The Sharpest Blade

by Sandy Williams

  I build a wall as thick and solid as Kyol’s has ever been, and I make myself feel nothing. It’s the only way I can function. I have to stay numb. I can’t think about Sosch. I can’t think about Kyol or Trev or Lorn or Naito and Lee, who are somewhere in the palace. I can’t think about anything but getting out of here.

  I open my eyes. My gaze goes to the back wall, the one covered with sketches of the high nobles. The exit tunnel is behind it. It would be convenient if the life-bond gave me at least a tiny amount of magic so that I could touch the trigger that slides open the wall, but no such luck. I need a fae to open it. I need Aren or Lena conscious.

  My hand goes to my pocket and wraps around the syringe I have there. It’s filled with the tranq-dart antidote. Lee said it was a mixture of adrenaline and some other medications. Will it wake up the fae? They’ve been put to sleep by magic, not by drugs. What if the antidote does more harm than good?

  The false-blood or his men could come back any second. I have no choice except to find out.

  My gaze shifts between Aren and Lena. They’re both hurt. Aren’s bleeding from a deep gash in his left leg, and Lena isn’t much better off. my heart drops when I realize I can’t save both of them. I only have one syringe. I have to choose.

  The wall I created thins. I drag in a ragged breath then I press my lips against Aren’s, praying that he’ll wake up. One of my chaos lusters strikes across his face, but this isn’t how the fairy tale goes. The prince kisses his princess, not the other way around. Aren doesn’t move.

  We have a chance, he told me. If we both survived, we would be together. I’m still pissed at him for choosing to die, to stay behind when I had a plan to get him out of the palace, and I’m pissed that I’m in this situation, that once again, my choices have been taken away.

  Slowly, the reality of my situation sinks in. There isn’t a choice here. I know what I have to do. Aren’s pale from blood loss. His leg might not support him.

  Another strangled, almost maniacal laugh escapes me. I’m not much different from Aren or from Kyol. I’m making the only choice I can.

  I take the protective plastic off the syringe, turn my back on the fae I love, then jab the needle into Lena’s arm.

  I pull it out and wait, but she doesn’t move.

  Shit.

  I place two fingers on the side of her throat, hoping I haven’t killed her. I feel a faint but even heartbeat.

  Okay. She’s still alive—that’s a plus—but what do I do now? Slap her?

  Before I take my hand away to do that, a chaos luster skips to her cheek. It shatters into five thinner bolts of lightning, and her body jerks.

  “Lena?” My voice is hoarse, scratchy from screaming and crying, and she doesn’t open her eyes.

  I grab her chin and shake it. “Lena.”

  Silver peeks between her dark lashes. Her pupils get slightly bigger, then smaller, then bigger again as she tries to focus.

  “We don’t have much time,” I tell her. “I need you to open the tunnel. Do you understand?”

  Her body jerks again. Her eyes widen, and she flails as if reaching for a weapon.

  “Hey, shh.” I grab her arms. “It’s me. It’s McKenzie. I gave you medicine to wake you up. We have to get out of here right now.”

  She still looks startled. She attempts to roll away from me, but I hold her down. The fact that I’m able to do that isn’t a good sign. She should be able to fling me away with ease.

  Our prolonged contact agitates my chaos lusters more. They strike down both my arms, and a hot, tingling sensation swirls in my palms before ricocheting into my chest. She feels it, too, and finally, recognition shines in her eyes.

  “Let go of me,” she orders.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, I comply. “Can you open the tunnel?”

  She nods as she slowly pushes herself into a sitting position. She sways. Her eyes close, and I grab her arm again to steady her. Damn it, we don’t have time for her to be light-headed.

  I draw in a breath, then, in one move, place her arm over my shoulder and surge to my feet. My back protests the movement, and the muscles in my legs just barely comply. Lena’s too hurt and too off-balance to be much more than deadweight.

  We don’t exactly walk to the wall—it’s more of a badly controlled stumble—so when we actually reach it, I don’t have the strength or the balance to stop us. Lena’s face smacks into the stone.

  She grunts.

  “Sorry,” I say, when she glares at me. “Consider it payback for breaking my arm in Germany.”

  A smile bends her busted lower lip. Good. I need her energized, her spirits high, and for her to have hope that we’ll get out of this.

  “Open the tunnel,” I order.

  She braces a hand against the wall, moves a half pace to the left, then reaches up to a stone set high above her head. When she flattens her palm against it, a blue glow flares out from her hand. Then, with what seems like a deafening rumble, the wall slides open.

  The tunnel is pitch-black and narrow, barely wide enough for Lena and me to stand side by side in it.

  “How long until he wakes up?” she asks. She’s looking at Aren.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “I injected you with something to wake you up.”

  The eyebrow she lifts is caked with dried blood. “With something?”

  “Ask me about it later,” I say. “We need to get out of here.”

  “We can’t leave him.” Her voice is weak, and the only reason she’s still standing is because she’s leaning against the wall. In her eyes, I see how much she wants to move away from it, how much she wants to go to him and drag him out of here.

  I want so much to do the same.

  “I can’t carry both of you,” I say. My voice doesn’t tremble, but I feel my throat tightening. I feel my eyes burning and brimming with tears.

  “You can’t wake him up, too?”

  “I only had one dose.” And I had to use it on her, I tell myself. Aren’s hurt. He couldn’t carry Lena out of here any more than she could carry him.

  Lena’s eyes widen slightly when she realizes I chose her over Aren.

  “We can’t leave him,” she says again.

  “We have to,” I whisper. “But we don’t have to leave him here.”

  After I make sure she’s steady, I walk to him and crouch behind his head. On the outside, I’m in control. I’ve accepted my decision. I’m doing the right thing. On the inside, though, I’m dying. I want to scream, Move, damn you! But I just hook my arms under his, then, with a grunt, I drag him into the tunnel.

  Lena attempts to heal the gash on his leg. I stop her before she finishes. She looks like she’s about to pass out. She protests but finally gives in. She closes the wall, then we begin our stumbling journey through the black tunnel.

  Sometime later, I collapse. My lungs ache. My back and shoulders hurt from being knocked around and thrown down the stairs, and carrying Lena hasn’t helped. She’s barely able to support any of her weight. I didn’t realize how badly she was injured until I put her arm over my shoulder. Her side pressed into my side, and my shirt is now wet with her blood.

  I’m not a healer, and she can’t heal herself. We have to find help quickly.

  I put her arm over my shoulder again.

  “McKenzie,” she says.

  “It can’t be much farther.” I just have to get her outside the silver wall.

  She slides away from me. “You can’t continue to carry me.”

  “Feel free to help me out,” I say. Then I glance behind us again.

  Maybe this is why my neck hurts. I’ve looked over my shoulder more than a dozen times since we started our escape. Lena’s looked back more than a few times as well. It’s not just because we’re worried about the false-blood pursuing us. Every step I take away from Aren leaves a piece of my shattered heart behind. We’re both hoping he’ll catch up with us. We’re both hoping he’ll live.

  Lena starts to push herself to he
r feet. She almost makes it, but she suddenly grabs her stomach. Her shoulders hunch, and I know what’s going to happen next.

  I pull her hair out of the way as she dry heaves. This is the fourth time she’s done this—there’s nothing left in her stomach anymore. The medicine I injected her with is wreaking havoc on her system.

  “Better?” I ask when a handful of seconds passes without her heaving again. Weakly, she nods. I put her arm over my shoulder, and we continue stumbling down the tunnel.

  I keep my sleeves pushed up. My contact with Lena is making my chaos lusters go crazy. I don’t want to touch her, but I don’t have a choice. The white bolts of lightning provide the only light in the tunnel. It’s not much—just enough to prevent me from cracking my head on low-hanging sections of rock.

  More minutes pass. I don’t know how many. We’re both weak and covered in sweat, but the faint glow ahead makes me press on. It’s a narrow exit. We have to squeeze through it one at a time. As soon as Lena’s feet are clear, I crawl through the gap, my fingers finding tiny cracks in the rock to hold on to so I can pull myself across the hard surface.

  Moonlight touches my face. Another pull, and I slide off a ledge, landing on my hip beside Lena. She’s on her back, looking up at the stars. They’re bright, even with the moon lighting the sky, and they’re completely foreign to me. The constellations of another world.

  I make myself sit up when all I want to do is lie down. After using a craggy boulder as a crutch, I peek over it at the Realm’s capital city, which is below us now.

  We’re at the base of the Corrist Mountains. Not too far from the gate, thank God. This is where I planned to escape with Aren. This is where Hison should be, and for once, I want to see the high noble. We need help. I don’t know how we’ll get to the gate on our own. It looks like the elari are guarding it. Cardak most likely knows we’re missing by now.

  I scan once again for the high noble and his fae, but they’re nowhere in sight. They might have been captured already. Hison might have been killed.

  I look up into the mountains. Or, he might have escaped. It’s possible.

  It’s possible for him. Not for us. I can’t carry Lena any farther.

  Exhausted, I turn my back to the boulder, then slide down until I’m sitting. Lena’s still lying on her back. Her eyes are closed, and she seems . . . serene. Like lying beneath the stars in the open mountain air calms her.

  Oh, hell. This would be a perfect, peaceful place to lie down and die.

  “Just a little farther,” I say, moving quickly to Lena’s side. No rest for us. We’re going to survive this.

  I expect a protest, an order for me to sit down and rest, or at least a glare, but apparently, she doesn’t have the energy even for that. I get her into a sitting position and stand.

  Or I try to stand. It feels like her weight has doubled since she lay down.

  “You’re going to have to help me.”

  She nods. I get my arms under her again, lift . . .

  And end up sprawled on top of her.

  Three more times, I try to get her on her feet. I meet with less and less success. Finally, I sit and lean my back against the boulder, breathing hard and sweating despite the chilly air. It’ll be sunrise soon. If the false-blood hasn’t already ordered his followers to search the foothills, he will soon.

  “We’re outside the wall,” I say softly to Lena. “You can fissure.”

  Her eyes open briefly. “You can’t.”

  “I’ll find someone else to fissure me.”

  She shakes her head. It’s a small movement, a barely noticeable side-to-side twitch that I would miss if I weren’t watching her closely.

  “I won’t leave you behind, McKenzie.”

  “Your life is more important than mine.”

  She lifts one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I’m nothing without the people who support me. You might be my last living shadow-reader, and I need my lord general. He’s obviously still alive.” She pauses to take a few breaths. “Any chance he will be here soon?”

  “He’s having trouble getting out of the palace.” I think that’s what’s happening. He was close to the King’s Hall not too long ago. He’s near the western entrance, now, but his frustration is growing. His desperation. He feels how weak I’m becoming.

  Lena suddenly stiffens. One finger goes to her lips. Her opposite hand goes to her hip, where her sword would be if she had one. I hear voices a second later. Slowly, silently, I peek over the boulder again.

  And duck back down after the briefest glance. Elari. At least six of them.

  “—will search every crevice. They still live. You will find them. The Taelith wishes it.”

  The speaker’s voice is deep but monotone, and it’s coming nearer.

  I get my feet under me, ready to do . . . something. I have no weapon. I can’t flee with Lena over my shoulder. I’m not even sure if I have enough strength to shove her back into the almost invisible crevice we emerged from.

  “We have all the exits covered. They couldn’t have escaped—”

  “They did,” the fae in charge cuts off the other elari. “And they must be recaptured today. They’re here. They’re nearby.”

  They’re right under your goddamned feet.

  I wipe a bead of sweat out of my eyes. I’m going to have to try to get Lena back into the tunnel. It’s hard to see the entrance, and I think it might even be hidden by illusion. The only hope we have is for the elari to overlook us.

  “I’ll send more followers to help you search.”

  I risk one last look over the boulder, praying the elari aren’t moving their search this way.

  They’re facing away from me, but I can almost make out one of their profiles, the leader’s, I think.

  He turns another fraction of an inch.

  I duck behind the boulder. It’s Nimael, the false-blood’s second-in-command and the fae who escaped us in Tholm. He’s going to fissure out.

  He’s going to fissure out, and I’m close enough to read his shadows.

  I bite my lower lip, staring at Lena. She manages to raise one eyebrow.

  I shake my head, putting my finger to my lips as I move toward her and take the draw-stringed pouch that’s tied to her belt. Quietly, I dump out the anchor-stones and spread open the cloth. It’ll work for paper. I just need something to write with.

  The crevice we climbed out of is covered with a thick, dark layer of dirt and dried mud. I drag my fingers through it, then, just as my skin tingles to tell me a fissure has been opened, I turn back toward the elari.

  Nimael is gone. His shadows twist in front of me. The other elari are turned away, moving their search westward, so I give in to the itch to draw them. They’re familiar, but they’re foreign. I drag my pointer finger across the material in front of me, leaving a dark streak behind. When I run out of dirt, I switch fingers and draw mountains to the north, to the south.

  Mountains everywhere. It’s the same place, the same damn place Nimael fissured to when he was in Tholm, and once again, I can’t name the location. It’s in the Realm, though. Why the hell can’t I name it?

  Then, just before the shadows vanish, they twist one last time. I stare, not trusting what I think I see.

  “McKenzie?” Lena asks again.

  I slide back down the boulder and place my makeshift map on the ground between us.

  “I think it’s the other side of the Jythkrila Mountains.”

  As soon as I say Jythkrila, Lena’s eyes widen. I was right. The magic worked. She could fissure after Nimael now, probably right on top of him. I haven’t lost my ability to read the shadows.

  “There’s nothing beyond the mountains,” she says, but doubt fills her voice.

  Folding the map up carefully, I tuck it into my back pocket, then get my feet underneath me. I’m about to reach for Lena so I can get her up to the crevice and the tunnel where she can hide, but loose pebbles skitter down the rock behind me.

  I look up. An elari is s
tanding on my boulder. His gaze is focused upward on the mountain, but all he has to do is look down. We’re screwed.

  We’re screwed unless . . .

  I look at Lena. She can’t run. I can’t carry her.

  Fissure, I mouth.

  Her eyes are locked on me. She shakes her head a fraction. No.

  Yes! I order. I grab the first anchor-stone my fingers touch out of the pile at my feet then edge closer to her, holding it out in my hand, palm up.

  She stares at it, then finally, she seems to understand what I’m planning. Again, she shakes her head. She doesn’t think I’ll survive fissuring without a gate. I don’t think I’ll survive remaining behind, and I’d rather die in the In-Between than die at the hands of the false-blood.

  She meets my eyes and mouths, Kyol.

  That’s low, using him against me. I know the consequences of my actions. The thing is, I think I might survive this.

  A sound of alarm behind me signals the end of our time.

  “Now!” I yell, grabbing her hand.

  She curses.

  The elari leaps off the boulder as Lena opens her fissure. I charge into it, using my momentum and my last ounce of strength to pull her up and into it after me.

  I’m eclipsed in white light and ice and . . . pain.

  So much pain.

  Oh, God. I was wrong.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THUMP . . . THUMP . . . TH-THUMP.

  It takes a millennium to recognize the sound as my heartbeat. I’m alive, but I feel like hell. So weak, and my skin feels like it’s been frostbitten by the In-Between. I want to roll to my side and empty my stomach, but I don’t have the strength to do that. I don’t even have the strength to open my eyes.

  How many times can a person almost die? If there’s a limit, I’m pretty sure I’ve hit it. The In-Between completely kicked my butt.

  My heart beats a little faster. The In-Between. I freaking survived it. I can travel without using a gate.

  Not that I want a repeat experience anytime soon. Every muscle in my body hurts, and my head throbs. Then, oddly, it bobs. I force my eyes open and see the sole of a shoe. Or rather, a fae boot if I’m not mistaken. The shoe nudges my forehead again.