“NAITO!” Kelia’s cry jars me awake. My head thumps back, hitting the wall.
“Kelia!” Naito leaps to his feet beside me.
Kelia launches herself into his arms. He stumbles back, nearly falls over the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He balances on its back and wraps his arms around her. They kiss and jagged blue lightning strikes across her cheek. It leaps into Naito’s lips and then skates down his neck to disappear beneath his shirt collar.
Watching the edarratae play across their skin makes me aware of the chill in the room. My gaze shifts to the couch, but Aren’s not there. Only Lena. She doesn’t so much as twitch despite the makeout session going on behind her. She stares at the tiled top of the coffee table. For once, I don’t hate her. She’s just lost her brother, and I feel like shit for having worked for the people who killed him.
The blinds on the back door rattle. Lorn swings it shut, then heaves a dramatic sigh. “Could you two please restrain yourselves in my presence? I can only tolerate so much.”
Naito and Kelia separate. About an inch.
I swallow the sip of wine at the bottom of my glass, then stand to set it on the counter. Aren comes out of the hallway with Sosch perched across his shoulders. I haven’t seen the kimki since Aren took me through the gate in Germany, so I’m glad he’s here and safe, but he seems just as weary and defeated as the fae.
Aren’s gaze slides from Naito and Kelia to me. God, he looks tired. He hasn’t showered or rested. He hasn’t had time. He’s been trapped in conversations all afternoon. Shyer isn’t the only fae who’s come by to confirm Sethan’s death. The Court’s announcing their victory across the Realm, and each time the news is passed on, the rebellion’s supporters fall away. The whole thing’s teetering on a pedestal that won’t hold it anymore.
Aren sets Sosch on the floor, then gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I can’t stand seeing him like this.
“Kyol said he’d talk to the king,” I tell him. “Atroth might be willing to negotiate a truce.”
Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say. Aren’s face hardens. He walks past me to go sit beside Lena on the couch.
What? I can’t even mention Kyol’s name? Whatever. Aren needs to consider all his options. Even with Sethan dead, Radath won’t stop hunting the rebels.
Lorn’s staring at me. So are Naito and Kelia, but less obviously.
“Have a seat, Lorn,” Aren orders, picking up a sheathed dagger from the coffee table. He grips its hilt, point down, between his palms.
I frown as Lorn walks into the sitting area and drops down on a sofa-chair. When Naito and Kelia take the matching chair, I sink to the floor in front of the fireplace and loosely wrap my arms around my knees.
“We have to find someone else to take the throne,” Aren says quietly. “A Descendant whose lineage can’t be questioned.”
For some reason, everyone looks at Lorn.
Lorn takes in all the stares, laughs. “Oh, no. Not me. I’m perfectly happy ruling the Realm from the shadows. I have no desire to be king.”
“Your bloodline is the next purest after Sethan’s,” Aren says. “The nobles would support you.”
“My bloodline is the next purest after Sethan’s and Atroth’s,” Lorn counters. “Besides, my reputation would taint the entire rebellion.”
Lena shifts beside Aren. “Half the Realm already knows you’ve helped us,” she says. There’s not much life in her voice, but at least she’s here and participating, and if she throws her support behind Lorn, maybe Sethan’s backers will consider him. If he lets himself get talked into this.
He shakes his head. “No, they know I’m connected to Kelia and all they know about her is she’s an eccentric.”
“Hey!”
“You are, my dear.” He smiles at her. “Your infatuation with everything human is unnatural.”
She rolls her eyes, a very human gesture that pretty much proves Lorn’s point. Naito leans forward and whispers something into her ear. She laughs and snuggles closer to him.
When her edarratae strike up Naito’s arms, my skin tingles, and I can’t stop myself from looking at Aren. He’s watching me. There’s still a dark edge in his expression. I don’t like seeing him so grave and distant.
I’ll probably regret my next question for the rest of my life, but I just admitted to myself moments ago the rebels needed to consider all their options. I might as well put the idea out there. “Why can’t Lena be queen?”
The Realm’s never struck me as a place where women’s rights are violated. As far as I’ve seen, women are treated with the same respect as men. So why not?
“It’s never been done before.” It’s Lena who answers, and to my surprise, she doesn’t look like she wants to slash my throat. I wouldn’t call her expression friendly, but it’s a definite improvement over the last time she acknowledged my existence. She’s willing to step up. If she can get the support.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Lorn says after a moment.
Nalst speaks up from his spot beside the fireplace. “The high nobles might consider her over Atroth if they believed the Zarrak line contained more of the Tar Sidhe’s blood. They don’t.”
Lorn glances at me, hesitates. After a quick look at Aren, he says, “With Taltrayn’s support behind Lena, they’d consider it.”
I sniff. If only. “I already tried to get him to leave the Court. He won’t abandon his king.”
No one says a word. That’s odd. What’s even odder is, when I scan the faces around me, no one meets my gaze, not even Aren, who’s staring, jaw clenched, at the hilt of his dagger.
Something twists through my stomach. “What?”
Kelia shifts in Naito’s arms. She knows something I don’t. They all do.
“The king’s ordered Taltrayn to be executed,” Lena says.
A chill sinks into my bones. No. Atroth wouldn’t execute Kyol. They’re friends, have been for decades. I wouldn’t have left Kyol if I thought he’d be hurt. Lena has to be misinformed.
But no, Aren’s expression confirms it. There’s a defensive glint in his eyes, but they’re sharp, almost threatening, too.
“You weren’t going to tell me.”
His face is like a stone. There’s no remorse there, no apology.
“Did you think I wouldn’t want to know?”
“You didn’t need to know.” He chunks his dagger down on the coffee table; it slides off the other side.
I suck in a shallow breath. The air isn’t cold enough to quell the hurt burning in the pit of my stomach, and I’m too pissed to do anything but stare. He stares right back at me.
“So sorry to interrupt what I’m sure will be an interesting little quarrel,” Lorn says from the sofa-chair. “But if Taltrayn abandons the Court, the nobles will take note. They trust him. They know he’d never change his allegiance without reason. They’ll consider your cause. They may consider Lena.”
A muscle twitches in Aren’s cheek. “We don’t need him.”
“We do,” Lena says.
“We don’t!” Aren’s eyes flash. “Besides, he’s in the dungeons beneath the Silver Palace. We can’t get to him.”
“We could if we knew the location of a Sidhe Tol.” Lena looks at me.
I grab a sketchbook off the coffee table. I found it last night and started drawing all the shadows I could remember. Flipping through the pages, I find the map I’m looking for. It isn’t my most accurate map—I sketched it in the dirt while I waited for Kyol to speak to the Sidhe Tol’s guards—but the rebels have Sosch. The shadow-reading will take them close enough for the kimki to find it.
“Moldova,” I say, jamming my finger down on the center of my sketch. I’m with the rebellion now. There’s no reason to withhold the gate’s location.
“Moldova?” Naito says. “That’s in this world.”
It is. Aren doesn’t seem to care.
“You give me the Sidhe Tol now,” he all but snarls. “For him.”
“I would have given it to you anyway.”
He laughs.
I dig my fingers into my knees, attempt to hold on to my temper, but I’m too tired for this. “Don’t be an ass, Aren. You need him. If he’s going to be executed, he knows he can’t reason with the king.”
“So that’s how it is,” he says. “You want me to risk my life for his.”
“I—” I stop. Jesus, that’s what I’m asking, isn’t it? With the Sidhe Tol, Aren has surprise on his side, but he still has to get out of the Silver Palace. It won’t be a simple rescue. He might not make it. How can I even ask him to try?
“Aren—”
“I’ll talk to our other supporters. I’ll make them listen.” He stands and abruptly opens a fissure.
“Before you go,” Lena says, “you should shower and change clothes.”
Her suggestion comes out more like an order. Aren stiffens. I’m certain he’s going to ignore Lena and step through the slash of light, but then his shoulders relax. He lets his fissure disappear. “I won’t change my mind on this.”
Lena returns his stare, but says nothing. The living room is silent for a long, tense moment before Aren finally heads to the hallway.
“Somebody is short-tempered today,” Lorn says when he’s gone.
He has reason to be. He’s exhausted and frustrated. He’s lost friends, the rebellion is falling apart, and I just asked him to save the life of one of his enemies.
I scrape my fingers through my hair. I don’t want to hurt Aren, but Kyol would do anything to save me. I can’t abandon him. There has to be a way to help him without Aren being involved.
I look up, and my eyes find Lorn. Maybe?
“No,” he says, preempting my question. “I’m afraid you’ve lost your advantage, McKenzie. The Sidhe Tol isn’t useful to me if others know its location. Besides, you still owe me for saving your life in Belecha.”
“Then I’ll owe you again. Kyol will owe you.” I hear the desperation in my voice, but I’m too worn-out and shaken to try to hide it.
“Now you’re offering favors that aren’t yours to give away,” he says. “No, I’ve done far too much already. My people can’t be involved in a raid on the palace. If Aren has no interest in freeing Taltrayn, then this rebellion is over.”
He sounds so nonchalant. He really doesn’t care about the rebellion.
“I need to speak to McKenzie alone.”
All eyes turn to Lena. She doesn’t look eager to talk to me. In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t want to talk to her either, but, well, things have changed.
Lorn stands. “It’s past time I leave, anyway. Kelia, you will stay out of trouble, won’t you, my dear?”
When she doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow, he sighs. “Then do send for me before you do something foolish.”
He’s the only fae who fissures out. I watch his shadows bend and shift as the others go out the back door. It’s quiet when it closes behind them. The only sound is the squeak of the shower being turned on. Not wanting to remain sitting on the floor for this conversation, I move to the chair Lorn vacated.
Lena still doesn’t say anything. I hate the silence. I hate sitting here not knowing if Kyol’s alive, not knowing if I can get to him in time or if I can get to him at all. But it seems wrong and selfish to bring him up right now, so instead I say, “I’m sorry about your brother.”
She looks up. I don’t think she believes me. She doesn’t look skeptical, exactly. Her eyes are a muted silver, not bright and sharp, and her expression is as neutral as I’ve ever seen it. It reminds me of Kyol, and I have to wonder if she’s hiding as much as he does behind her mask.
“I didn’t think you would support me,” she says.
I would support Sethan if he were here. Of course, Sethan didn’t advocate killing me. He didn’t break my arm. He didn’t have an obvious vendetta against me. But Lena is the only option we have now. I’m willing to put our past aside and start over if she is.
“Can you get Kyol out of the palace?” I ask.
“Can you convince him to support me?” She doesn’t blink. I want to lie. I want to assure her Kyol will do anything I ask, but he won’t. He’ll do almost anything, and as much as I want to believe his pending execution will erase that “almost,” I don’t think it will. There’s a reason why his support could win Lena the throne: the fae respect him. They trust him. They know honor is etched into his soul. Even though his honor has kept us from being together, I don’t want that part of him to change. Kyol has been the only constant in my life these last ten years. I need him to stay the same.
I need him to stay alive.
“I don’t know,” I say. God, I hope those words don’t get him killed. Lena doesn’t owe me anything. She might not take action without a guarantee, but I can’t give her one. If Kyol doesn’t think she’s good for the Realm, he won’t help the rebellion.
“Sethan didn’t want this,” she says quietly, her gaze settling on the coffee table. I relax some. It has to be a good sign that she’s thinking about what Sethan would do. Sethan would take this risk.
“When the high nobles chose Atroth as king, he could have protested. He could have complained about the remapping of the provinces. There was a quiet outcry, but that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was Thrain.”
Thrain. Of course this would lead back to him. I might be oblivious to the existence of the fae if he didn’t discover me.
“There have always been false-bloods,” she continues. “But none were as successful as he was. He scared Atroth, and Atroth reacted . . . badly. He started making decisions based on how to keep his throne, not how to protect the Realm. Sethan . . .” Her voice cracks and, hell, I almost—almost—want to put an arm around her shoulders. “Sethan decided to overthrow the king only after Krytta.”
Krytta. The ghost town in the middle of what became the Barren. A magical implosion killed every one of its inhabitants when its gate was destroyed. Their essences, their souls, were ripped from their bodies. More than two thousand fae—they hadn’t gone into the ether—rotted in the sun for weeks before a caravan reached them. But that wasn’t Atroth’s fault.
“Thrain destroyed the gate,” I say. “Not the Court.” It sounds like I’m defending the Court. I’m not—not really—but the king and his fae did do some good things. They saved my life, got rid of Thrain, and have been trying to keep peace and order in the Realm. Plus, if the king was a tyrant or truly, thoroughly evil, Kyol would never have fought for him.
“It was Thrain’s fault,” Lena acknowledges, “but the fae in Krytta were protecting him. He wouldn’t have had that support if Atroth made different decisions. Krytta’s merchants couldn’t afford the gate taxes. They lied when they told inspectors what they were transporting, and the king responded by invading their businesses and confiscating their goods. Fae who fought back were imprisoned or killed, things escalated, and then Thrain destroyed the gate.” She meets my eyes again. “Do you think Taltrayn will see the damage his king has done?”
He’s already seen it. That’s why he stayed behind: he thought he could reason with Atroth. I’m sure he knows now how wrong he was to believe that, but whether his new perception of his king will translate into support for Lena, I have no idea.
That’s not the question she’s asking, though.
“Yes,” I say, putting confidence in my voice.
Maybe too much confidence. Lena’s lips thin. She looks like she’s about to stand when she moves to the edge of the couch. Then she goes still again. After another long moment in which I seriously consider dropping to my knees and begging for her help, she lets out a breath. She doesn’t look happy, but some of the tension ebbs out of her posture.
“I need you to talk to Aren.”
I frown. That’s not what I expected her to say.
“Talk to him about what?” It might be a stupid question, but Lena was here when Aren all but said he’d rather see Kyol dead than have him help the rebellion.
“You need to convince him to save Taltrayn.”
Maybe she’s hard of hearing or was totally spaced out during that conversation. I shake my head. “Aren hates Kyol. You’re going to have to send someone else. With the Sidhe Tol they can—”
“No one else will go,” she cuts me off. “Not without Aren.”
“I already tried—”
“You didn’t try,” she snaps. “You gave in. You gave in because you didn’t want to hurt him.”
The fact that she knows me this well annoys the hell out of me. Add to that annoyance a shovelful of exhaustion and I’m close to saying something I’ll regret. The deep breath I take in doesn’t do much to calm me, but I exhale, reminding myself that I can’t afford to piss her off.
“You saw how he acted,” I say. “He won’t listen.”
Her lips twitch into a brief, bitter smile. “Aren sent you to the Court with an anchor-stone. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never done something so careless, so foolish, before. He acts on instinct, but his instinct isn’t always right, and he’s angry and tired now. He’s not thinking clearly, but if you push him—if you really try to make him see reason—he’ll listen to you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. It feels like someone’s slamming a hammer against the backs of my eyes. “I need some time to think.”
“You don’t have time,” Lena says. “If you care about either of them, you’ll make Aren do this. He won’t give up on this rebellion until he’s dead or we’ve won. The only way to win is with Taltrayn’s help.”
The shower squeaks off in the bathroom, and snakes coil in the pit of my stomach. Lena knows Aren better than I do. Maybe he will listen.
“Can Aren do it?” I ask.
“If he can put a sword in Taltrayn’s hand, I believe so.” Aren and Kyol fighting side by side? It could work. If they don’t kill each other.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.”
AREN’S alone in the study, sitting in a black swivel chair with his back to the door. He stares at the center of a redwood desk and doesn’t turn when I enter. I’m not being stealthy, though. I’m sure he hears me.
This is going to go so well.
Light streams in through the window’s open blinds. On the wall to the left, two tall bookcases are crammed with atlases, loose maps, and spiraled sketchbooks. My shelves back home are the same, though Naito’s look like they’re much better organized. His desk is in order, too—clean, with all his pens in the holder beside a blank legal pad. There’s a jar of anchor-stones sitting there, too. I walk over, pick it up, and study the two world maps—one of Earth, one of the Realm—pinned to the wall. Naito’s marked the gates on both with red pushpins.
I rotate the jar in my hand, making the anchor-stones clank against the glass. “Aren?”
No response.
I bite my lower lip, trying to decide how to reach him. “Taltrayn can help you.”
A short, caustic laugh, and his silver eyes slide to mine. “You think calling him by his family name will change my mind?”
Okay. Bad strategy. “This isn’t about him. It’s about the rebellion.”
“It’s about you.” He stands, sending his chair careening toward me.
I catch it, grip its back, trying to think of a way to do this without hurting him. “That’s the problem, Aren. It shouldn’t be about me. You have a chance to end the war.”
“I can do it without him.”
“How?”
He stares out the window.
“I’d really like to know. Sethan’s dead. His supporters are abandoning you.”
His jaw clenches.
“Think about it, Aren. Kyol knows the king. He knows General Radath.”
Not even a twitch at those words.
“He knows the locations of the other Sidhe Tol.”
“Damn it, McKenzie!” Aren spins. “He lost you! He can’t have you back!”
My heart gives an angry thud. “I left him—”
“Because you had to.”
I dig my fingers into the chair’s leather. “I was leaving him before Radath tossed me into Chaer.”
“Because you had to,” he says again, acid dripping from his voice. “He wouldn’t compromise his honor for you.”
“He was going to tell the king about us!” I shove the chair at him.
He swipes it out of the way and storms forward. “He’s had ten years to make you fall in love with him. I haven’t had ten weeks! Tell me how that’s fair!”
I back away, my heart pounding.
“Do you know what he’s been doing these last few weeks? Do you?”
“He—”
“He’s invaded the homes of every fae rumored to be connected to the rebellion. He threatened their families, knocked around anyone who didn’t answer his questions. If he didn’t like what they had to say, he arrested them. If they fought him, he killed them. Do you have any idea how many of my friends he’s murdered?”
“He wants this war to end just as much as you do.” I hate that Kyol has to kill. I hate that Aren has to, that I had to.
He rams his fist into the open door. It slams shut. “You’d say anything to make me save him.”
“Aren—”
“Go ahead,” he snarls. “Lie to me. Tell me you don’t still have feelings for him.”
Edarratae flash over his face. The blue lightning seems to buzz with his fury. The only time I’ve ever seen him close to this angry was when I called the cops with the vigilante’s cell phone, but after the initial blowup, he turned cold and indifferent. He’s not indifferent now.
I shift my gaze to his chest, watch it rise and fall with his furious breaths. He’s right: I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have feelings for Kyol—I do—but I’m not doing this just to save him. I’m doing it to save Aren, too.
“What happens afterward?” he demands. “What happens when Taltrayn puts his hands on you?” He grabs my hips. “When he begs you to forgive him?” He pulls me against his chest.
My hands go to the hard muscles of his forearms. Lightning leaps up and down his arms, heating my palms.
“Aren,” I whisper.
His mouth is close enough for my lips to pull a chaos luster across the air. I shiver when it sparks over my tongue. Aren doesn’t close those last few millimeters, though. He hovers there, his eyes daring me to initiate the kiss.
All thoughts of Kyol disappear. Aren’s hands clench on my hips when I slant my mouth over his. He’s stunned only for a moment and then he kisses me back, pressing the length of his body into mine. The edarratae pour out of him, into me. My muscles turn molten. They quiver. I slide my hands up his chest to grip his shoulders. I dig my fingers into his muscles as he dips his tongue into my mouth.
A moan. My moan. Warmth coils in my stomach, sinks lower. Aren hooks his hands behind my knees, lifts. I wrap my legs around his waist and weave my fingers through his disheveled hair. Everything’s moving too quickly, not quickly enough.
He sets me on Naito’s desk, then slides his hands under my shirt. Lightning bolts around my rib cage and I arch into him. He kisses my jaw, my throat, the scar along the side of my neck. He murmurs something in Fae, but my body is too full of edarratae, my mind too full of him, to translate.
I kiss him again, sucking chaos lusters from his lower lip. They taste so good, so tantalizing. He’s tantalizing. I press my hips forward, needing to feel him against me. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer, but this time he doesn’t budge. He removes my hands one at a time.
“Fine,” he says, his words coming out breathless. “I’ll save your precious sword-master, McKenzie. But I will never, ever give you back to him.”