“Good,” Lena says as she rises. Realizing she’ll definitely notice where Aren’s hand is if she’s standing, I beat her to my feet.
Naito straightens out of his chair, too. “I’ll look up those surplus stores.”
“I’ll help,” Kelia pipes up.
“I’m not going to let you touch the laptop, baby.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I’ll have to find other ways to occupy myself, then.”
Naito grins and takes her hand.
Kyol’s gaze follows them when they leave the table. He has to know they’re a couple. He has to see they’re happy together, good together. If Kyol was a weaker man, if he’d given in to his desires, we could have been like that, too.
Aren and Kyol both rise when Lena steps into the living room to talk to Nalst. When Aren turns toward me, I grab the glass of cabus and use it as a shield between us. There’s a faint smile on his lips. It doesn’t last long, though. It disappears as soon as Kyol steps to my side.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, ignoring Aren. He’s still trying to take care of me, to give me a way out of this war.
My hands tighten around my glass. “I have to do this.”
I’m worried he’s going to argue that point. I take a sip of cabus. I don’t know why. To buy some time? To show my determination? Whatever my motivation, I regret it immediately. Trying not to make too much of a face, I gulp the liquid down, then set the glass aside.
“I choose to do this,” I tell him.
He looks into my eyes. If we were still working for the king, this is the type of battle he’d shelter me from. He only tolerated the risks to my life before because they were minimal: he and a contingent of his best swordsmen were always with me, and we ambushed the fae I tracked. Tomorrow will be different. The Court knows we’re coming. There will be a lot of death, a lot of violence. This could be as bad as Brykeld.
Kyol takes my hand. Warmth spreads through my palm and a chaos luster spirals to my elbow. “You’ll stay by my side and do as I say. You’ll fissure out when and with whom I tell you to.”
“Except,” Aren interjects, taking a small step forward, “she’ll be with me.”
Kyol squeezes my hand. He lets it go before addressing Aren. “She and I have worked together before.”
Aren gives a lazy shrug. “In the past. She’s not your puppet anymore. I’ll keep her safe.”
“I’ll keep her safe. I’ve protected her for ten years.”
“You didn’t protect her from me.”
Kyol’s fist launches Aren into the wall.
Nalst rushes forward, drawing his sword, but Kyol snarls something I can’t translate and doesn’t slow down. He strides through the living room and out the back door.
“Sidhe,” Aren groans on the ground. He gingerly touches his jaw.
“You deserved that,” I tell him.
Lena scowls and adds, “You should have seen that coming.”
“I did see it coming. I just didn’t have time to duck.” He sits up and stretches his jaw, working it to the left, then to the right.
I don’t feel sorry for him. Aren was an ass. There was no reason to provoke Kyol.
“McKenzie,” he calls out when I turn to leave. I ignore him and go outside.
It’s a warm evening. Humid. A half-moon hangs low on the horizon, half obscured by thin wisps of clouds. Kyol’s sitting to my left, his back against the brick wall, his forearms resting on his bent knees.
I sink down beside him. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He’s staring at his clasped hands. His edarratae are bright out here. In the past, I’d trace their paths on his skin. I miss doing that. I miss the heat of his touch, the familiar comfort of it.
“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”
His pain tears me into pieces. My throat closes up, and I can’t answer him. I don’t know how to. I’ve been avoiding this conversation, this decision, for far too long because I thought it would end with me alone and heartbroken. Now . . . now it doesn’t have to end that way. Lena’s made him her lord general, but if Kyol and I both survive tomorrow, he would abandon that position. He’d abandon the Realm if I ask. Ten years ago, one year ago, maybe even a month ago, I would have asked.
He lets out a sound that’s so very close to a single, choked sob. “I dedicated my life to my king. I should have dedicated it to you.”
I swallow against a raw throat. “I shouldn’t have had to wait ten years for you.”
“I . . .” His voice breaks. “I’ve wronged you all this time. I knew how you felt, how I felt, and I did nothing.”
I bite my lip, taste blood, but the pain isn’t enough of a distraction. The tears fall.
“Kaesha,” Kyol breathes out. “Don’t cry. Please. Come here.”
He drapes an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his embrace. I close my eyes, selfishly soak in his scent and his warmth.
“I came out here to comfort you,” I whisper.
His arm tightens around my shoulders.
“This comforts me,” he says. “This comforts me very much.”
TWENTY-NINE
THE VIGILANTES’ JET landed in Great Falls about three hours ago. It will take them almost four hours to drive and then hike to the stream the Court fae are guarding. We won’t fissure out until Aren’s scouts report they’ve arrived. It’s nearly time to go, but I’ve never had to wait this long for an operation before. It’s nerve-wracking.
Not for Aren, though. He’s sitting in the living room cracking jokes. It’s annoying, how collected and carefree he seems. I finally ate a decent meal so, physically, I’m doing better. Emotionally, though, I’m stretched thin. Every time I’m in the same room with Kyol, I feel like I’m ripping his heart from his chest, especially if I’m anywhere near Aren. Because I can’t stand hurting him, I’m doing my best to stay away from both fae.
I choke down a few swallows of cabus, chase it with almost half a can of Dr Pepper. I told Kyol he didn’t have to help the rebellion, but he said he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to me. Besides, he’s determined to send Radath to the ether. That doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything happens to Kyol, I won’t forgive myself.
“McKenzie.”
Naito holds out a belt with an empty holster. Reluctantly, I push my chair away from the kitchen table and stand, taking the belt and putting it on.
“This is the safety.” He flicks up a little lever on the right side of the gun in his hand. “Press here to change the magazine.” He pushes a button on the grip, lets the black rectangle drop an inch, then clicks it back into place before holding it out. “There are extra magazines in the bag with your sketchbook.”
Fabulous. I slip the gun into the holster at my hip.
Before I’m able to sit back down, the back door swings open. I step into the living room in time to see one of Aren’s scouts stride in. A wave of uneasiness washes through me. I don’t have a good feeling about this. I feel like my luck has run out, that if we go through with these attacks at the Sidhe Tol and the invasion of the Silver Palace, someone I care about isn’t going to return.
Lena gives orders to the gathered fae. Fissures rip through the air and most of the rebels disappear. Naito follows Evan and Kelia out the back door, leaving just me, Lena, Aren, and Kyol inside.
“You two will work together?” Lena asks them. I think she really wants to know neither of them will be stabbing the other in the back. I’m not worried about Kyol losing control. Aren on the other hand . . .
“We’ll sort out our differences later,” he says.
Lena doesn’t look entirely satisfied with that answer, but she nods and fissures out. When Kyol exits the back door, I return to the kitchen to grab the army green satchel with my sketchbook, pencils, and, apparently, extra magazines. I’m praying I won’t need the latter. I might not need the sketchbook either. Even if Radath shows up in Montana, odds are against me being within sh
adow-reading distance when he fissures out. But maybe I can sketch out the locations of one or two other officers if I’m nearby when they flee. Better to be prepared.
Aren blocks my path when I turn. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t seem angry either. He knows I’ve been avoiding him, and I’m surprised—and maybe disappointed?—he hasn’t cornered me before now.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says. “I shouldn’t have provoked Taltrayn.”
He’s apologizing? He has a hard time even acknowledging Kyol’s existence. “He’s still taking me through the gate.”
Lena made that call earlier, agreeing with Kyol that we’d be more efficient together than Aren and I since we haven’t exactly cooperated on anything since we’ve met.
“I know,” Aren says. “But I wanted to apologize. I don’t want Taltrayn to convince you I’m the bad guy.”
At that, I give a short laugh. “You are the bad guy, Aren.”
He frowns, and I realize he’s taking my words the wrong way.
“What I mean is you’re the . . . well, the rebel. Kyol’s the good guy. He’s made mistakes, yes, but he loves me.”
He cocks his head to the side. His gaze makes my skin tingle. The step he takes toward me is hesitant, careful, and when his silver eyes peer down at me, I stop breathing. His lips are so close. I remember the way they felt pressed against mine. I remember his taste, the heat of his edarratae.
The smallest distance separates us when he whispers, “You don’t think I’m in love with you?”
“I . . .”
I don’t know, and I can’t answer him anyway because he lowers his head. I raise mine. His kiss is gentle, tentative, like he’s afraid of breaking this moment and breaking me. It takes only a heartbeat before I really do break. I grab the back of his neck, pulling him hard against my mouth until he responds. Chaos lusters fire from his lips and from the hands cradling my face. The lightning sparks across my skin, buries itself low in my stomach, and I moan.
His fingers clutch at my shoulders. He gasps my name as he separates his mouth from mine. “If you keep making noises like that, we’ll never get out of here.”
I don’t want to go. I want to stay here with him. I want to see if we could work, if we could be something together.
“McKenzie,” he breathes out when I pull him back for another kiss. He presses his forehead against mine. “You’re killing me. We have to go. Or you can stay but I . . .” He swallows. “Sidhe, I have to go.”
He’s right. Damn it, he’s right. I bite my lower lip, then nod. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “It’s nice, you letting yourself want me.” His fingers graze my cheek and then diamonds glitter in his silver eyes. “Ah, a rare smile. I could die happy right now.”
I laugh. “I smiled a lot before I met you.”
“I’ll make sure you smile a lot more.” I shudder when he kisses my palm. “A whole lot more. Right after we overthrow the king.”
IT’S too fucking quiet. The vigilantes and the Court fae are both supposed to be here. I should hear gunfire and the sharp shrrips of fissures ripping through the air, not my thumping heart and the wet plop of rainwater dripping from the trees.
Kyol pulls me to a crouch on the soggy ground and cocks his head to listen. Thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s supposed to rain off and on all day. Aren’s counting on it, actually. If the vigilantes deploy silver dust again, a good, hard shower should take care of it. Right now, though, a sticky humidity thickens the air, making it hard to breathe. The Kevlar vest under my camo clings to my torso, and my sweat-soaked undershirt rubs against my skin. With their jaedric cuirasses under their fatigues, the rebels have to be sweltering just as much.
Kyol lowers his mouth to my ear.
“Two Court fae. Ahead and . . .” His lips graze my ear. A chaos luster reverberates down my neck. It pools in my stomach.
“Ahead and to the right,” he finishes, his voice strained.
Ignoring the ache in my chest, I bite my lip and nod, confirming that the two fae aren’t illusions. They creep forward without moving the underbrush. We stay frozen as they silently stalk by, passing between us and Aren and Nalst, who crouch twenty feet to our right. Kelia and Naito are on the other side of them, and the rest of the rebels assigned to this Sidhe Tol are spread out behind us and on the opposite side of the stream, less than a quarter mile ahead.
A sharp crack of thunder vibrates through the forest. The thick canopy protects us from the rain for a few short seconds before the downpour penetrates it. The air cools, but I’m quickly soaked through and even more miserable than before. I want this over with. If Radath hasn’t sent more than a few fae to protect this Sidhe Tol, it shouldn’t be difficult to get a sizable number of rebels into the Silver Palace.
A patch of brown and green detaches from a tree. I wait for a bolt of blue lightning to indicate the moving bush is a rebel, but something big and black and barrel-like slips out of the foliage. Not a rebel. A vigilante. He stuffs a can inside something that looks like a launcher, then aims at the two Court fae.
The canister thumps from the barrel and then explodes.
I throw myself on top of Kyol to shelter him from the fallout. The black cloud doesn’t hang in the air long; the rain washes the dust into the earth.
Kyol grips my shoulders. “McKenzie!”
“The silver.” I run my hand over his hair, sloshing off darkened rainwater. Most of it’s on me. He should be able to fissure.
“You don’t protect me,” he grates out, rolling me to my side. I cry out when something stabs into my right hip.
Kyol curses under his breath and jerks the piece of metal free. Then he fissures away, leaving me gasping for breath. Christ, it hurts. And all at once, more pain registers—from another piece of metal in the back of my left arm. It’s deep, cutting into the muscle. The vigilantes stuffed shrapnel as well as silver into the coffee cans this time.
I don’t have a chance to pull it out before Kyol reappears, blood dripping from his sword. He grabs a fistful of my shirt and drags me to a thick tree as gunfire and fissures rip through the air. Bark and splinters burst from the trunk above my head. Kyol fissures again and again at my side, keeping up an almost constant shield against the attack. He can’t maintain this pace, though. He’ll burn out.
“Jorreb!” Kyol shouts during one of the few instances he’s visible in this world. A second later, Aren takes out the vigilantes firing on us, ending the assault.
But it continues elsewhere. Everywhere. I fling rainwater out of my eyes and scan the forest. It’s almost impossible to see anyone unless they’re moving. Kyol spotted the two Court fae before I did. Maybe I’m missing others, others he can’t see because they’re hidden by illusion.
But no. All the fissures—every single one of them—are camo-clad rebels. Where the fuck are the rest of the Court fae? The plan’s gone to hell. We’re not supposed to be the ones fighting the vigilantes.
Kyol’s breathing hard at my side. I grab his wrist when he starts to rise, silently plead for him to remain. He pulls me to his chest. His arms are warm but they’re trembling. He fissured too much too quickly.
He squeezes me tight. “There’s no reason for you to be here if the Court fae aren’t.”
“How far to the Sidhe Tol? Maybe they’re there.”
Bullets strafe the ground to the left, and the air erupts with earth and wet leaves.
Kyol presses me into the tree trunk. “No. They’ll stay away from the silver plating.”
“Maybe they removed—”
“They’re in the trees!”
Kyol and I aren’t the only ones who hear Naito’s bellow. The second I spot a Court fae perching on a thick limb, he’s riddled with holes. A flash of light and he disappears. Dead. His soul-shadow dissipates into the rain-drenched canopy.
The vigilantes bombard the treetops, and the foliage erupts with fissures. Fissures and shadows. Only a few of the latter are white. The rest ar
e all black.
“What do you see?” Kyol asks.
“They’re out of the trees,” I report, scanning the scene around us. The Court fae are everywhere now, fissuring in and out to dodge the vigilantes’ attacks. Kyol will see the fissures, so I search for fae who aren’t disappearing. They’re the ones most likely to be hidden by illusion.
“Female archer by the moss-covered tree.”
He follows my gaze. “Visible.”
Another rebel will take her out.
“Straight ahead. A swordsman coming up the hill.”
“Visible.”
“Two swordsmen walking past the exploded coffee can.”
“I see three. Describe them.”
“The one on the left is male, crouching down now. The one on the right—”
“Is his sword bloody?”
“Yes.”
Kyol vanishes in a flash of light. He reappears behind the two fae, dispatches the first before they know he’s there, meets the spinning attack of the second and counters. Three swings later, that one enters the ether, leaving behind nothing but his fading soul-shadow.
Kyol fissures back to my side. I describe the scene again. Then again and again, sprinting from one tree to the next at Kyol’s command. There’s something synchronous about the way we work together. He knows where I’m looking, understands the details that capture my attention like that rotting limb a fae not visible to Kyol steps over, or the area of ground I describe as a giant’s footprint. He stays close when I whisper locations to him, touching my shoulder, my arm, placing an encouraging hand on the small of my back. To show he’s there for me. He’ll take care of me, keep me safe.
His warmth is comforting and the horror of what’s going on around us isn’t as sharp as it will be later in my nightmares. It’s as if I’m watching it from a distance. This is a scene from a movie, nothing more.
Nothing more until something hits me. I’m slammed to the ground a second after Kyol fissures away again. Pain explodes through my left shoulder blade and radiates across my back.
I gasp as I roll to my right side.
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