Lena joins us at the door. No one says a word as she steps forward and taps the wooden planks with her fingertips. I don’t notice the magical ward until its soft hum fades away at her touch, alerting whoever’s inside that they have a visitor. I oscillate between feeling claustrophobic and overexposed in my cloak. It seems to take forever for someone to come to the door. When a fae finally cracks it open, he levels a crossbow at Aren’s chest and wears a scowl effective enough to make me retreat a pace. Aren grabs my arm, keeping me from fleeing farther. At least he isn’t thrusting me in front of him. On the other hand, death by crossbow appeals to me more than death by the hands of the Lyechaban citizens.
“We’re here to speak with Lorn,” Lena says.
“He knows I’m here, Versh,” Kelia adds.
A hint of amusement touches the fae’s silver eyes. “Kelia,” he drawls. “You’ve been absent for months. It’s good to see you again.”
“Let us in.”
A smile curves his lips. He nods toward me and Naito. “I need to see their faces first.”
“You know Naito,” Kelia says. “You can see McKenzie inside.”
Versh’s eyebrows rise just perceptibly, causing a current of unease to run through me.
“A moment,” he says and closes the door.
Aren’s grip tightens on my arm. “He recognizes McKenzie’s name. He shouldn’t.”
Kelia says something about Lorn. I don’t understand all her words, but I think she’s saying he has friends or servants or sources throughout the Realm. Aren’s expression makes it clear he doesn’t accept that explanation. Apparently, it took a lot of digging for the rebels to learn my name. Aside from Atroth, Radath, Kyol, and a few other trusted members of the king’s Inner Court, no one knows who I am. No one’s supposed to, at least.
Versh returns after a few minutes. He opens the door wide enough for us to enter. As we step inside, he says, “Only Kelia and the son of Jorreb need to disarm.”
If fae had the guts to use tech as outdated as a record player, it would have screeched to a halt just then. Never mind that Versh spoke in English; he’s deliberately insulting every one of us but Aren and Kelia. Not asking a guest to disarm when they enter your home is akin to giving them the finger. They’re saying you have so little skill with your weapons you could never be a threat to them. Since I’m human and honestly can’t fight worth a damn, the snub doesn’t bother me. It bothers Lena, though, and from his stance, I think Naito might even be insulted.
“Nom Sidhe,” Kelia curses. Without disarming, she brushes by Versh. “Lorn! Lorn!”
Versh lets her go and waits while Aren unbuckles his weapons belt and hangs it on something that looks like an extravagant coatrack. The rack is the only piece of furniture in sight besides a couch with a broken back in the large room to the right of the entryway. It’s pushed up against a wall that is covered in . . . graffiti, I guess. Fae symbols are scrawled from the baseboard up almost to the—
I duck my head. There are at least two fae armed with crossbows peering down at us from the balcony. Even if they aren’t Lyechabanians, I’m not eager to let them see my edarratae.
“This way,” Versh says. He leads us toward the corridor Kelia vanished into. We take one right-hand turn and then Versh leads us down a narrow staircase. I have trouble seeing in the dim light, but I move toward the blue-white sphere hanging ahead. Four armed fae sit in the room at the bottom of the stairs. They don’t say a word as we follow Versh through another doorway, but I feel their eyes watching us. Watching me.
I hear Kelia before I see her. She’s ripping into a fae seated casually on the edge of a red wood desk. He’s not bothered by her lecture. Neither are the two guards holding their crossbows at ease in the room’s back corners.
Unlike the graffitied walls and dilapidated condition of the front of this building, the basement is painted a deep burgundy and has plush white carpet underfoot. A number of silverframed paintings hang on the walls. I recognize the Sidhe Cabred in one, the Silver Palace’s sculpture garden in another.
Naito brushes back his hood and steps to Kelia’s side. The fae on the desk—I assume he’s Lorn—steeples his fingers.
“Naito.” He greets the human with an insincere smile before shifting his gaze to Aren. “I’m surprised you’ve allowed him to come. From what I hear, you don’t have enough spare shadow-readers to risk losing another one.” He glances at me. “Or two.”
“You know why Naito’s here,” Kelia says.
I don’t know why he’s here. Maybe it’s a male thing, a competition or something. If so, it’s stupid. Naito doesn’t trust Lorn—that much is obvious—but he should trust Kelia. She didn’t leave him when the vigilantes attacked. She loves him. There’s no need for him to risk coming to Lyechaban.
“That was over a year ago.” He turns back to Naito. “And my kaesha insisted I apologize. Surely even humans don’t hold grievances this long?”
“It’s a lack of trust, Lorn,” Naito says. It’s clear the fae is trying to get under his skin, but he does an admirable job of keeping himself together, especially with Lorn calling Kelia his kaesha.
“Ah, yes. I suppose that’s not unfounded.” With a flick of his fingers, he straightens his cuffed white sleeves and stands. “At least I can make this a short trip. I have no intention to increase provisions to the rebellion. Atroth is already quite peeved I’ve supplied you with silver, as minuscule as the amount was. You’ll have to find somebody else to bribe.”
“We’re not here for silver,” Lena says. Even though Lorn has been speaking English, I feel like I’m missing part of the conversation.
“No?” His gaze shifts to me. “I had an interesting visit yesterday. Few things take me by surprise, but when the king’s sword-master himself comes knocking on your door . . . Well, even someone like me couldn’t have predicted that.”
Kyol’s still looking for me. Why does that make me feel more nervous than relieved?
“What did Taltrayn say?” Aren asks.
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Lorn motions to a shiny table to our left. It looks like it might be made out of jaedric. If so, it seems like an extravagant waste of money. This whole room is.
Lorn takes a seat at the table. Lena sits across from him. Kelia and Naito remain standing. I want to follow their example and lean against the wall, but Aren places his hand on my shoulder. “Sit, McKenzie.”
I shrug his hand off but sink down onto the chair.
“Is she shy?” Lorn asks, staring at me.
“Most likely she’s plotting an escape attempt,” Aren replies. Then he brushes my hood back. With my face exposed, I feel naked, but I manage to keep my expression blank. I hope I do, at least, because Aren’s right. I’m beginning to formulate a plan.
“Ah, there you are.” Lorn smiles. “And the edarratae. Quite beautiful. Taltrayn is very concerned about you. Odd, that. I’ve never seen the sword-master unsettled, but he very nearly slit my throat when he didn’t like what I had to say.”
“What did you tell him?” Lena demands.
Lorn’s eyes don’t leave me. “I told him, quite honestly at the time, I’ve never seen nor heard of a McKenzie Lewis. May I?” He holds his hand out, palm up.
I glance at Aren, searching for some kind of direction, but his face remains impassive.
Okay. Fine. I reach out and lay my hand in Lorn’s. I’m prepared for the hot lick of lightning, but Lorn sucks in a breath the second my edarratae seep into him
“Hmm,” he murmurs. “I’d wondered . . .” His grip tightens. The edarratae surge with the prolonged contact. Three bolts spiral around my wrist, then through his palm and up his arm. His coal gray pupils dilate, and I’m not sure if he’s going to let me go. Touching him feels strange and piercing, but I won’t tug free. I don’t want him to know how much this sensation affects me.
Aren straightens. Lorn’s gaze flickers to him briefly and then he releases my hand. “Well, that answers a few questions.”
>
I rub my palm over my pants leg, erasing the pleasant tingle. It’s easier to work with the Court, where no one but Kyol ever touches me.
“We need you to read her,” Lena says.
Lorn props his arm on the edge of the table. “She’s the Court’s toy. Certain people will be unhappy if she’s hurt.”
I glance between Lena and Lorn. Does she mean . . . Is Lorn a mind reader? Telepathy is supposed to be an extinct magic.
“I have money,” Lorn says after a moment. “I have silver. I have excellent informants and a good deal of influence throughout the Realm. What could you possibly offer in exchange for this service?”
“She knows the location of a Sidhe Tol.” Aren’s quiet words fall like a noose around my neck.
Lorn’s eyebrows go up. “Now, that’s interesting. Tell me, however did you learn that? I wouldn’t think Atroth would trust a human, not even his nalkin-shom, with that information.”
“I’ll work for you.” It’s a shot in the dark, I know. “Protect me, and I’ll read the shadows for you.”
“An intriguing offer,” Lorn says. “But I have no need of a shadow-reader, even one of your renown. You humans are tools for the Descendants, not for businessmen who stay out of wars for the throne.”
“If you force me to give them the Sidhe Tol, you’ll be taking sides. The king won’t let that slide.”
“I presume you’d disappear afterward.” He lifts an eyebrow in Lena’s direction. After she nods, he smiles. “The king will never know I was involved.”
I swear if I found some way to kill Lena, most of my problems would go away. Okay. I only have one more offer to make. “Protect me from the rebels and I’ll give the Sidhe Tol to you. You’ll be the only fae who knows its location.”
“Me and the king’s Inner Court, of course,” he says without missing a beat.
I feel a muscle twitch in my cheek. “Of course.”
Lorn glances at Aren, who’s standing over my shoulder. “I must say I’m tempted, Aren. I think you’ve captured more than you can handle.”
Aren ignores him, takes a parchment from his pocket, and unfolds it on the table. I stare at the blank sheet, knowing what he wants. I remember where the Sidhe Tol is. I can imagine the lines I need to draw, the curve of the shallow creek as it merges into the river.
“You’ve no reason to remain loyal to the Court, McKenzie. They’ve used you all these years.” Aren wraps my fingers around a pencil. “Help us.” My edarratae leap into him as he places the lead tip on the center of the page. “Please. I don’t want Lorn to have to pry it from your mind.”
My chest tightens. He looks and sounds so sincere, but damn it, I shouldn’t believe the word of my captor. Kyol didn’t make me fall in love with him just so I would help him fight his king’s enemies. He didn’t agree to a life-bond. He’s the man I think he is. Aren’s the one who’s been putting on an act. Lena came right out and said so.
I look at Kelia, how she’s relaxed into Naito’s arms by the opposite wall. They’re not putting on an act, though. Neither one is bloodthirsty or disillusioned.
“Negotiate.” I intended to make the word sound like an order, but it comes out more as a plea. If the rebels and Court fae would just agree to stop fighting, everyone would win.
“We’ve tried, McKenzie,” Aren says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. The tender gesture is a stark contrast to how he’s treated me since I called Paige. “We asked Atroth to restore the four provinces he absorbed into their neighbors. We asked him to stop invading our homes and to stop setting his nalkin-shom on us.” He kneels beside me and rests his hand on the back of my chair. “The only thing he agreed to was lowering the gate taxes. He did that within days of the meeting . . . for his friends and supporters. We didn’t want this war. Draw the map.”
My hand trembles as I drag the pencil down the page. The line is nothing but a delay tactic. Even if he’s telling the truth, I can’t give him the Sidhe Tol. It will only add to the violence.
“I wonder,” Lorn says above the soft scrawl of lead on paper. “Why did you side with the Court?”
I raise my eyes.
“Atroth is quite antihuman,” he continues. “He makes exceptions for those of you with the Sight, but still, you must feel the hostility. The king’s men aren’t like Lyechabans—they won’t cut the edarratae from your skin—but they don’t like you, do they?”
Atroth is antihuman? The Court hates my kind? They’re cautious around me, but I’ve never felt hatred. They’ve taken care of me.
“Do they?” Lorn asks again.
So it wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“Some of them do,” I say. Some of them are my friends. They speak with me and are curious about my life and my world. At least, I thought they were. Nothing makes sense anymore.
I return my attention to my sketch. My map will have to be a real one. Otherwise, they’ll know I’m not cooperating when they aren’t able to fissure when I name a city. But where to send them?
“There’s rumor of scandal in Atroth’s Inner Court.”
My pencil stills on the shore of a river, a river that’s nowhere near the Sidhe Tol.
Aren, kneeling by my side, says, “Finish it, McKenzie.”
“My informants say Taltrayn has fallen for a human.”
Silence takes over the room. I stare at Lorn. His lips curve up almost imperceptibly, but the smile is obvious in his eyes. Beside me, Aren doesn’t move.
“I ignored the rumor at first,” Lorn says. “After all, Taltrayn was entering a life-bond with the daughter of Srillan.”
I close my eyes, gripping the pencil tight. It’s true. Oh, God, it’s true.
“Then I learned he refused the bond.”
My heart stops midbeat. “What?”
Aren curses.
“Taltrayn never agreed to the life-bond,” Lorn says. “Apparently, the sword-master loves you.”
I’m cold, numb, confused. My pencil trembles in my hand.
“He’s lying,” Aren says, still kneeling beside me. Lightning sparks along my jaw when his fingers touch me there. Gently, he turns my face toward his. “Ten years, McKenzie. You’ve waited for him for ten years. Do you honestly think he’s changed his mind? That he suddenly wants you now?”
There’s tension in his jaw and the glimmer of something else in his eyes, but I’m too angry to figure out what it is. The bastard. The son of a bitch. He knew Kyol refused the life-bond.
I spring from my chair. Before I even think about turning my pencil into a weapon, Aren wrenches it from my hand. He yells at Lorn in Fae.
“I was curious,” Lorn responds with a shrug. “She doesn’t have any more choice now than she did before. Sit her down. Make her finish the map.”
I pin him with my darkest go-to-hell look. “Screw you.”
Aren’s hand tightens around my arm. “It will hurt if Lorn has to pull it from your mind.”
“I don’t c—”
The door slams open. Versh bursts inside. “The Court! Taltrayn’s men, they’re—”
An arrow thuds through the fae’s back.
FOURTEEN
AN UNNATURAL GUST of wind slams the door shut. Lena’s most likely responsible for it, but everyone’s moving at once. I flatten myself against the wall as Lorn’s two guards rush to his side. Naito swings Kelia around behind him, and Aren sprints to the door, shouldering it shut when it cracks open. He locks it before they’re able to get inside.
Lena throws a barbed glare at Lorn. “Tell me you have a hidden exit.”
“Of course,” he says, hurrying behind his desk. He touches a spot high up on the wall. A blue glow fans out beneath his palm, then a vibration fills the room as the slab of painted stone slides aside.
Something rams the door.
“Kelia!” Lorn shouts from the hole in the wall. He motions her to join him.
“Go!” Naito pushes her forward. She doesn’t let go of his arm.
Kelia eyes Lorn. “Does i
t go to the gate?”
Exasperation takes over his expression. “You can’t stay with him, Kelia. The Court fae will—”
“Does it go to the gate!” she demands.
He winces as the door creaks. “Nom Sidhe. Yes! Yes! Come on!”
Naito shoves her toward Lorn. “Take care of her.”
“Naito, no!”
“Both of you go,” I find myself saying. “I’ll slow them down.” I mean it. I don’t want Naito or Kelia to get hurt. Somebody’s fairy tale has to have a happy ending.
“We all go,” Aren says. “Now. Run!”
After Lena disappears into the black hole, Lorn grabs Kelia, then Naito, propelling them both out of the room before following. I back away from the exit, but Aren catches my arm. An instant later, I’m half falling down a staircase.
Aren keeps me on my feet. He’s moving too fast and I can’t see a damn thing. I slip, landing hard on my left knee. No time to feel the pain. Aren wrenches me back to my feet. I catch sight of a flash of white lightning as edarratae brighten Naito’s cheek. He’s no more than a few feet ahead. Behind us, wood splinters as the king’s soldiers finally burst through the door. They’ll be inside this tunnel in seconds.
I try to tug my arm free. “They’re here for me, Aren. I’ll stall them.”
His grip tightens. “No.”
“You’ll have time to get away.”
“No!”
Damn it, why won’t he leave me behind? Dragging me with him only slows him down, and I have no clue how he expects to get past the inspectors at the gate. If they don’t turn me over to the Lyechaban citizens, they’ll call the guards. They’ll hold me until Kyol gets there and they’ll arrest or kill Aren.
“I’m trying to help you!” I yell.
“You can help by running faster.”
Okay. Fine. I don’t know why I’m worried about him anyway. He lied to me. If his insistence to keep me destroys him and his rebellion, so be it.
I stop fighting him and run. It’s not an easy thing to do blind. I trail my fingers along the damp stone wall and hold tight to Aren’s hand. We’re still not fast enough. The soldiers are gaining ground.
The Shadow Reader Page 15