actually.”

  The nervous feeling in my stomach disappears. It’s replaced with a warm, tingling sensation.

  His smile widens. “I really have missed you, nalkin-shom.”

  That smile disappears when he takes my hands in his. “Sidhe, your fingers are ice.”

  “Yeah.” I look back the way we came. We’re still in line of sight of where Trev and I fissured in. I’m assuming that’s where he’ll reappear, but there’s still no sign of him. How long does it take to get a freaking cloak?

  I turn back to Aren. Past his shoulder, I see Hison staring at us.

  “We need to keep walking,” I say.

  Aren scowls, but we turn and follow the high noble. Aren doesn’t stop touching me. He runs his hands up and down my arms, then alternates cupping first my right, then my left hand between his. The contact helps. The lightning distracts me—he distracts me—and somehow, I’m as hot as I am cold. My body isn’t numb anymore. I’m all too aware of just how much I want him.

  “You didn’t say what we’re doing here.”

  Aren’s thumb massages my palm. “Hison captured a fae who’s been encouraging the disorder. He’s outspoken against Lena, the corruption of the palace, the war. We think he’s close to the remnants’ leadership. We’re going to let him escape. We need to know where he goes.”