The Shadow Reader

by Sandy Williams

  “Nom Sidhe,” Lorn curses. “She could have at least . . .” He stops. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn toward me. “You, shadow-witch. Read her trail.”

  I’m already staring at it. The dancing shadows might as well be magnetized, they capture my attention so fully. She’s fissured to the Realm. To the north. Corrist, I’m guessing, because I’m sure she’s searching for Naito.

  Lorn thrusts an open magazine into my left hand and a pen into my right. I map the contortions shading my vision, turn the page when I zoom in on the southern quarter of the city and scratch down those shadows, pinpointing her location as well as I can.

  “Corrist,” I say to make the magic work.

  Lorn peers over my shoulder. The map is drawn over a diagram of some atom/nucleus thing. Hopefully there’s not too much text obscuring my lines.

  “Thank you.” His fissure slices through the air a moment later. I focus on the magazine in my hand so I don’t get sucked into staring at his shadows. It’s Popular Science. There’s a photo of a corpse in the story highlights. It peeks out between my bloodstained fingers.

  My hands itch. I toss the magazine on the counter. Fisting my hands at my sides, I hurry to Naito’s bedroom to grab clean clothes.

  I linger in the bathroom long after I finish showering. My skin is clean, but not my conscience. If anything, the guilt is worse than before. When the warm, humid air grows heavy, constricting, I rise to crack open the door. I don’t intend to leave, but somehow, I end up at the end of the hall. The living room is packed with fae. Aren’s speaking to a black-haired man who’s shaking his head. In black pants and a richly embroidered jacket, he has to be a noble. Plus, he’s brought an entourage of guards—four of them—all armed and standing ready to defend their employer.

  My gaze is pulled toward the door. Kyol told me years ago that this isn’t my war. I should have listened; I can listen now. I can leave this all behind and start living a normal, human life, a life where I won’t be put into a situation where I might have to kill to survive.

  I close my eyes, draw in a breath. No. Retiring isn’t an option anymore. Maybe the Court fae were the good guys when I first entered the Realm, but they aren’t now. I have to undo all the harm I’ve done these last few years.

  I’m about to force my feet to move, to walk into the living room and join the rebels, when twin flashes of light strike outside the back windows. Shadows twist through the backyard. Naito and Evan move away from them along with two fae I’ve never seen before. Evan stumbles.

  “Aren!” I call.

  He grabs his sword.

  “Naito and Evan,” I say, gesturing toward the door as the humans stagger inside.

  “He’s hurt,” Naito says, a needless statement since there’s an arrow protruding from Evan’s chest.

  Aren drops his sword and helps Evan into a chair. He’s pasty white beneath his beard, and his lips are dry and cracked.

  Lena rises from the couch. “Hold him,” she says. “I’ll heal him.”

  Aren grabs one of Evan’s shoulders. Naito grabs the other. Then Lena wraps her hand around the shaft of the arrow and yanks.

  My stomach lurches, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him, away from the blood that gushes from his chest, from between Lena’s fingers as she presses her palms over the wound.

  Evan’s sweating. He stops fighting Naito and Aren and goes still. When his eyes close, I half expect to see his soul-shadow rise up. He’s not fae, though. He’s human and . . .

  I exhale when he nods and mutters a thank-you. He’s not dead. Not yet, at least.

  Naito straightens. He steps back to scan the living room, glancing at the black-haired noble and his guards, then looking into the kitchen. He walks past me to peer down the hallway before turning back. “Where’s Kelia?”

  “She’s looking for you,” Lena says, accepting a towel from Trev and cleaning her hands. “She’s fine. Or she was when she left.”

  “Lorn went after her,” I add.

  “Lorn?” Naito mumbles something under his breath, then, “She won’t listen to him.”

  “I’ll send someone to bring them back,” Aren says. He exchanges words with Trev, who opens a fissure and disappears. “What happened to you two?”

  “Archers,” Naito says, walking to the kitchen. He picks up the bottle of wine Lorn didn’t have time to open. “We had to make a run for the gate. He was hit just before we fissured here.”

  “Could you have been tracked?” Aren asks.

  Naito glances into the backyard, then back to Aren. “No. We looked for humans before we made our move.”

  Aren relaxes. The fae noble says something to him, but the shrrips of opening fissures drown out his words. He and his guards disappear a moment later.

  Naito steps to my side and hands me a glass of wine. “You look like you need a drink.”

  Not as much as he does. Trev’s been gone less than two minutes, but Naito keeps glancing into the backyard as if they should have returned hours ago. Seriously, if he and Kelia aren’t reunited soon, their story might become a little too Romeo and Juliet.

  I sip my wine while he downs half his glass. A heavy silence settles into the living room. Aren sinks onto the couch beside Lena as if he’s giving in to the weight of the atmosphere. Nalst and the other fae take seats as well.

  “The fae who left,” Naito says, his voice just above a whisper. “He was Shyer, son of Asray. His father’s the high noble of Criskran. They support the rebellion. Or they did. He just ended his association with us. What happened at Lynn Valley?”

  “The fight spilled over to the tor’um’s neighbors. Some humans died.” After a pause, I add, “Sethan died.”

  Naito closes his eyes. When he opens them, he drains the rest of his glass and pours a new one. I hold mine out for a refill as well. I need something to dull the realization that I’ve just joined the losing side of the fae’s war.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “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.
<
br />   “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.