The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  Lena steps around him. When she passes, he runs his hand over his face. It’s definitely the gesture of someone who can’t believe what he’s just done, but there’s more to it than that. If I had to guess, I’d say he can’t believe what he almost just revealed.

  Trev cares about Lena.

  Aren cares about her, too, I tell myself. That doesn’t mean he’s into her. They’re friends. Trev’s probably her friend, too.

  Probably.

  Trev looks at me. My expression must betray my suspicion because his face darkens. “Say a word, and I’ll kill you.”

  Holy hell, I’m right. He is into her. No wonder he puts up with her giving him crappy assignments like chauffeuring me to and from the Realm and babysitting Kynlee. He does anything she asks.

  “I mean it, McKenzie,” he says.

  I try really hard not to grin. That becomes a whole lot easier when I see the huge, double doors start to swing open. Lena’s serious about going out there.

  Still holding my two huge ledgers, I bump into Trev, urging him to turn. He curses when he sees her step to the threshold.

  “Find Jorreb and Taltrayn,” he barks at the nearest guard. “Bring them here. Now!”

  “Taltrayn’s already on his way,” I say before I think better of it.

  Trev scowls at me. “What?”

  “I sent for him before I saw you,” I improvise. Kyol’s on his way, but he’s not hurrying, probably because my emotions are confusing the hell out of him. Between questioning the vigilante, the make-out session with Aren, and the rush of fear Lord Kaeth injected into me, he has no idea what’s going on with me. I totally have to apologize to him later.

  Lena waits until the doors are completely open and she’s lit by a stream of golden sunlight before she steps outside. The plaza is crowded, and not just by fae going about their normal business. I can’t even see the kiosks that are typically set up around the perimeter. People clothed in blues and grays are gathered in groups throughout the open area, and there’s a buzz in the air, an energy that’s just barely on this side of chaos. One wrong move, and I have the feeling this crowd won’t be civil for long.

  Being here is a really bad idea.

  Trev issues more orders, calling for swordsmen to follow us.

  “Stay with Lena,” he says to me. “Watch for illusions and . . .” His gaze dips to my waist. He mutters something under his breath, motions to a swordsman, then plops the ledger I gave him back onto my stack.

  “Trev,” I grate out, because it’s not like these books are light. Then I feel him fastening a belt around my waist. A sword slaps against my left leg.

  He looks me in the eye as he makes the buckle a notch too tight. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

  “You’re just throwing around the death threats today, aren’t you?” My scowl is mostly fake, partly because I’m ridiculously happy that I have something on Trev and partly because I have no intention of letting anything happen to Lena.

  Still carrying all three tomes, I run to take up a position to Lena’s left. Before she’s taken a dozen steps out of the palace, the swordsmen Trev called on for help create a semicircle around us.

  Several hundred fae are gathered here. I finally catch a glimpse of a few of the kiosks on the perimeter, see their colorful canopies, which are designed to attract attention and keep off the sun. Their owners sell everything from fruits, grains, and meats to silver dust and anchor-stones, and they’re usually the reason fae come to this plaza. Not today, though. They’re here now to make their complaints known.

  Lena’s guards effectively keep the crowd away, but they look uneasy. Understandably so. With this many people out, it’ll be difficult to protect her from an attack. The silver wall surrounding the Inner City prevents fae from fissuring, but it doesn’t prevent them from using magic, throwing a dagger, or aiming an arrow her way.

  A cool, gentle breeze moves through the plaza, but when Lena reaches the center of the cobblestoned area, the wind picks up. It’s unnaturally strong, circling through the crowd and making cloaks and capes whip around their legs. Two giant blue flags, both sewn with Lena’s symbol, come to life as well. Their poles are set to either side of the doors we just exited, and each time they snap in the wind, it sounds like a firecracker’s exploding behind my ear.

  This is a powerful display of Lena’s magic, and it captures the attention of the fae gathered in the plaza. They frown up at the clear blue sky. These kind of gales only come when there’s a strong storm rolling in . . . or when an incredibly strong air-weaver is present.

  One by one, everyone’s gazes lock on Lena. Trev and I and the rest of her guards are standing a few paces away from her, so it’s easy for the nearest fae to spot her. The buzz of conversation abates, then dissolves completely.

  A few seconds later, the wind disappears as well. There’s not even a breeze in the plaza anymore. Everything and everyone is seemingly frozen.

  Except Lena. She tosses the book she’s carrying to the ground in front of her.

  “King Atroth’s ledgers,” she calls out, making the air carry her voice across the entire plaza.

  “I promised you changes,” she continues. “The high nobles are promising you the status quo. The last signature was written over two months ago. Who here would like to record your magics? Your children’s magics?”

  Silence greets her words. I scan the faces of the fae. Some of them are shifting awkwardly, some of them are staring at me. If this is her idea of a motivational speech, she’s not off to an awesome start.

  “I promised you changes,” Lena calls out again. She turns to me, grabs the top book off my stack. She opens it, then she places her palm on the center of one of the pages. She’s not adept enough at fire to throw it, but she has no trouble making tiny flames lick over her fingers.

  “Here’s your first change.”

  I watch the page ignite, and despite knowing how much the fae hate the ledgers, horror creeps over me. I mean, the book is a book. It’s huge and heavy, but it’s carefully bound, and the cover is etched with an ornate design in silver. Each ledger looks like . . . Well, they look like the types of books you’d keep protected in a glass case. Plus, I am—or rather, I was—an English major. Everything in me objects to the burning of books.

  “Lena,” I whisper.

  She grabs the other two ledgers out of my arms, then throws them on the pile at her feet. She must do something to encourage the flames because they crackle and leap into the air, almost waist high.

  The only sounds in the plaza are the snaps and pops of the burning pages. No one has moved. I’m not even sure they’re breathing. I watch as the pages crinkle, turning brown, then black, and all I can think is that I’m going to English-major hell for being a part of this.

  “Cadig!” A single male voice calls out the fae equivalent of huzzah. A shiver runs up my spine because I don’t know if it’s a pro-Lena yell or a . . .

  Others take up the call, one at a time, starting from whoever first said it and moving through the crowd to the left and to the right, and soon, everyone’s yelling it. They’re yelling other things I can’t translate, too. Their words become a chant—a passionate chant—and I take an uneasy step forward, moving closer to Lena’s side.

  Lena doesn’t budge; she remains standing in the sunlight, her expression grim and determined.

  I glance at the crowd again. It’s moving, but not aggressively. Are they celebrating?

  The “cadigs” and chants escalate. Swords are drawn, but they’re raised in the air, pointed at the clear blue sky. Yes, they’re celebrating. They’re elated to see the ledgers burn.

  Lena waves her hand, and the small bonfire at her feet shoots higher. The crowd cheers, and someone slips through the guards’ perimeter. Trev moves between the fae and Lena, but the man just throws what looks like an empty crate—maybe from one of the merchant’s kiosks?—into the fire before he retreats, sword stabbing victoriously into the air.

 
Another fae makes it past the guards, then another. They each add to the bonfire, throwing more crates—some that aren’t quite empty—and cloaks and papers and anything they can get their hands on. Lena maintains her position as the flames grow; so do I despite the heat coming from the burning pyre, and a tingle runs through me when I realize I’m watching history. I’ve only seen scenes like these on television: the celebration in Baghdad when Saddam’s statue was toppled, the open elation in Egypt when Mubarak stepped down as president.

  A flash in my peripheral vision makes my head snap to the left. A ball of flame, bright even in the full daylight, shoots into the air. It dissipates a couple of hundred feet up, but on the other side of the plaza, a second fireball is launched. Fire-wielders are in the crowd, ones who are at least as strong as Trev.

  Lena’s guards are having trouble holding back the fae. Some of them are chanting Lena’s name now. A few call out nalkin-shom, too. That’s when I realize what we must look like from the crowd’s point of view: Lena, dressed in tight-fitting black pants and a silky blue shirt that swoops over both her shoulders to cross in the middle of her chest, and me, a human covered in blue lightning standing with her behind a gathering mountain of flames with the silver palace as a backdrop. Lena might need to work on her speech-giving skills, but she’s a pro at making a scene.

  The crowd shifts again as fae jostle each other, everyone trying to get a better view and to get closer. A few more people slip past Lena’s guards. Most of them retreat back to their places but not all of them do.

  “Lena,” Trev says, yelling to be heard over the crowd and the flames. “You must go back inside now.”

  I agree with him. She’s made her point, and this could all get out of hand in a matter of seconds.

  The fire crackles and licks at the air; and then, finally, she nods once. As I turn to follow her back to the palace, a blur of red and black moves through my vision. My brain recognizes the pattern a second later, and a warning bell goes off in my mind. I turn back to find it.

  There. A name-cord. It’s braided into the hair of a fae who is not celebrating. He’s loud, and he’s angry. He grabs the arms of the people nearest him, yelling in their ears, pushing and pulling them. Then his gaze cuts across the plaza to another mass of people. I focus on them and spot the red-and-black name-cord worn by another fae.

  Elari. More than just a few. They’re strategically placed in the crowd, and they’re inciting the fae around them.

  While I’m watching, one of them motions to another, then jabs his fist forward, toward the great doors, which are still open and waiting for our return.

  Oh, shit.

  “Trev!” I shout, trying to get his attention, trying to warn him. He doesn’t hear me, but I’m not the only one who realizes the risk of those open doors. Kyol is there. His gaze sweeps across the plaza as a dozen swordsmen emerge from the palace behind him, forming a line.

  The giant doors slowly start to close, but before they’ve moved more than a foot, someone nearby, undoubtedly an elari, shouts out a call to storm the palace.

  FOURTEEN

  “LENA!” KYOL BELLOWS the same instant I do. I grab her arm.

  She jerks away with a glare.

  “Elari,” I snap. “They’re mixed in with the crowd.”

  The glare remains as she scans the fae around us—fae who are much too close now. The south doors won’t shut in time to keep them all out. Dozens of people have heeded the elari’s call to storm the palace. Kyol’s swordsmen are trying to hold them back. They’re outnumbered, though, and the crowd surges forward.

  Mob mentality. The fae were on the verge of getting out of control before Lena appeared. Now, with a few not-so-subtle suggestions from elari, they’ve tipped over the edge, their celebrations turning into mindless violence and destruction.

  “We have to get in another way,” I yell into Lena’s ear. Either that, or we have to get out of here. Find some place in the city to hide until the fae disperse.

  “We’ll go to the eastern entrance,” Lena says. She grabs my arm like it was her plan to go there from the beginning, then directs me through the crowd. Her sword is still in its scabbard—mine is, too—but the air vibrates with the fae’s chants and shouts and stomping feet. We’re going to have to fight our way back into the palace, I’m sure of it.

  The gaps in the crowd around us shrink, then disappear. Lena shoves her shoulder into them, creating a few inches of space at a time, but our progress is slow. Too slow. An elari sees us. A woman. She’s moving through the crowd, dagger in her hand and hate in her eyes.

  The weapons belt Trev fastened around my waist only has a sword. The people around me are pressed too close for me to draw it. I try digging my elbow into the nearest fae’s stomach, try shoving him away and turning for more space. I get the sword halfway out, but someone shoves it back into its scabbard.

  I look for Trev, then for Kyol, who feels like he’s only a few feet away, but all the faces around me belong to strangers.

  All of them.

  I whip around, searching for Lena. She was right beside me. How could I have lost her?

  I duck beneath a swinging elbow, then shove my way forward half a foot. There’s so little space to move. The familiarity of the situation settles over me, the press of the crowd, the panicked shouts that begin to rise all around me. My chest constricts, remembering how close I came to being crushed to death at the concert in London. Several humans died that night. Fae might die here today.

  I won’t, though, and neither will Lena as long as I can find her.

  Someone runs into me. I throw my weight back into them then slip through a narrow gap I opened. I’m looking everywhere for Lena, but all I see is a mob that’s becoming increasingly angry.

  A hand locks on my shoulder. I grab the fae’s wrist and twist. Or try to. The arm doesn’t budge. I follow the arm to the fae’s shoulder then to his face.

  Aren, and beside him, hidden beneath the hood of a dark gray cloak, is Lena.

  “Thank, God,” I mutter out loud.

  Aren shoves away a fae who slams into me, then he holds up a cloak that’s the same dark gray as Lena’s.

  “For you, nalkin-shom,” he says, his silver eyes practically sparkling.

  I want to ask him why the hell he’s happy, but I just grab the cloak and slip into it. Aren tries to pull my hood up, but I stop him, turning and waiting for . . .

  Kyol. He and two of his men carve a path through the crowd. Most of the fae scramble out of their way when they see the lord general and his men, or rather, when they see their swinging swords, but a few of them don’t back off. Their swords meet Kyol’s in attacks that are halfhearted. They’re just causing trouble and are caught up in the moment. They’re not elari.

  Kyol shoves one last fae away, then grabs my arm.

  “Where’s Lena?” he demands. I nod toward my right. Lena’s stony silver eyes meet his unflinchingly.

  “Go,” Kyol says, fury riding on his order. Pain pulses behind my eyes. It feels like someone’s taking a jackhammer to my brain. I reach for Kyol’s hand, intending to calm him, but he pulls back. His eyes lock on me, and he grates out, “Move.”

  What the hell did I do?

  No time to verbalize that question. Aren and Kyol and his men create an opening in the crowd. They’re effective, splitting the masses like a sea, and the farther we get away from the southern doors, the thinner that mass becomes. We don’t escape unnoticed by any means, though. A few fae figure out that only someone who’s important would be hidden beneath a cloak and escorted by a lord general and a sword-master. They trail us, some of them shouting profanities, others begging for help. I scan the faces of the followers, searching for the red-and-black name-cords of the elari or anyone else who looks threatening, but Lena’s guards keep everyone away.

  We make it to the eastern entrance relatively easily and, quite surprisingly, unscathed. I think I might have one bruise on my back from an errant elbow, but other than that,
there’s just a stitch in my side from running to keep up with Lena and the others’ quick pace.

  The guards close the doors behind us, sealing us inside the palace. Inside where it’s safe.

  Supposedly safe.

  My heart rate doesn’t slow down. With the number of elari I saw in the crowd—at least five of them—I can’t escape the feeling that we made it out of there far too easily.

  * * *

  HALF an hour later, when I’m waiting in the private chamber at the back of the King’s Hall, I’m still uneasy. It looks like I’m the only one, though. Aren’s sitting on the edge of a table against the far wall, grinning and demanding Trev give him details about what Lena said and did, and how the fae on the plaza reacted. He’s positively giddy, high from the energy of the crowd and the scuffles we had to get through to escape it.

  Lena’s here, too, but she doesn’t interject any insight. She’s staring at a collage of drawings and writings on the back wall. The drawings are penciled sketches of the high nobles of the Realm’s seventeen provinces, four of which were recently appointed by Lena. They’re split into three groups. I recognize Kelia’s father, Lord Raen, in the smallest group, and I assume he and the other four high nobles there with him are the ones Lena is certain will approve her. The sketches in the second and, by far, the largest group have writing under their names. I can’t read Fae, but my guess is that she’s listed details about the high nobles and possibly ideas for how she might go about persuading them to vote for her.

  The last group is a group of one. Lord Ralsech, the high noble who’s declared his support for the false-blood.

  I’m not sure if Lena is really looking at the collage, though, or if she’s staring through it to the tunnel on the other side. Her arms are folded across her chest, and her face is hard and smooth. She wants to be visible, on the ramparts of the palace or at least seeing the nobles and merchants and endless number of other fae who want an audience with her, but Kyol insisted we hole up down here. That tunnel, hidden behind a foot-thick slab of rock, is the palace’s only emergency exit. Only a few fae know about it. In fact, aside from Kyol and perhaps Naito, I’m not sure if anyone outside this room knows of its existence.