“Did he have any insight on Caelar?” I ask.
Lena’s silver eyes study me a moment before she answers. “Taltrayn respects him. He says Caelar is calm, charismatic, and calculating. But we have his weakness locked in a room underground.”
“Brene,” I say, and Paige’s parting comment to me makes sense now. “We should let her go.”
Lena raises an eyebrow.
“You want to talk to Caelar, don’t you?” I ask. “It’s a good faith gesture. Tell him you’ll let Brene go when he meets with you.”
“Brene might be tor’um,” Lena says, “but she’s still dangerous. She can fight, and she has information on the remnants.”
“Information she’s not telling us,” Aren adds softly. Fae might not believe in ghosts, but his eyes are haunted. Are they haunted because he made her tor’um? Or are they haunted because he wasn’t able to save Lena’s father?
I cup the glass of cabus between my palms.
“Taltrayn has been asking her questions,” Aren tells me. “No one’s hurting her. She’s being cared for.”
He misinterpreted my worry; I didn’t think they were abusing Brene.
Lena lets out a sigh. “We’ll search the mountains again.”
“It might not be their only camp,” Naito puts in. He leans forward to grab a wedge of cheese off the tray, then pops it into his mouth. “And they probably abandoned it as soon as they discovered McKenzie escaped.”
I still think they should let Brene go, but I don’t voice that thought out loud again. Instead, I stare at the crimson surface of the glass of cabus I’m holding, and something tugs at the edge of my mind.
Aren pulls out the chair to my right and sits. “We need to persuade Hison to vote for you. When you’re named queen, Caelar will lose support. He won’t give up his war, but he won’t be a threat to you anymore.”
“He’ll just be a threat to you,” Lena says sourly.
I’m still staring at my cabus. If I didn’t know what it was, I’d mistake it for a red wine.
“You’re more important than I am,” Aren says. “Besides, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”
“He has to be killed or captured,” Lena responds. “I won’t allow him to plot my sword-master’s death.” They continue talking. I know I should be concerned about Aren’s safety—and I am—but I block out their words. Sara runs a wine store that caters to people with expensive tastes. Lorn buys from her. He brings it back to the Realm and sells it.
“McKenzie?” Aren’s brow is creased. He must see something in my face.
I look at Lena. “How did you find me?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, frowning.
“You found me on my campus. How did you know I was there? How did you find out my name?” The few Court fae who knew my name and where I lived on Earth were all trusted completely by Kyol and King Atroth. When the rebels found me, we were surprised they’d managed to learn who I was.
“A letter came,” Aren answers. “It had your name and the name of your school.”
“It was anonymous?” I ask.
He nods.
“Like the anonymous note that told you I was in Nashville?”
He nods again. “And it was like the letter that told us Paige was in London.”
My heartbeat doubles its pace.
“We get dozens of tips every day,” Lena adds. “That’s how we get half of our information.”
“Most citizens who want to help are worried about repercussions if the other side ends up winning,” Aren explains.
“McKenzie,” Lena says, “what are you thinking?”
It’s clear she doesn’t get it—none of them do—but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Atroth was a strong king. Sethan had a lot of support, but it was quiet support. The reason—the only reason—we took the palace was because we had Kyol’s help. He told us the weaknesses in the Court fae’s defenses. The rebels slipped inside, assassinating a few select guards to open up the way for Lena to lead in a whole contingent of her followers. Everything the rebels did had to be done covertly because they were no match for Atroth’s Court fae in an open fight. No fae in the last decade, no matter how charismatic, has been a match for them.
“Kyol swore Atroth never gave the vigilantes my name,” I tell them. “Maybe he was right. Atroth didn’t give them my name. But somebody else did. It’s the same person who arranged for Paige and me both to be in London and to suspect the other side of slaughtering the Sighted humans. That someone is pulling our strings, making us kill each other. Weaken each other.”
“So they can step in and take the palace,” Aren says.
“Or maybe it’s just someone who wants the war to continue. He profits from it. He’s even entertained by it. I think it’s Lorn.”
That statement is greeted with a long silence. I stare at my glass of cabus again. I don’t want to believe it’s Lorn. I want to believe he’s a good person beneath his selfish exterior, but he hasn’t been helping us since we took the palace. I could be misjudging him. After all, I misjudged Kavok.
“He lost Kelia in this war,” Lena says, breaking the silence. “They had a life-bond.”
“Lorn paid fae to protect her,” Aren says. “She should have been safe.”
“He wanted to sever the life-bond.” Naito’s voice is as cold and quiet as ice. He’s as still as ice, too, and his gaze never wavers from the center of the table. I hate seeing him hurt.
“Lorn gave you an anonymous tip so that you’d find me in Nashville. That’s how he works. Was the handwriting on any of the letters you received the same?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “They came months apart.”
Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. I let my gaze sweep the hall, hoping I’ll be struck by inspiration, an idea to prove conclusively that Lorn is manipulating things behind the scenes, but the mirrors don’t offer any answers.
“I tracked Aylen to Eksan,” I murmur, mostly to myself. She was an “associate of an associate” according to Lorn. Maybe it’s more than a coincidence that she fissured to the same city Tylan was captured in.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Lena says.
“I know.” I let out a sigh and focus on the fae entering the room. He doesn’t announce his presence. I don’t find that odd until he’s walking down the length of the table. My brow furrows when he’s two chairs away from Naito, three away from Lena. Neither Lena nor Aren acknowledges the other fae’s presence, and Naito is still staring at the table.
The problem doesn’t click into place until he draws his sword.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“LENA, MOVE!”
My shout startles everyone into motion, and that’s the only reason she survives. Naito’s chair flies back, barely missing the remnant. The fae pauses long enough for Lena to draw her sword. She swings blindly, completely missing him, but Naito’s grabbed ahold of his overturned chair.
He swings it as Lena backpedals, as Aren leaps over the table, and as I grab the unopened bottle sitting on the silver platter.
But I don’t have to use my makeshift weapon. Aren knows where the remnant is the second Naito swings the chair into him. Aren slides off the table, his sword stabbing forward.
The remnant’s jaedric cuirass stops the attack. He faces Aren, but Lena steps left, then plunges her blade into his side. He cries out, falls to his knees, but he’s still alive. Still breathing.
“How did you get in here?” Lena demands, withdrawing her sword. The remnant’s hand goes to his side, but he can’t stop the river of blood from flowing between his fingers. He shakes his head as he gasps for air.
Lena’s sword point reenters the fae’s wound, and he screams.
The room tilts, and I’m suddenly nauseous. Lena asks him again how he got in here and what the remnants’ plan is, then there’s a shout from just outside the Mirrored Hall. Something breaks.
I sprint to the hall’s open doors, step out onto the balcony t
hat overlooks the huge antechamber below.
My breath catches in my throat. Blood spills over the smooth, polished marble floor. The remnants are everywhere. I don’t know how. We’re inside the Silver Palace, which is inside Corrist’s silver walls. The only way for fae to fissure here is via a Sidhe Tol, but Lena has guards on all of them. It should be impossible for this many remnants to make it here at once.
Unless, of course, the remnants have retaken one of the Sidhe Tol.
As I back away from the railing, my gaze sweeps past the open doors to the king’s hall on the floor below. Kyol’s there. Remnants see him, too. They attack…
And he kills them as if they’re afterthoughts. He’s preoccupied, searching for…
He’s searching for Lena, I realize.
“Kyol!”
I don’t know how he hears me over the sounds of the battle, but he looks up. His eyes lock on me for two, maybe three seconds, then he’s running, sprinting for the stairs that will bring him to me.
“Lena’s in here,” I say, when he reaches me. I expect him to immediately enter the Mirrored Hall. Instead, he cups the back of my head and pulls me against his chest.
His embrace is tight, and I swear I feel a shudder go through his body when he lays his head against mine. God, the news of my supposed death must have rattled him. He shouldn’t be holding me like this—he should be rushing to protect Lena—but I lean into him, giving him a few seconds before I move back so that I can peer up into his face.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like I wanted to be captured by the remnants. But I definitely didn’t want to hurt him either.
I feel his chest rise as he draws in a breath, then he lets me go. Whatever he thought or felt when he pulled me into his arms doesn’t show on his face. His expression is as hard and unreadable as a stone’s.
After one quick glance at the fight below, he motions me inside the Mirrored Hall.
“Why are you here?” Kyol’s voice rings out as we stride toward Lena. The remnant she was interrogating is gone. Into the ether, I presume.
“Privacy,” she bites back.
He takes her arm when he reaches her side, starts pulling her toward the gap in the wall the servant entered and exited through earlier. “If you’d been in the king’s hall or your quarters, you could have escaped by now.”
“Escape?” She jerks free. “I’m not leaving the palace.”
“You are.”
“If I leave, I lose everything,” she says, her tone scathing. Then, when Kyol reaches for her again, she adds, “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”
I think she might mean that.
“If you die,” he counters, “the rebellion loses everything.”
Her nostrils flare. She tightens her right hand around the hilt of her sword, then, her gaze steely, she lifts her left. In it, she’s holding an anchor-stone. It’s jagged and an opalescent smoky gray.
“A remnant had this,” she says. “It will lead to a Sidhe Tol. A new Sidhe Tol.”
“They found another?” I ask, alarmed. King Atroth knew the locations of only three of the Ancestors’ Gates. Those gates allow fae to fissure into areas protected by silver. They’re located in my world, and I know Atroth had fae constantly searching for others, but what are the chances that they found one now?
“We need to secure the Sidhe Tol,” she says. The words are an order, and her rigid tone and regal posture say she expects it to be carried out, and quickly. She sounds very much like the daughter of a high noble, and it’s apparently a queenly enough tone that Kyol doesn’t argue.
His gaze remains on Lena. “Naito will go to the Sidhe Tol with Jorreb.” His jaw clenches. “You’ll stay with Lena, McKenzie. Make sure an illusionist doesn’t assassinate her.”
With that, Kyol turns and exits the hall.
“Looks like we have our orders,” Aren mutters. He doesn’t leave immediately, though. He turns me toward him, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me before I’m able to focus on his face. I feel more in his kiss than I’d ever see in his expression: affection, desire, and respect. Fear.
“Remember,” he whispers, pulling back slightly. “Be careful. Please. I can’t lose you again.”
Naito goes with him, leaving me alone with Lena. She waits all of five seconds before she uses her foot to scoop up the dead remnant’s sword. She catches its hilt in the air, then hands it to me with a terse, “Follow me.”
I stare down at the sword. It’s a long, slender weapon that looks elegant and light but is lethal and heavy. The blade is slightly longer than my arm, and the jaedric-wrapped hilt is grooved from the remnant’s fingers. My hand is smaller than his, so the grip is awkward.
“Lena, we shouldn’t—”
She’s almost to the doors of the Mirrored Hall.
“Lena, wait!”
I manage to catch her arm before she steps onto the balcony. “You can’t leave this room.”
Cold silver eyes rise to meet mine. “You would rather me let people die than go out there and heal them?”
“They’re fighting for you. I’d rather you stay alive, so it’s not in vain.”
“I’m not staying here, McKenzie.” She shakes loose.
I blow out a breath and follow her.
She must have forgotten I’m human because I can’t catch up, not until she stops at the top of the staircase, looking down at the battle below. Her face hardens. I think I know why: she’s not used to seeing so many fae injured in the middle of a fight. They usually fissure out if they’re hurt badly enough. They can’t do that here. Her people are hurt. Without her help, they’re going to lie there and die.
“Lena,” Trev says, climbing the steps.
Lena descends the stairs, passing Trev without a word. His gaze locks onto my sword, and I swear to God I see his eyes widen.
Great, I look as ridiculous as I feel carrying this thing.
“Stay with us,” I order as I go down the stairs two at a time, trying to catch up with Lena.
She kills a remnant before the fae is able to slam his sword into the rebel lying injured on the floor. His soul-shadow replaces his body. Lena passes through it, kneels by the rebel’s side, and places her hands on his mangled leg.
Another fae approaches. Before I have to make a decision on whether I’m actually going to have to try to fight him, Trev engages him.
Thank God.
I turn back to Lena, but she’s already moved on. Damn it. Kyol should have ordered her to stay with me. I can’t keep up, and I really, really don’t want to move farther into the fight.
I draw in a breath, start to move her way, when a cry to my left catches my attention.
It’s Jacia. She falls back, barely deflecting a remnant’s attack. The remnant’s back is to me, and he swings at her again, then again and again, relentless in his attack. Jacia is barely holding him off.
And his back is still to me.
She’ll die if I don’t help her.
I pull back my sword as I step left, giving myself a straight shot at the remnant’s side, where the bindings holding his cuirass together are tied. Putting all my weight behind me, I thrust my sword forward.
Only a few inches of the blade slide in, but those few inches hurt. The fae turns, screaming. He starts to lift his sword to attack me, but Jacia takes advantage of the distraction I caused. She swings her blade at the remnant’s neck. It slides cleanly all the way through. Blood arcs through the air as the head and body fall.
Jacia nods her thanks.
A nod of thanks for helping her kill someone else.
I clench my teeth together, turn, but I’ve lost sight of Lena and Trev.
“Shit,” I mutter. I have to find her. The illusionist in the Mirrored Hall was there because he was looking for her, and the remnants have other illusionists—Tylan is one. He might try to assassinate her.
Thinking about Tylan makes me think about Paige. Is she here? Is Lee? No other humans are in this
antechamber, just remnants and rebels absorbed in destroying each other. Maybe Paige has gone back to Earth already.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest as I make my way to the wall, then follow it around until I reach a corridor that leads toward the eastern wing of the palace and the veligh, the waterfront. That’s where we’re the most vulnerable, so that might be where Lena’s heading.
I keep my sword held ready, but try my best to make myself look small and uninteresting. I’m lucky. There are more rebels in this corridor than remnants. I’m able to make it all the way outside the palace without having to defend myself.
Things are worse than I thought they would be out here. It looks like the remnants had two goals when they fissured in: to assassinate Lena and to break through this portion of the silver wall.
Approximately a hundred feet lies between the palace and the wall. The silver plating is bent and cracked around a gaping hole. The interior of the wall, made up of stone blocks and wooden stairs and balconies for the guards to stand watch on, is clearly visible straight ahead. It was only a few days ago that the remnants almost broke through there. They lit fires at the wall’s base while they pummeled it with rocks and boulders, some thrown by hand, others launched by magic. The rebels fought them off, but there hasn’t been time to repair the damage.
The remnants are attacking the wall from both sides now. They’re trying to chop down the beams of the scaffold that’s holding it up. Kyol and a dozen other rebels are trying to fight them off.
I tighten my fist around the hilt of my sword and press my back against the palace, scanning the strip of land for Lena or Trev or some way to help.
My gaze goes back to the scaffolding. It’s shaking and teetering, just barely holding out. Is there a way I can help there?
I push away from the wall, moving toward it, thinking I might be able to draw some fae away from it, when something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. A remnant stands far off to my right, focusing on the fight at the scaffold, too. He’s gathering a ball of fire in his hand.
Dread traps my air in my lungs. He’s going to throw it at the scaffold. The scaffold won’t hold up. It’ll fall. It’ll crush Kyol and the other rebels and open up a huge gap in the wall. The remnants will be able to pour in.
The Shattered Dark Page 29
