The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  He hands me a thin black case. Inside are twelve syringes prefilled with a pale yellow liquid.

  “What does this do?” I ask.

  “It’s adrenaline and some other drugs. It acts like an antidote. The tranquilizer will screw with their circulatory system. If they don’t get this, they’ll go into cardiac arrest.”

  Fantastic.

  “What about Kyol?”

  Lee shakes his head. “We’re giving him a sedative. It takes longer to work, but it doesn’t have the same side effect.”

  “I’ll be with you most of the time,” Naito says. “I’ll make sure they’re okay.”

  I just nod and slip the gun into my backpack with my other supplies. Tranquilizing the fae is the best option we have. As much as I dislike Hison, he’s not exactly an enemy. Neither are the people who work for him. I don’t want to hurt or kill them, but I won’t let them hurt or kill Aren either. I’m going to get him out of the palace, make sure he makes it to the other side of the silver wall, then he’s going to fissure back to my world.

  After that, Lena will hunt him down. She doesn’t know this yet—Naito and I haven’t told her our plan—but we have to make sure she isn’t blamed for this. We’ll fake Aren’s death, then, after a few months, he can return to the Realm. Not to Corrist, of course, but there are plenty of places to go where people won’t recognize his face.

  Half an hour later, the wooziness hits Kyol. I lean against the wall, focusing on a crack in the mortar between two gray bricks to make sure my world stays steady. Kyol’s up and moving still, and he’s pissed. I can feel his focus shift to me—there’s no doubt in his mind I’m behind this—then his emotions dim suddenly. I can picture him hitting his knees, see him brace a hand against the floor, struggling to stay awake, to fight the drugs running through his system. Within minutes, he’s unconscious.

  I clench my teeth together, refusing to feel guilty for something I’ve been forced to do.

  Dragging my backpack across the table, I sit in a chair to wait. Lena is supposed to be meeting with the high nobles in a couple of hours. Naito’s going to keep an eye out for Hison, and when he arrives, Naito will meet me in the servants’ corridor that leads to the high nobles’ offices. I’m certain that’s where I felt Kyol stop earlier when he talked to Aren. Since we’re within Corrist’s silver walls, all the nobles have only minimal security here. We expect Hison will have more because of his prisoner, but Naito and I should be able to take care of all of them with our tranq guns.

  Lee loaned me his cell phone, and Naito has his. They obviously don’t get reception here, but they keep track of Earth’s time, which is what we’re going by. I wait impatiently for the hours to pass, and try to picture this plan working, not failing. But I’m sick with worry, and every time I close my eyes, I see Aren’s execution. The fae behead kingkillers. It’s considered a cruel and dishonorable death because it’s the only way to prevent the fae from crossing to the ether, the fae equivalent of heaven. I can’t let Aren die, especially not like that.

  When the two hours pass, I throw on a cloak, grab my backpack, then make a beeline for the servants’ corridor. My adrenaline is pumping when I slip into the darkened space. I lean against the wall, feel my tranq gun press against the small of my back. The case of syringes is tucked inside my backpack. Just so I’m ready, I take two of those syringes out, keeping them more accessible.

  My heart thumps in my chest. It’s so hard to keep still. I need Naito to get his ass here. The servants access this corridor mostly during the early mornings and late evenings, but it’s not entirely unlikely that someone will pass through here in the middle of the day.

  Finally, I hear footsteps. It’s the first set I’ve heard in what feels like a millennium, so I’m not surprised when they come into my darkened corridor without hesitation. I am surprised, however, when the face I recognize belongs to Lorn, not Naito.

  “McKenzie,” Lorn says, his eyes ridiculously wide. “Why in the name of the Sidhe are you here?”

  My nostrils flare. He knows exactly why I’m here.

  “Where’s Naito?” I demand.

  “He’s with a few of my associates. He regrets that he won’t be able to aid you in this”—he waves a hand in the air as if he’s grasping for the right word—“this little quest of yours.”

  “You’re here to stop me,” I say, my voice flat.

  “I’m here because I made a promise.”

  “A promise to whom?” I demand, taking a step toward him.

  “A promise to myself, of course,” he says, as if I shouldn’t expect him to give his word to anyone else. “I intend for Naito to have a long and prosperous life. This desperate and doomed jailbreak would likely prevent that.”

  “God,” I say, more loudly than I should.

  “God?”

  “You’re all the same.”

  An eyebrow lifts.

  “You all look down on us. On humans. You think we’re weak just because we weren’t born with swords in our hands and because we can’t fissure without a fae. You treat us like tor’um. Those of you who don’t shun us think we need to be taken care of. We don’t. We can make our own decisions, and I’m sick of you trying to take them away from us.”

  “Impressive speech, McKenzie, but Lena’s meeting with the high nobles has already adjourned. Hison will be back with his guards any minute now. You won’t have Naito’s help on this.”

  My chest tightens painfully, and the fear I’ve been holding back threatens to take over. My hands shake.

  “You’re going to help me.” I intend the words to be an order, but my voice cracks, and it sounds more like a plea.

  Lorn sighs. “No, McKenzie. I’m going to stop you. Aren is going to die. You’re going to live, and you’re going to move on. You, too, will have a long and prosperous life. That’s another promise I’ve made.”

  All I can do is stare at Lorn. He didn’t listen to a word I said. He’s deliberately and consciously taking this decision away from me.

  I explode.

  “What is this, Lorn? Your fucking revenge?”

  “He asked me for a favor.”

  “He made it worth your while!” I shove my hands into his chest. He stumbles back a step.

  “McKenzie—”

  “What did he offer you?” I demand.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What did Kyol offer you? I’ll make you a better offer.”

  “Kyol didn’t offer me a thing.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Calm down, McKenzie. Yelling will only draw attention, and I suspect you don’t want to be caught with the contents of that bag.” He nods toward the backpack I dropped. “The high nobles will hold it against Lena if you’re found with tech.”

  “They won’t find me.” If I do this right, they won’t see me. I’m dressed entirely in black and wearing gloves and a tight, hooded jacket. The tranq gun is an issue, but I intend to shoot Aren’s guards long before they have a chance to see it.

  Lorn lets out a long sigh. “You’re risking yourself for nothing, McKenzie. I spoke with Aren just over an hour ago. I offered him employment, and he refused me. He asked me to keep you away from him. You think he’s going to change his mind for you?”

  “Third time’s a charm,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. That’s the biggest flaw in my plan. What will I do if Aren refuses to be rescued?

  Lorn’s lips thin into a tight smile. “I promised him I’d keep you safe. I can’t let you do this. I am truly sorry, McKenzie.”

  “So am I,” I say, then I tranq his ass.

  * * *

  NOT his ass, precisely. I aimed for Lorn’s left arm. The dart juts out from his bicep. He yanks it free then his gaze moves back and forth between the dart and the tiny drop of red that’s staining his impeccably clean white shirt.

  He looks at me.

  “What iss thiss?” His words slur. He stumbles.

  I leap forward, grabbing his arm so he doesn’t fall
back into the main hall.

  “It’s a tranquilizer,” I say, half-carrying him into the darkness of the servants’ corridor. He teeters too far forward for me to keep him balanced. I shoulder him into the wall, and he slides down it.

  I lower him to his back. There’s just enough light for me to see his silver eyes blink up at me. He tries to say something, but it’s just a jumble of syllables. His eyes close, then his body goes slack.

  Reaching blindly behind me, I grab a syringe from my pocket. I have half a mind not to give Lorn the antidote. He had no right to interfere, and he’s at least partly to blame for our problems with the remnants and the false-blood. But I don’t want to kill anyone, and he did save my life, so I take off the syringe’s protective plastic cover, then jab the needle into his arm.

  Seconds later, I’ve recovered the needle, shoved the emptied syringe into my backpack, and reloaded the dart gun. Lorn said the meeting with the high nobles has ended. Hison could be on his way back, or he could linger, talking to the others. If I’m really lucky, he’ll head home to his estate, but I can’t count on that. I might have only minutes to find and free Aren.

  My gut knows it’s not enough time, but I won’t give up. I can’t. If I don’t get Aren out of here now, he’s dead.

  I pull up my hood, then peek out into the main hall. It’s clear except for one guard standing in front of the closed door to Hison’s reception room. None of the other high nobles had guards on their doors. Aren has to still be here.

  From the cover of the servants’ corridor, I take aim. I’m much farther away from the guard than I was from Lorn, and I have zero experience shooting at a target that’s more than ten feet from me, but I line up the sight of the gun and the end of the barrel with a spot on the fae’s neck—the easiest area to hit that’s not protected by jaedric—and squeeze the trigger.

  The dart hits low, and the fae reacts so quickly, reaching up to slap at his neck, that I don’t know if the needle actually sunk in.

  Shit.

  I take out another dart from the inside pocket of my cloak and reload as the fae stares down at the one in his hand.

  I raise my gun, but he moves, taking a step away from the door. Damn it, my aim isn’t good enough to hit a moving target.

  I’m already running, sprinting up the hallway toward the fae. He sees me immediately, tosses the dart aside to grab his sword. He doesn’t get it halfway out before his knees buckle.

  Thank God.

  He face plants before I reach him. I don’t stop to watch him pass out; I throw open the door behind him and burst inside with my gun held up and ready in front of me.

  There’s movement in my peripheral vision. I swing the barrel that direction. The fae has her sword out. She moves forward. I wait half a second until I’m sure I won’t miss, then I fire.

  The dart sinks in just above her collarbone. It doesn’t slow her down. Reloading my gun, I backpedal. Just as the dart slides into place, she grabs my left wrist.

  “Who are you?” she demands in Fae.

  I keep my head tilted down so she can’t see under my hood, then I raise my right hand, the hand holding my dart gun and fire it not at her, but at a second fae who’s rising from behind a desk to my right.

  “Drop that!” the woman who’s bruising my wrist orders. Why the hell isn’t she unconscious? I try jerking my arm free, but her grip doesn’t loosen.

  She brings her sword around and stops with the edge of the blade just touching the black sleeve covering my wrist. Her sword is sharp—she could easily sever my hand—but, finally, her eyes glaze, and she lurches forward. I pull my arm free, but not before the weight of her sword causes it to cut through my sleeve and into my skin.

  I bite out a curse. The cut isn’t deep—it’s more like an extreme paper cut—but it stings like hell.

  I shake it off, confirm that the fae behind the desk is going down, too, then go back to the hallway and drag in the first guard. Not an easy task. He’s freaking heavy, but I get him inside, then close and lock the door. For good measure, I drag the desk in front of the door, then lean against it.

  My breaths come out quick and shallow, as if I’ve just gone through half a day of training with Kyol even though I didn’t even lift a sword. I force myself to slow down my breathing, then I take the antidote case out of my backpack and inject the three unconscious fae. Eight syringes left, one still in my pants pocket.

  The woman saw my tranq gun. The fae behind the desk might have as well, but Lee told me there’s a chance they won’t remember what happened a few seconds before they lost consciousness. I hope like hell he’s right.

  The door the woman stood in front of isn’t locked. It opens into a short hallway with four closed doors, two on each side. With my reloaded dart gun held ready, I try the first one on the right.

  The knob turns. The room is dark and silent as the door swings inward, and I’m about to move on when I hear a familiar chirp-squeak.

  I push the door all the way open and step inside. Sitting in the back corner of the room, hands bound to a pipe behind him, is Aren. Sosch is there, snuggled up in Aren’s lap. His blue eyes are bright in the darkness. His whiskers twitch as he chirps again. This time, the sound seems sad, as if the kimki knows something bad is about to happen.

  My gaze rises to Aren’s face as I take another step inside. His eyes are shut, his head is tilted to the side and leaning against the pipe he’s bound to. I set my backpack on the ground as I go to my knees in front of him.

  “Aren,” I whisper just before I press my lips against his.

  His body jerks as he wakes up. I grab the back of his head and deepen the kiss. He gives a little grunt, then leans into me. The knots in my chest unwind as lightning brightens my skin. The edarratae make my mouth tingle, and when Aren nips at my lower lip, I moan. I feel alive again, electric. Now that I’ve had Aren, my body is attuned to him. It responds to him, and all I want is to be with him again. To be with him forever.

  Only the fear of that forever being cut short makes me ease away from him.

  “We don’t have much time,” I whisper.

  His forehead creases. Then he looks around the room. When his eyes once again settle on me, he curses.

  “This isn’t a dream,” he says.

  “No, it’s not.” My mouth tilts into a smile as I unzip the big pocket of my backpack.

  “Sidhe, McKenzie.” His shackles clatter against the metal pipe when he tries to move. “Where’s Taltrayn?”

  “He’s unconscious,” I say as I take out a pair of bolt cutters that just barely fit in the bag. Lee knows how to prepare for a jailbreak, I have to give him that.

  “Unconscious?” Aren echoes. Then his gaze locks on the bolt cutters. “McKenzie.”

  I ignore him, open the bolt cutters, and close them over the thick, silver chain. Not pure silver. It’s friggin’ hard to break. I put all my muscle into squeezing the twin handles together. Finally, the chain snaps, falling to the floor.

  “Come on,” I say, holding out my hand to help him up. Edarratae leap down my wrist when he wraps his hand around mine, but he doesn’t stand. He pulls me down, slamming my mouth into his.

  This time, Sosch protests my presence, probably because I half fall on top of him. He scurries out of Aren’s lap, and I drop the bolt cutters to run the fingers of my free hand into Aren’s disheveled hair. He drinks in the lightning my body freely offers. I feel it building under my skin, and I shiver as the memory of our bodies wrapped in our chaos lusters strikes through me.

  He ends the kiss, tilting his head down slightly so only our foreheads touch.

  “Taltrayn was supposed to keep you away,” he says.

  “No, he was supposed to free you.”

  “McKenzie—”

  “You’re an idiot if you thought I’d just sit back and let you die.”

  I shove the bolt cutters into my backpack and stand. This time, Aren stands, too.

  “We have to hurry. Hison might be on his way
back.”

  Aren doesn’t budge.

  “We have to go now,” I tell him. I’m trying to be patient, trying not to get pissed off because we don’t have time to fight right now.

  “You haven’t thought this through.”

  “I’ve thought it through to the point where you’re executed, Aren.”

  He shakes his head. “No, listen.” He grabs my hand. “Lena is just a few votes short of becoming the permanent queen. Hison hates me—that’s why he won’t vote for her—but when I’m gone, he will. Others will follow his lead.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do,” he says. “He gave me his oath. We signed an agreement. Kelia’s father, Lord Raen, witnessed it. My written confession and cooperation will clear her way to the throne. But it’s not just that. I’ve done . . .” He drops my hand to run his fingers through his hair. “You know I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’m the reason Caelar is still fighting. He’ll stop when I’m dead.”

  “Oh, God, Aren. Caelar is weak.”

  “He’s working with the false-blood.”

  “You don’t know that!” I scream the words this time. I have to do something to get through to him.

  He doesn’t retreat. He steps closer, glaring down at me. “If you don’t care about the Realm or Lena’s future, then think about yourself. Think about yourself for once!”

  “I’m thinking about all of us! Lena knows nothing of this plan. Once we get out of here, you’ll disappear for a while. We’ll find—”

  “Hison won’t believe she had nothing to do with this.”

  “We’ll find a good illusionist,” I continue through gritted teeth. “We’ll fake your death. Hison will be happy then.”

  “It won’t work, McKenzie.”

  “It will,” I say. It has to.

  “Sidhe, you’re . . . you.” He grabs my shoulders. “McKenzie, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love. I want to go with you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together, but my death will solve so many problems and . . . And Taltrayn loves you. You can be happy.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, then he turns his back on me.