The Sharpest Blade

by Sandy Williams

  He swings again, his practice sword cutting through the air. I raise my blade and manage to throw his attack off enough to not get hit, but I lose my grip on my sword. When it lands in the thick grass, I glare down at the red hilt. I know why it’s that color now. The blisters on my hands broke a long time ago. They’re bleeding, but you can’t tell by looking at the sword.

  Before Kyol orders me to pick it up, I grab it. Then I throw it at his head. Miraculously, he doesn’t get his sword up in time to knock it away. The flat side of the blade thumps into his temple.

  Trev laughs at Kyol’s wince. I feel only slightly satisfied.

  “I’m done,” I tell him. “I’m tired, I’m hurt, and I’m not touching that sword again.”

  “Very well,” Kyol says, picking up the practice weapon. “I’ll meet you in Corrist.”

  “What?” I demand, facing him fully. “Well isn’t that convenient for you.”

  “Do you want me to stay?” he asks levelly.

  “I want you to—” I strangle off my words when his mental wall cracks. He wants me to say yes. God, he wants it so badly my heart breaks. I want to tell him what he wants to hear. I want to say stay. I might be mad at him for . . . for treating me like I’m just one of his swordsmen, but I’ve liked being with him. This day feels like our days together before I met Aren, and suddenly I realize that I’ve missed this. I’ve missed spending time with Kyol.

  And he’s missed spending time with me.

  My throat feels raw when I swallow. I shouldn’t have come back to the Realm. This isn’t fair to him. And it’s too confusing to me.

  “Go,” I say before I give in to the part of me that wants him to stay. With a curt nod, he opens a fissure and disappears.

  ELEVEN

  A KNOCK STARTLES me awake. I sit up and let out a string of curses. Holy hell, my body hurts. And not just from swinging a sword hour after hour. Apparently, I got out of shape in the few weeks that I was away from the Realm. My feet hurt from a full day’s walk, and the muscles in my legs are so tight, I’m not sure I can straighten them.

  Another knock, louder this time, shakes my door. Groaning, I force myself out of bed. I barely remember walking through Corrist yesterday. I didn’t even attempt to have someone take me through the gate. I just stumbled into the palace and came to the room Lena’s kept waiting for me.

  And speaking of Lena, she’s standing in the corridor when I open the door.

  “You look terrible,” she says, her gaze taking in my dirty clothes and knotted hair.

  “Thanks,” I say, “but you could have waited until the morning to tell me that.”

  “It is the morning,” she says. She grabs my right wrist then turns my hand over to inspect my blisters. “Taltrayn made them out to be worse.”

  I pull back my hand. “It hurts worse than it looks.”

  She grabs it again, this time pressing her palm against mine. “I want you to speak to the vigilante.”

  “Glazunov?” I ask, the sudden request throwing me off. “About what?”

  “About the Sight serum, of course,” she says, releasing my right hand to grab my left. It’s not nearly as blistered as the other. “He won’t speak to fae.”

  “You’ve heard the rumors then?” Of course she’s heard them. I’m sure she demanded a full report from both Aren and Kyol.

  “I’d be concerned even if the false-blood wasn’t accusing me of using it,” she says. “The serum gives humans the Sight. I’d like to keep our existence a secret if possible, and I’m sure you’d rather humans not die.”

  “My life would be easier if humans knew about you,” I mutter.

  She scowls at me.

  “It’s true,” I say, even though I recognize the ramifications if my world learned about the fae. Most humans wouldn’t be content to let them fissure to and from Earth. They’d want a way to do the same, and they’d try to take control of everything—the fae’s magic, their resources, their whole world, really—in the interest of making humankind safe.

  Lena just lets out what sounds like a disappointed sigh as she turns and walks down the corridor. I close my door, then fall into step beside her.

  “What?” I ask. Her face is smooth, unreadable except for her silver eyes. I was wrong about the sigh. It wasn’t disappointed. It was annoyed.

  “You need to make a decision,” she says, her tone clipped. “Are you with us or are you not?”

  “With you?” I ask. “With the rebels, you mean? Of course—”

  “We’re no longer rebels, McKenzie. I’m the only Descendant with a strong bloodline who’s claimed the right to rule the Realm, and if I’m claiming the right to rule it, then I have the obligation to protect it. I need to know if you’ll help me protect it from the false-blood.”

  “Why do you think I was in Tholm?” I ask.

  She stops to face me. “You’re not listening. You’re still trying to lead dual lives. It’s not possible. I need to be able to rely on you when I need you, not when it’s convenient.”

  “It’s never convenient to be here,” I snap. “But I’m doing what I can. I’m trying to keep a job and my apartment and a glimmer of a real life because I need to stay sane.”

  “Naito is sane. He doesn’t try to be someone he isn’t.”

  “I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. I’m just trying to be halfway normal.”

  A level gaze and her silence are her only responses to my statement, and I can practically hear her thoughts. I’m not normal, not even halfway.

  Frustrated, I turn away, continuing down the corridor before she sees that I get her point. In fact, I made the same argument to Aren yesterday.

  “You think you’re more a part of your world than ours,” she continues, walking beside me. “You’re wrong. You’re one of us more than you’ll ever be one of them, especially now. You’re tied to Kyol, to us, for the rest of your life. Ignoring the Realm isn’t an option anymore.”

  My jaw is tight. Lena’s always been brutally blunt, but with her bluntness comes truth. She’s right. But why is she right? A normal life is what I’ve wanted for the last ten years. Why am I okay with giving it up now?

  It’s not the life-bond. That makes me want to run as far away as I can.

  I glance at Lena. Is it her and the fact that she sees me as one of them? Atroth and his Court fae always treated me as something other. Even Kyol treated me that way when we weren’t alone. I wanted a future with him, but I could never picture it because he swore it would never be allowed. It’s allowed now, and . . .

  He’s not pushing me away anymore. He wants me to be safe, yes, but he accepts me being here. Lena and all the rebels do. They would let me call the Realm home.

  “Thank you,” I say softly.

  Lena’s brow wrinkles, not understanding my response. “You’re with us?”

  I nod. “I’m with you.”

  After a few more paces, she says, “Good.”

  “I need a favor,” I say, keeping my voice low as we make our way down a set of stairs.

  She glances my way, her expression hardening as if she expects me to ask something impossible of her. And maybe I am.

  “I need to find a way to sever the life-bond.”

  Her mouth tightens. Before she says she can’t help me, I say, “I have to at least learn how to block my thoughts from Kyol. I’m hurting him.”

  “Your relationship with Aren would hurt him anyway,” she says. “You’re just aware of it now.”

  “I have no relationship with Aren right now. He won’t get past the bond.”

  A single, concerned wrinkle forms between her eyes. “Aren hasn’t been acting like himself since you left. He’s . . . I don’t know how to describe him. It’s like he feels trapped. I think the palace suffocates him. He’s not used to being restrained behind silver walls.”

  Aren grew up as an imithi, fissuring from province to province without ever having a real home. It makes sense that he wouldn’t like staying in one place, and I
know he’s more comfortable designing attacks rather than defending against them, but that doesn’t explain why he’s not willing to attempt to get over the life-bond. He breaks rules and traditions; he doesn’t abide by them.

  “He’s been speaking with Lord Hison a lot lately,” Lena says.

  I feel myself scowl at the name. Hison is the high noble of Jutur, but from what I’ve heard, he’s just barely in charge of the province now. A month ago, the fae in his home city were rioting. He blames that on Lena and me, since I happened to be there when things got really bad. Personally, I think they’re rioting because he’s a crappy leader. Of course, my opinion might be biased because he’s not exactly pro-human.

  “Any idea what they’re talking about?” I ask. The suspicion that someone might be blackmailing Aren circulates through my mind again. If Hison has anything on Aren, he’s the type of man who wouldn’t hesitate to use it to get what he wants.

  Lena shrugs. “Aren’s been talking to all the high nobles who haven’t promised to confirm me as queen.”

  My eyes widen. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. “You haven’t been confirmed yet? Are you kidding?”

  She stiffens. “Transitions take time.”

  “You’ve held the palace for two months!”

  “I didn’t intend to hold it at all,” she fires back. “The few high nobles who supported my brother have had to be reconvinced that the Zarrak bloodline is strong enough to sit on the throne. Those who do still believe it worry that the Realm will grow angry if we break with tradition and allow a woman to rule, and now I have a false-blood to deal with. I would have been confirmed if Lord Ralsech hadn’t declared his support for the Taelith.”

  Lord Ralsech. He’s the high noble of Derrdyn Province, someone I’ve always steered clear of because of his hatred of all things human.

  “Are you ever going to be confirmed?” I ask. Her eyes narrow. I’m getting under her skin. I don’t care. I assumed she’d been named queen despite the false-blood’s appearance. She hasn’t, and it seems like the political situation here is worse than it was when I left. Lena’s been running in place this whole time, and it pisses me off. I didn’t join the rebels to fight for the status quo. I joined them because the Realm needed to change.

  “Atroth was king for fifteen years,” she says. “That’s considered a short reign. Even in your world, these things take time.”

  “Will they ever confirm you?” I demand.

  The set of her jaw tells me she very much does not want to answer the question, but finally, she says, “Not until the false-blood reveals his ancestry.”

  “Why hasn’t he?”

  “Because he’s a false-blood,” she says, practically spitting the words out. “He can’t prove he’s a Descendant of the Tar Sidhe.”

  “Then why would Lord Ralsech support him?”

  “The Taelith caters to his hatred of humans,” she says. “He’s telling people what they want to hear.” Her hand reaches toward her face—I think to rub her eyes—but she stops herself and lowers the hand back to her side. “I need a majority of the provinces to vote in my favor. I’m four votes short.”

  “What about the dissolved provinces?” I ask. “You said you would reinstate them. Surely, their high nobles support you.”

  “They do,” she says, “but I’m still short. The nobles in charge of the provinces that lost territory with the reinstatements were not fond of that decision.”

  I roll my eyes. “I hate politics.”

  She lets out a bitter laugh. “So do I.”

  “This can’t go on,” I tell her. “You can’t stay in limbo.”

  “I know, McKenzie. I’m working on it. The high nobles—”

  “I’m sick of hearing about the nobles,” I interrupt. “Maybe you should stop trying to convince them that you should be queen and start trying to convince the rest of the Realm.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Lena,” a voice calls out from behind us. The fae approaching us is wearing a fitted blue jacket with a gold design sewn into the wide cuffs of his sleeve. I’m pretty sure the loops and crossed threads mark him as an aide.

  “Lords Hison and Kaeth request an audience with you,” the fae says. “They’re waiting in your anteroom.”

  Lena’s face remains smooth. Her eyes, though, betray her irritation. Hison is one of the sharpest thorns in her side.

  “I’ll be there soon,” she finally says.

  The aide’s mouth thins. “They’ve been waiting for quite some time.”

  “Then they can wait for more.”

  He stiffens. Then, after a brief hesitation, he nods and turns to leave. Lena scowls at his retreating back.

  “Plotting an unfortunate accident?” I ask her.

  Her gaze slips my way, and I shrug. She just shakes her head.

  “Come on,” she says, continuing down the cold corridor. “Glazunov’s guard won’t let you see him without my permission.”

  When we reach the palace’s prison, I look into the barred windows of the doors we pass. I’m looking for the elari Trev captured in Tholm. His claim that Lena is selling the Sight serum still bothers me. I don’t see him, though. He’s either out of sight in one of the cells we pass or he’s being held elsewhere.

  “He hasn’t eaten or drank anything since he’s been here,” Lena says, directing my attention to a cell at the end of the hall.

  My stomach sinks. “You’re not feeding him?”

  She turns to look at me. “He hasn’t accepted anything we’ve offered him. I need you to find out what you can about the Sight serum. I want to make sure it’s destroyed and that it’s not being given to anyone anymore. If more people can see us, more people will see us.”

  “What are the chances of that actually happening, though? I didn’t see a fae until I was sixteen. It’s not like they’re walking around in shopping malls.”

  “A number of tor’um have chosen to migrate to Earth, especially in the last decade,” she says. “Atroth shunned them, but I don’t, and I won’t. They’re still fae. I’ll do what I can to protect them.”

  We reach the door at the end of the corridor. The guard opens it at Lena’s request, revealing a small room with a cot against the right wall and a pot in a corner. Glazunov sits against the left wall, a tray of food and water untouched at his feet. He looks awful, pale and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and dry, cracked lips. His clothes—the same ones he was wearing when he was tied to my bed—hang off his slumped shoulders, looking like they’re a size too big now. It’s a huge change, especially considering he’s only been here about three days, Earth time.

  “I’ll leave you with him,” Lena says. “The guard is trustworthy, and he doesn’t understand English. You can talk about the serum freely. When you’re finished here, I’d like to speak with you again.”

  I nod without looking at her. Glazunov has gathered up what strength he has left and is giving me a murderous glare. It’s not intimidating at all, though. He might be able to stand, but I doubt he’s able to do so quickly.

  Entering the cell, I sit cross-legged a few feet away from him. The tray of food and water is between us.

  “Do you not trust what they’re offering you to eat?” I ask.

  “I have no intention of staying here forever,” he says.

  It takes me a second to understand his response. I’m so used to the fae, to their customs and traditions, that I never relate them to my world’s folklore. So little of the reality made it into our literature that, in my mind, they’re not even close to being the same.

  “It’s safe to eat,” I say, demonstrating by grabbing a wedge of cheese and popping it into my mouth. “I’m free to leave whenever I want. I even have an apartment and a job back home.” A job I’m probably going to be fired from and an apartment I’ll be kicked out of, but he doesn’t need the details.

  “They’ve seduced you,” Glazunov says. He’s breathing hard, as if talking is difficult for him. He�
�s in a lot worse shape than I expected.

  “Will you drink something, at least?” I ask, holding out the wooden cup filled with water. I genuinely feel bad for him. I know it isn’t reasonable, that I’m not responsible for the state he’s in and that, if he’s anything like Naito and Lee’s father, he’s a hate-filled man who can’t be reasoned with, but I can’t help it. This has always been my problem—I care too much.

  Glazunov licks his cracked lips, then, to my surprise, he leans forward and accepts the cup. He stares at its rippling surface for a handful of seconds—

  —then launches the cup at my head.

  It thumps against my temple. A weak throw, but the water soaks into my shirt, and it’s freaking cold.

  I blow out a breath between my teeth. “Okay. I should have seen that coming.”

  He reaches for the tray. I lean forward, slapping my hand down on it before he can flip it into my lap. He uses my close proximity against me, grabbing a fistful of my hair. Damn!

  I swing the tray into his side. He lets out a curse, but doesn’t let go of my hair.

  I’m not afraid. I’m pissed—mainly at myself for getting too close to him—so I swing a blind punch at his face. Another into his gut, but the damn vigilante won’t let go.

  “If you want your hand to remain attached to your arm, you’ll release her.”

  Aren’s voice is calm and close. He’s standing just to my left, I think. I’m able to turn my head enough that I can peer up at him sideways, my hair half-covering my face. I blow out a breath, moving a few locks aside for a better view.

  His expression is as calm as his voice despite the fact that he has a dagger pressed against Glazunov’s wrist.

  Glazunov’s fingers finally loosen. I pull my hair free, then slide back a couple of feet.

  “Perhaps another scoot,” Aren suggests, looking down at me, his eyebrows slightly raised.

  I feel myself blush. I should have known better than to get too close to the vigilante. The fact that Aren saw my, um, predicament, is downright embarrassing.

  “What would I do without you?” I mutter as I get to my feet with some semblance of dignity.