The Shadow Reader

by Sandy Williams

  I jump back, then jump again when a knife plunges into his chest. Delan frowns at me as if I’m the one who threw it. I didn’t. I have no clue who did. It wasn’t Lorn. He’s still standing in the doorway, looking as unconcerned as ever.

  Delan’s gaze drops to the hilt. He wraps his hand around it, wavers, then pulls it free.

  A mistake. His eyes widen as blood gushes from the wound. He cups his hand to his chest to catch the flow, then scans the tavern, but no one offers help.

  His knees buckle. He lands on all fours, makes an effort to rise, then disappears into the ether. The rest of the fae search one another’s faces—undoubtedly trying to figure out which one of them threw the knife.

  “Now that that’s settled,” Lorn’s voice cuts through the silence. “McKenzie.”

  I tear my eyes away from the wet blood on the wood floor. Clenching my teeth, I step past it. Lorn flicks up my hood when I reach him, then we both step outside.

  A cloaked figure waits for us. I let out a breath when I catch a glimpse of Kelia’s face, not only because she’s alive but also because she’s here. I trust her more than I do Lorn.

  “Aren’s okay?” I ask.

  She nods. “Naito?”

  He still hasn’t turned up yet. That can’t be good, but I tell her, “He was fine a day ago. He made it out of the palace. A shadow-reader named Evan was with him.”

  Lorn breezes by us. “No time to talk, my dears. The gate is quite a ways off.”

  “No one’s allowed to use the gate after dark.” This is his world; he should know that.

  “True,” he says without slowing. “But I own the guards.”

  I alternate jogging and speed-walking to keep up. Who is he? The Godfather of the Realm?

  Kelia keeps pace with me without breaking from a walk. “If they made it out of Corrist, they’ll be okay.” She sounds mostly confident. “Naito knows where he can go for help.”

  Lorn glances over his shoulder, heaves out a breath when he sees how far behind we are. “It’s bad enough we have to go through a gate to fissure but must you walk so slowly? Really, Kelia, I don’t know how you tolerate Naito.”

  Kelia rolls her eyes.

  We’re silent the rest of the way to the gate. Fortunately, we manage to avoid running into any Court fae, though it’s not an easy feat. Belecha’s entire garrison seems to be searching for me, and I hate it, this feeling of being hunted. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder as Lorn weaves us through the city. I just want to get to the damn gate and get back home. I can handle myself on Earth. I know the way things work there. Here in the Realm, I’m practically helpless, and I’m sick and tired of relying on other people.

  It’s the thought of going home that pushes me on, so when we reach the bank of the lake and see no fewer than a dozen swordsmen guarding the gate, I look at Lorn, praying he’s bought off every single one of them.

  He sighs dramatically. “There were only two here before. If we’d found you sooner . . . Kelia, go fetch Aren. If he wants his shadow-witch alive, he’s going to have to leave the tor’um.”

  She fissures out. I watch her shadows twist and thicken into the topography of what I presume is Lynn Valley.

  “Aren’s still there?” I ask Lorn, pulling my cloak tight as a strong, cold wind barrels down the narrow pathway where we’re hiding.

  He leans against a stone wall. “He’s healing the tor’um who managed to escape into the woods. There aren’t many, but their injuries are severe. If you’re lucky, Aren hasn’t burned himself out yet.”

  “Were you there? During the attack, I mean.”

  “Taking care of Kelia, yes. Her depression is . . . Well, it’s bringing even me down.”

  Not an easy feat, I’m sure. I lean against the wall opposite him. “You have a life-bond with her.”

  “Uh-huh,” he murmurs, fingering his sword’s hilt while keeping watch down the street.

  When he doesn’t elaborate, I ask, “Why Kelia?”

  “I needed a life-bond with someone.”

  “She wasn’t seeing Naito?”

  Lorn chuckles. “Oh, she was seeing him—nightly, I presume.” He glances my way and smirks. “The sons and daughters of Cyeneanen have . . . How would you say it? Reserve? Magical reserves? The bond allows me to access it. My magic requires a lot of energy, especially when fae object to my little mental incursions.”

  “She agreed to—”

  I flatten against the wall when two fissures slash through the darkness. Kelia and Aren. God, Aren looks ragged. He’s smeared with dirt and blood. I don’t see any serious injuries, but he looks like he might be having just as much trouble standing upright as I am.

  He greets me with a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. I’ll be fine when I get out of the Realm. “The gate’s guarded. There’s about a dozen swordsmen.”

  He nods, then walks to the end of the narrow alley to peer around the corner.

  “Too many,” he says as if talking to himself. “I’ll need help, but we’re scattered. Hurt.” He runs a hand through his hair.

  I’ve never seen him like this before. He seems . . . not quite disoriented. Maybe at a loss? Like he has no idea what he’s going to do. I’m still trying to figure out what’s wrong when Kelia whispers to Lorn, “Sethan’s gone to the ether.”

  A block of ice settles in my stomach. Defeated, that’s how Aren looks. Aren might be the fae who works out the logistics of the war—when and where and how to strike against the Court—but he’s not a Descendant. He can’t replace Atroth; only Sethan could.

  Shit. Has the rebellion just lost the war?

  “The Vancouver authorities are there,” she adds. “There were fires. Stray arrows. Human casualties. We don’t know yet what they think happened.”

  It’s like someone’s taken an ice pick to my eyes. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to relieve some of the pressure. A part of me didn’t believe Atroth would authorize the attack. His fae have always gone out of the way to not involve normal humans.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when Aren ducks back into the shadows.

  He gives me another fake smile. “We’ll get you out of here.”

  “That’s not wh—”

  “Against these odds?” Lorn shakes his head. “I think I’ll take Kelia and go. I’ve already contributed much more time and energy than I should to your crumbling rebellion.”

  His crumbling rebellion. A muscle in Aren’s cheek twitches. I’m sure it hurts, seeing everything he’s fought for fall apart with one fae’s death.

  “I’m staying to help,” Kelia says. Lorn rolls his eyes, but doesn’t look surprised by her offer.

  He has to help now if he wants to be sure she’s safe.

  “Don’t you have people you can bring here?” I ask, remembering the dagger that killed Delan. Somebody in the tavern threw it.

  “Lorn’s too concerned about his neutrality to involve his people.” Aren edges back to the building’s corner.

  Lorn shrugs. “I’m doing just fine under Atroth’s rule. My associates have no reason to want a new king occupying the Silver Palace.”

  This is why I don’t trust Lorn—he clearly only helps when there’s money to be made. Or Kelia to protect.

  Aren ducks back into the darkness. “More fae. And they’re moving.”

  “Organizing patrols of the lakeside?” Lorn asks. At Aren’s nod, he adds with a dramatic sigh, “It was only a matter of time.”

  “We have to move,” Aren says. “I’ll keep as many of the swordsmen away from you as I can, but, Lorn, you’ll have to take care of the ones who slip past me. Stay with McKenzie and Kelia until they use the gate.”

  He meets my gaze, still faking confidence. “You have the dagger I gave you?”

  I pull it free from my waistband.

  “Good. You shouldn’t need to use it.”

  Lorn snorts and rearranges his sword-belt. Somehow, I doubt his
blade’s drawn blood in decades.

  I’m shaking as we inch toward the edge of the building. Aren’s exhausted. Even if he were fresh, he’d have trouble taking on a dozen fae at once. I don’t see how he’s going to make it through this, not unless that number is cut by half.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  No, I’m not ready. There’s no way this will end well.

  He presses an anchor-stone into my hand.

  “Wait,” Kelia says before we move.

  Lorn peers sideways at her. “Having second thoughts, my dear?”

  Without glancing his way, she says, “I can work small illusions.” She holds out her hand. I stare at it for a good five seconds, wondering what she’s doing, when a small smile bends Aren’s lips. He pulls her into a hug.

  “That will help.” He steps back and turns to me. “She’s mimicking your edarratae. It’s not perfect, but it’ll be enough to lure the Court fae.”

  A decoy. It’s a good idea.

  “She’ll fissure out when the fae close in,” Aren says. “I’ll try to draw the others’ attacks while Lorn takes you through the gate.”

  Lorn heaves a sigh.

  The knots in my stomach loosen a little. This might work. I nod to signal I’m ready and then Kelia and I both pull on our hoods.

  We start off casually, just four people strolling down the street. The guards spot us immediately. We’re heading toward the group at the gate. There are more than a dozen of them now. If half don’t follow Kelia when she runs, we’re screwed.

  Aren waits until the silver plating is almost underfoot before he orders, “Go!”

  Kelia’s hood flies off when she runs. There’s a second of stunned silence before five Court fae take off after her. Aren and Lorn draw their swords. I unsheathe my dagger.

  The guards fissure after Kelia as soon as they step off the silver. We run onto it. Aren’s in the lead. He takes down one fae before he can draw his sword, blocks the attacks of a second and third while Lorn and I sprint for the gate.

  Two fae block our path. Lorn mutters something under his breath but parries their attacks.

  I throw off my hood—they’ve figured out I’m human, I’m sure—and see someone charging at me out of the corner of my eye.

  I swing my dagger. The fae’s sword crashes against it, flinging it from my hand and sending a sharp explosion of pain through my wrist. He has ample time to finish me off. He doesn’t.

  He grabs my arm. I slam the heel of my palm into his nose. He’s pulling me toward him, so I hit twice as hard. He clutches his bleeding nose, but lunges after me as soon as I run.

  Aren steps between us. Kills him quickly.

  I escape toward Lorn, toward the gate, retrieving my dropped dagger on the way. The soul-shadows rising into the air prove Lorn’s a hell of a lot better fighter than I took him for. He dispatches another fae, then dips his hand into the river.

  I lose sight of him when a swordsman blocks my path. Aren’s beside me. He pushes me to the right as he charges forward.

  There are too many. Two more approach, swords at the ready, but inching forward more cautiously than the one whose nose I broke. My little dagger isn’t going to do much good against them and . . . and, shit. They’ve sent for reinforcements.

  A dozen fissures slash through the air at the edge of the silver plating. Fae step out of the light. In the midst of their twisting shadows, a crossbow rises.

  “Aren!”

  The fae fires.

  Aren’s not able to fissure out of the way, but the arrow doesn’t slam into his chest. It plunges into the back of the Court fae he holds in front of him like a shield. The fae doesn’t disappear into the ether. His jaedric armor stopped the bolt from going all the way through. He’s alive, so when the archer looses a second bolt, Aren uses the fae’s body to block it as well.

  I wrench my attention back to the two swordsmen in front of me. One of them has a deep, ugly scar carved from temple to jaw. I swipe at the air when he lunges. They want me alive; it’s the only advantage I have.

  The scarred fae moves to the right, begins to circle. The other one waves his sword. He’s toying with me, the bastard.

  I back up to keep them both in front of me. No need. Lorn’s here. He intercepts the scarred fae, manages to knock the sword out of his hand in time to meet the attack of the other guard.

  “To the gate, please, McKenzie,” Lorn says, striking high at his opponent twice before attempting a low blow.

  The cold night air burns my lungs as I dodge around them. Lorn’s fissure is still open at the gate, but I can’t go through it without a fae.

  Oh, shit. There are plenty of fae around. The guard Lorn disarmed glances between me and the gate. In his eyes, I practically see his plan take shape.

  He charges me.

  I slash. I don’t expect to cut through anything except air, but he’s faster than a human; he reaches me too soon. My blade slices into his belly, gets stuck on something inside him, then rips the rest of the way through.

  I put up a hand to keep him from barreling into me. My palm presses against hot blood and—and, oh God, I think it’s his intestines—before he collapses.

  I’m still staring at him when Lorn grabs me. Still staring as Lorn drags me to the gate. Staring, still staring, as Lorn dips his hand into the river and opens a gated-fissure. The swordsman disappears into the ether the moment we disappear into the In-Between.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I RETCH INTO the toilet, clutching the porcelain lid. I don’t know whether to keep my eyes open or shut. If I open them, I’ll see the bright red blood my hands smeared across the white seat. If I close them, I’ll see the pale, pain-stricken face of the fae I killed.

  The fae I killed.

  My stomach lurches again. I already threw up the minuscule meal I ate at the tavern. Dry heaves wrack through my body now, and I’m shaking. I can’t stop. I’ve seen fae die before, but I’ve never felt a blade carve through flesh like that, never pressed my hand against someone’s insides. I’ve never been directly responsible for a death.

  I should be tried for murder. Yes, it was self-defense but even so, a judge would sentence me to . . . to something.

  “Is she hurt?” Aren’s voice behind me.

  “She’s fine,” Lorn says from his post by the door. “It’s just a bit of queasiness. She managed to kill one of the guards.”

  Aren lays his hand on my shoulder, turns me away from the toilet. “McKenzie?”

  My vision unfocuses. Seeing. Remembering. My stomach churns, and I want desperately to go back into the In-Between where it’s too bright to see and too cold to think.

  “I’m quite impressed, actually,” Lorn says. “I didn’t know human girls were capable of killing.”

  “Shut up, Lorn.” Aren takes my chin in his hand. “Look at me, McKenzie. Look at me.”

  I force myself to meet his silver eyes. I try to ignore the smear of red across his jaw, ignore the fact that the hands touching me have killed so many more fae than I have.

  “McKenzie?” Aren smoothes my hair away from my face.

  I’m not crying. Why am I not crying? I just killed a man.

  “It’s okay, McKenzie.”

  It’s not okay. “Where are we?”

  The skin at the corners of Aren’s eyes tighten. “We’re in Colorado. Naito lives here.”

  “Is he here?” I ask. I manage to stand without his help.

  “We haven’t found him yet.”

  I can’t take the way he’s looking at me, like I’m fragile and one second away from falling completely apart, so I nod and walk out of the bathroom.

  He follows me to the living room. The rebels have made themselves at home, the few who are here, anyway. Lena’s sitting on a camel-colored couch in between Trev and another fae—I think his name is Nalst. Three fae sit to her right in chairs stolen from the dining table. They all look out of place here, and not just because chaos lusters flash across their skin. They’re too haggard and di
rt-smeared to belong in a house like this. It’s not a mansion like Shane’s place, but it’s put together just as well. Either Naito has a talent for picking out drapes and accent furniture or he hired a professional decorator.

  Bottles rattle in the kitchen. Since the house has an open, spacious floor plan, I can see it from the hall’s exit. It’s separated from the living room by a granite countertop. Kelia’s on the other side, peering into the open refrigerator. I think the fridge might be the only working appliance in this house. The lamps are all unplugged, there’s no television in the living room, no phone or other appliance anywhere in sight.

  “You should eat something,” Aren says.

  “A drink would do her more good.” Lorn strides by. He stops where the dark cream carpet meets the tiled kitchen floor.

  “Kelia, my dear. Could you please step away from the cold machine?”

  “Refrigerator.” She holds out her hand without turning to look at him. “And my edarratae barely register it.”

  “But it does register,” he says. “Really, sometimes I think you’re damaging your magic to spite me.”

  “Here.” She hands him a bottle of white wine, then looks at Aren. “There’s nothing to eat. We’ll have to go out to get food.”

  “I’ll go,” I say. Too quickly. Aren gives me a look that I haven’t seen since the last time I plotted an escape attempt, though this time, there’s no amusement in his eyes. He thinks I’m going to run. I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am, but I need time to think. I need time to be alone.

  “Perhaps you’d like to take a shower first?” he suggests.

  I glance down. Hell. I can’t go out in public like this. My clothes are stained with blood; I’d be arrested for sure.

  I should be arrest—

  No. I won’t think about that.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ll shower.”

  Kelia sets a couple of wineglasses on the counter. “I have extra clothes in Naito’s closet. Someone else will have to go to the store.”

  “Kelia,” Lorn’s voice holds a warning.

  She gives him one quick scowl, opens a fissure—

  “Kelia!”

  —and disappears.