The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  The door swings open silently. My gaze finds Lena first. She’s standing rigidly in the center of the room, facing Hison and Kaeth. Her expression is neutral, but I swear her face is a half shade redder than normal. She might sound and appear calm, but she’s not. I know her that well now.

  “I want their names,” Hison is saying. “I want their locations.”

  “I can’t help you,” Lena tells him. “I wasn’t there.”

  “We will learn the truth despite your interference.” Hison’s dark blue cape billows out behind him when he takes a step toward her. “One of the witnesses is a very strong ward maker. The ledgers will lead me to him eventually.”

  Witnesses? Who is he talking about? Someone who knows something about the garistyn? Only Kyol, Aren, and I know who slid the sword into Atroth’s back. The king had guards in his hall, but as far as I know, they’re all dead. Hison would have questioned them long before now if they weren’t.

  Maybe that’s it, though. Maybe he and Lord Kaeth just now found out someone else survived.

  “The ledgers?” Lena says, ice in her whisper. “You mean the books that Atroth forced every fae to record their magics in? The ones that are completely accurate because everyone was anxious to confess their abilities so that Atroth could conscript them into his service? I wish you the best of luck with that.”

  Sarcasm. Rumor has it those ledgers are mostly false. Every fae was required to fissure to Corrist to write down their abilities in Atroth’s books. I knew about the ledgers when I shadow-read for the king, but I didn’t know how much the fae resented being documented or that the trip was forced upon them. Very few told the truth when they signed their names. If Hison has discovered there’s a witness to the king’s murder, it’s unlikely the ledger will lead the high noble to him. I hope.

  “King Atroth saw the importance of knowing the magics criminals and false-bloods could throw at us,” Hison says coldly, arrogantly. “Maybe one day, you’ll learn so as well. Confirm the identity of the kingkiller, Lena.”

  “You want to execute Jorreb,” Lena says. “That’s the only reason you’re insisting upon this.”

  “This is about justice,” Lord Hison says. “If Jorreb didn’t kill King Atroth, you or he would tell me who did. You’re protecting him.” His gaze swivels to me, standing here in the doorway. “Or you’re protecting her. Lord Kaeth.”

  Kaeth moves before my mind finishes translating Hison’s words. He’s on me in an instant, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall beside the door.

  “Lord Kaeth!” Lena yells. “Release her!”

  Kaeth ignores her, he ignores the bolt of white lightning that leaps from my skin to his, then he leans in close, and demands, “Did you murder King Atroth?”

  “What are you, Hison’s lackey?” I demand, but my voice quivers. A potent, debilitating fear rushes over me. I feel an echoing terror move through Kyol.

  “Tell me who murdered the king.” Kaeth’s voice slithers under my skin.

  Kyol’s name is on the tip of my tongue. If I want to live, I have to say it. I have to tell Lord Kaeth what he wants to know.

  “It’s magic, McKenzie,” Lena snaps. “Don’t say a word.”

  Magic? My whole body trembles, filled with fear. Kyol’s sprinting this way now, and I can barely think with his terror mixing with mine. He doesn’t know why I’m afraid.

  Hold on a second.

  I don’t know why I’m afraid.

  My gaze locks on Lord Kaeth’s sharp silver eyes.

  “Answer me, human,” he hisses.

  Oh, son of a—

  I get my right arm free, then slam the heel of my hand into Kaeth’s nose. Bones crunch, and he staggers back, eyes wide. I don’t know if he’s more hurt or surprised that I, a mere human, struck him.

  Kyol was right about fae underestimating me.

  I twist the wrist he’s still holding as I jerk it back. As soon as he loses his grip, the artificial fear whooshes out of me. Lena steps between us before he recovers. Her hand is locked around the hilt of the sword sheathed at her hip, and the tension is almost tangible in the air. I’m not focused on it, though. I’m focused on the tension in Kyol and the fact that he’s heading this way.

  I shut down my emotions as completely as possible, letting only a sense of calm assurance leak through our bond. I don’t want him anywhere near Hison and Kaeth. If the high nobles pressure him, if they threaten me or Lena and demand to know the identity of the garistyn, I’m afraid he’ll answer them. He’ll tell them the truth because he regrets killing Atroth, his king and his friend.

  “Get out,” Lena orders. “Now.”

  Unperturbed, Hison eyes her. “Afraid the nalkin-shom will answer Kaeth’s questions? That would be difficult since she isn’t supposed to speak our language.”

  Lena’s mouth tightens, and I suppress a curse and another wave of emotions. It’s forbidden for humans to learn Fae. The law has been around for decades, and Atroth enforced it just as religiously as the previous kings, but the rebels didn’t. They taught me their language. We’ve kept my knowledge of it under wraps because it’s just one more transgression the high nobles will hold against Lena.

  Lena keeps her eyes locked on Hison’s. “You have ten seconds to leave my apartments. If you don’t, you’ll learn my sword isn’t just an ornament.”

  Hison laughs. “You won’t harm us. The high nobles would never give you power if you did.”

  I’m not as confident about that as he is, the Lena-not-harming- him part. The Lena I know, or the one I knew back before she became interim queen, wasn’t just some figurehead leader. She knew how to fight, how to kill and maim. The role she’s found herself in doesn’t fit comfortably. All she might need is an excuse to be who she was before.

  “I want the name of the kingkiller or the names of the witnesses by sunset,” Hison says. “If I have to hunt the witnesses down myself, I’ll have your lord general and your sword-master arrested and you confined to your apartments. And in the end, I’ll still learn the kingkiller’s identity.”

  With that, Hison departs, Kaeth following a step behind.

  “Can he do that?” I ask when the doors close behind them. My voice is overly monotone because I’m still trying to quash my emotions. Kyol knows I’m not in danger now, but he wants to know what was wrong. He’s still heading this way, and I’m afraid he’ll cross paths with Hison and Kaeth.

  “What?” Lena snaps.

  “Can Hison arrest Aren and Kyol and keep you locked in here?”

  She draws in a deep breath, calming herself, then moves to the window and peers out.

  “Probably,” she says. “Maybe. I don’t really know. I don’t have enough support to oppose him.”

  “Support from the high nobles?”

  “From them,” she says, nodding out the window. “From the people. From everyone.”

  “What happens if you never get their support?”

  “What happens if I fail?” Her eyes look glassy when she meets my gaze. “Then my brother’s death meant nothing, and the fae who have fought and died for him and who now fight and die for me . . . it all means nothing.” She turns back to the window. “Atroth catered to the high nobles. They’re used to his favors. They hate me because I won’t make one group of people suffer just so they can prosper. They know I’ll lower and equalize the gate taxes as soon as I have the authority to do so. And they know that, once I have access to the treasury, I won’t use the tinril as bribes. I’ll use it to help the tor’um, the imithi. All the fae whom they’ve shoved aside and ignored.”

  She looks at me over her shoulder. “Did you know there are fae living in the Barren?”

  “I know fae shun the Barren,” I say. I crossed that strip of land not too long ago. Thrain collapsed the gate in Krytta ten years ago, killing thousands of fae and making it impossible to fissure in a third of Sarna Province.

  “We think they’re tor’um,” Lena says. “We don’t know for sure, but they’v
e been raiding stack houses that are near the Barren, stealing whatever is stored there before the merchants have a chance to load it onto their carts and take it to the nearest gate. Atroth had plans to send his swordsmen to Krytta to annihilate anyone they found there.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I gave ten years of my life to that king. He never struck me as someone who was capable of mass murder, not even in the end, and every time I hear about something he did or planned to do, I feel like a fool for not seeing what he’d become.

  “It was Lord General Radath’s plan,” Lena says, as if she sees the regret written on my face. “Taltrayn spoke out against it. Perhaps Atroth would have listened to him.”

  And perhaps not. But she doesn’t have to convince me that she’s better for the Realm than Atroth was. She just has to convince everyone else.

  “So you’re no closer to being confirmed as queen,” I say. “What are the high nobles’ alternatives? The false-blood?”

  She shakes her head. “The false-blood would have to take over by force. The high nobles may not like me, but they won’t confirm a fae who won’t tell them his ancestry. No, they’ll rule by council until they find a weak-blooded Descendant who’ll agree to sit on the throne. It will be someone they can manipulate. Someone Hison can manipulate,” she amends bitterly. “He might have a candidate already. He’ll tell the others I can’t unify the Realm, but his puppet can.”

  She looks so heavy-hearted. I want to rest my hand on her shoulder, assure her that everything will work out in the end, but I can’t promise her that. There’s too much uncertainty in the Realm right now. Besides, Lena isn’t the type of person to accept that kind of comfort.

  “Thanks for stepping in when Kaeth grabbed me,” I tell her instead. “We’ve come a long way since you tried to kill me.”

  She still has a death grip on her sword. When I eye it pointedly, she drops her hand to her side as if she’s been caught stealing. Heaven forbid she admit she was prepared to defend me.

  “I never tried to kill you.” A small smile bends a corner of her mouth. “I tried to have others do it for me.”

  That pulls a laugh from my chest, and it feels good, releasing a little tension.

  Sobering up, I ask, “They’re going to find out about Kyol, aren’t they?”

  Lena’s mouth flattens out again. “Two of Atroth’s guards survived our invasion. They laid down their weapons, and Taltrayn vouched for them. He wouldn’t let me kill them.” Her gaze slides to me. “Don’t get that disapproving look, McKenzie. They were my enemies. I had the right to give them a good, clean death.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” I protest.

  “It’s the way things are done here,” she continues, her voice firm. “But I took the advice of my lord general. I accepted their oaths of allegiance, then I sent them away. It was a temporary solution to buy me time. I’ve been trying to find ways to persuade the high nobles to approve me without giving them the garistyn, but I’ve run out of time. If word gets out that my lord general and sword-master have been arrested, and that I’m confined here, I’ll lose the little amount of support that I have.”

  “You need to find a way to get more support now,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes, probably because I’ve stated the obvious. I’m about to cut off whatever smart remark she’s going to say by pointing out how human her eye rolling is, but her mouth snaps shut. She stares at me silently. I frown as the seconds tick by, then raise an eyebrow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Come with me,” she says. Then, without explanation, she walks out of the room.

  THIRTEEN

  ANDUR RISES FROM the desk as Lena strides through the antechamber.

  “Stay here,” she barks at him.

  He sends me a questioning look as I hurry after her, but I just shrug in response. I have no freaking idea what she’s doing.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, when we step into the corridor outside Lena’s apartments. The guards standing to either side of the double-doored entrance straighten when they see her.

  “Do you need assistance?” the taller fae on the left asks.

  She doesn’t answer either of us. She just turns to the right and keeps walking. I alternate between a jog and a fast walk.

  “Lena—”

  “You said I should get more support,” she cuts me off. “That’s what I’m doing.” She doesn’t even glance over her shoulder when she speaks. She moves down the wide corridor in long, confident strides.

  Confusion travels along my life-bond with Kyol. I don’t know if I’m projecting the emotion or if he is, but I can’t do anything to clear it up. Lena isn’t slowing down, and I don’t know where she’s going.

  No, I do know where she’s going. A short staircase takes us to the entrance to the palace archives. Lena and her guard enter without hesitating, but I linger in the doorway. I knew the palace archivist. He was one of the few fae I considered a friend when I worked for the king. Trusting Kavok ended up being a mistake, though. When the rebels captured Tylan, a high-ranking remnant, Kavok betrayed us, freeing the fae and escaping with Paige and Lee.

  Bracing myself, I cross the threshold. Then pause. The atmosphere inside the archives feels the same as the corridor. There’s no change in humidity or air pressure like there was the one time I entered before. But then, of course there’s not. Kavok was the one who magically regulated all of that. Since he’s gone, the archives aren’t being maintained the way they should. If she doesn’t want to lose all the history documented here, Lena needs to find a replacement for him, someone who can control the environment and keep the papers from deteriorating.

  Lena stops at a large glass display set against the wall at the back of the room. She tries lifting the top, but it doesn’t budge. That doesn’t stop her, though. Without hesitating, she lifts her hand then makes a slamming motion. I feel the atmosphere shift as she harnesses the air, then the glass shatters without Lena’s hand coming close to touching it.

  Heedless of the sharp glass, she grabs a heavy tome, then places it in my arms.

  Reflexively, I keep hold of it though I nearly fall forward at the unexpected weight of the book. It’s oversized and leather-bound, but I can’t read any of the Fae written on its cover.

  “What is this?” I ask. Similar books are hidden beneath the black bottom of the display case. Lena takes two of them out, then adds them to my arms. After she does, she tosses a pen to the floor. It’s black and carved with symbols.

  I realize what these books must be, so I amend my question. “What are you going to do with them?”

  She meets my gaze. “I’m losing it.”

  “Your mind?” I ask, surprised she’s admitting to it.

  Her eyes narrow. “The Realm, McKenzie. I’m losing the Realm. But I refuse to hand it over to the high nobles without a fight. These books will be my first true swing.”

  She drops two more heavy tomes into my arms, then carries the last one herself, leaving the archives as quickly as she entered them. Curiosity drives me to follow her. The books we’re holding are the ledgers Hison mentioned, the ones Atroth required every fae to sign. Their magics—at least, the magics the fae decided to admit to—are listed inside of them.

  The top ledger on my stack nearly slides off when I trot down the steps leading into the sculpture garden. It’s almost noon here, so the open-aired courtyard is crowded with Court advisors and the high nobles’ assistants. I recognize Lord Raen, Kelia’s father and the high noble of Tayshken Province. I’ve barely spoken to him since Kelia was killed. He hasn’t taken her death well. They were estranged, and he didn’t have time to make amends.

  “Lena?” Trev’s voice cuts through the air. He turns away from the fae he was talking to, his gaze tracking Lena as she crosses the white-tiled floor.

  “Not now,” she says without so much as a hitch in her stride.

  Trev’s gaze shifts to me.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him, “but you might
want to”—I run a few steps to keep up with Lena—“to come with us.”

  He mutters something to the fae standing beside him, then jogs to catch up with me.

  “What are those?” he asks, when the top book almost slides off my stack again. Instead of shifting it back into place, I shove the heavy tome into Trev’s chest. His breath whooshes out of his lungs in an oomph.

  “These are the magic ledgers,” I say. “I don’t know what she’s doing with them.”

  By the look on Trev’s face, he doesn’t know either.

  “Lena,” he calls after her. She leaves the sculpture garden, heading into the southern wing of the palace. When she takes a straight path to the huge, double doors that mark the main entrance, knots form in my gut. Now I know what she’s going to do, and it’s either a brilliant idea or a foolish one.

  “Open the doors,” Lena orders as the guards double tap the pommels of their sheathed swords in a salute. There’s a smaller, more practical door to the right she could leave through, but if my hunch is right, Lena intends to make a scene.

  “A crowd is gathered on the plaza—”

  “Good,” she interrupts the guard. He glances uncertainly at the other fae standing sentry.

  “Lena,” Trev tries again, this time jogging to get in front of her. “You can’t leave the palace like this. It’s dangerous.”

  “No one’s expecting me,” she says, sidestepping him.

  Trev places a hand on her shoulder. “You need more guards.”

  She freezes, and an icy silver gaze locks on the hand that’s touching her. Trev goes still as well, looking at his hand as if he’s not sure how it got there.

  He snatches the hand away, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Fear? No, that doesn’t make sense. Lena isn’t the type of person who’s going to say “off with his head” for a mere touch. Maybe it was a flash of disbelief? Not just for going against her wishes and touching her in public, though. If that was it, he would have apologized immediately. He doesn’t apologize at all.