The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  I shake my head, turn slightly in his arms. I hate how he carries the world on his shoulders. He shouldn’t feel this way. He should be angry at the false-blood and at me for nearly getting him—us—killed. If he hadn’t recovered so quickly from the drugs we gave him . . .

  “I understand why you did what you did,” he says. “I don’t agree with the decision, but I understand it.”

  “Stop reading my mind,” I tell him, attempting to make my tone light.

  I feel him smile. “I can’t do that, kaesha.”

  No, he can only read my emotions and draw upon our ten-year history together. It would be so easy to fall into that past. He wants it. I want it.

  But everything has changed, and I want Aren back more.

  “I couldn’t save him,” I choke out.

  “Hison had half a dozen swordsmen guarding him. It was impossible—”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I made it to him. We got out of Hison’s office, but the false-blood . . .” I swallow. “I left Aren behind.” My chin quivers. “I couldn’t carry him and Lena, and I knew . . . I knew what I had to do, what you would do and . . . I left him.”

  I fight back tears again because my anguish is killing Kyol. He takes my face between his palms, holds firmly, and looks me in the eyes. “Never second-guess what you’ve done, McKenzie. Never.”

  His edarratae heat dual paths down my neck.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, closing my eyes briefly, trying to focus. “I’m sorry I was so angry before. I know you didn’t want him to die, but I was just . . .” I draw in a breath. “I shouldn’t have attacked you like I did. I shouldn’t have drugged you. I respect you too much for that.”

  Those words hurt him more than they help. He wants more than my respect. He wants me.

  “Kyol, I can’t—”

  “I understand, McKenzie,” he says quickly, using his words as a shield. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand. I lost any chance I might have had with you when I forced you into the life-bond.”

  No, he lost his chance with me when I fell in love with Aren. I don’t correct him, though, because on some level, he’s right. Even with Aren out of the picture, I can’t be with Kyol. The life-bond changes everything. I don’t know how much of what I feel for him is real and how much is based on magic.

  “You didn’t force me, Kyol. You saved my life, and”—I meet his eyes, don’t attempt to hide my emotions—“and I never thanked you for it. God, I’m so selfish. Kyol—”

  “Shh.” He pulls me into his arms again, silencing me. I rest my head on his shoulder. I keep my eyes open because I’m afraid of what I’ll see if I close them. So I stare at the wall. Then at what’s resting at its base.

  My bloodstained cargo pants and shirt are lying there. It seems like it was ages ago when I last slept here. I expected Nick to throw away or burn those clothes, but I’m glad he didn’t. Pushing away from Kyol, I stretch out and grab the pants. Curiosity moves through him as I reach into the pocket.

  And pull out his name-cord.

  His lips part, releasing a stunned breath. “You still have it.”

  I nod, running my thumb across the smooth onyx stone and the rougher audrin. “It’s been through a lot these past few months.” Just like we have.

  He meets my eyes. The silver storms in his calm, and he nods as he reaches out to take it.

  The string of stones slides from my hand.

  “Thank you,” he says softly, leaning back against the couch.

  I fold my legs against my chest, rest my chin on my knee. I’ve described Kyol as feeling soul-weary before. That’s how I feel now. Soul-weary and hopeless. Kyol isn’t lending me strength anymore. The Realm—the world that he loves so much—is in the hands of a false-blood. He’s fought for the Realm his whole life, given up everything for it, but the hope he has for its future is gone. He feels as defeated as I do right now.

  I close my eyes as I draw in a breath, open them when I slowly let it out. We’re still alive—so is Lena—and I’m not yet ready to give up this fight.

  “The false-blood is Cardak,” I say.

  Kyol must be lost in his own thoughts. He blinks a few times before he focuses on me.

  “He’s Thrain’s brother,” I add.

  His expression remains neutral, but a spike of surprise leaks through our life-bond.

  “I recognized Thrain in him,” I say, and I tell Kyol everything that happened. I manage to talk about Shane and Trev, about Sosch, Lorn, and Aren, all without crying. And I tell him how I overcame the false-blood’s magic, thanks to our life-bond, and how Lena and I escaped through the tunnel. I’m finishing up my story, handing him the draw-stringed pouch that I drew Nimael’s shadows on, when there’s a light knock on the media room’s door.

  Kynlee peeks her head in. “My dad wanted you to know that Lena’s waking up.”

  * * *

  “WE lost the palace?” Lena asks a few minutes later. Her voice is weak and raspy, but I’m glad to hear her say something. She’s pale, her face is still bruised and swollen, her lip still busted. The rest of her injuries are covered by a heavy blanket, but I doubt she’s able to rise yet. It still looks like her hold on life is tenuous.

  Kyol’s silver gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes.”

  “But you made it out.”

  “Yes,” he answers again. When he sits in a chair beside her bed, I lean against the guest room’s dresser.

  “Did others make it out?”

  “Some did,” he says in his deep monotone. “Most did not.”

  She stares up at the ceiling. A chaos luster creeps across her face. Nick’s power is turned off, but she’s so weak, the dead tech still affects her.

  “My allies among the high nobles.” She pauses, closing her eyes. “Did they survive?”

  “I didn’t see every death,” Kyol says. “I heard rumors and the speculation of the elari.”

  She opens her eyes. “Did Lord Raen survive?”

  “No,” Kyol answers quietly.

  Her lips thin. “Lord Brigo?”

  “No.”

  She names two of her other strongest allies. Both, according to rumor, are dead.

  “Nalst?” she asks.

  “Most of your swordsmen were executed, Lena. Dishonorably executed.”

  Her face hardens. “Taber?”

  Taber was Kyol’s right-hand man, his friend, and one of his most trusted soldiers. He answers, “Dead,” with the same emotionless monotone as he does the others.

  “Brayan?” Lena asks.

  “Dead,” Kyol says.

  “Andur,” she names her advisor.

  “Lena.” Kyol’s voice softens a fraction, and I feel his emotions gentling. This isn’t achieving anything; it’s only hurting her.

  “Andur!” she demands.

  Kyol lets out a sigh. “Dead as well.”

  She goes on, naming fae after fae. Some names, I recognize. Most of them, I don’t. And most of them, I never will.

  After a few minutes, a familiar sense of failure moves through Kyol. The deaths don’t just weigh heavily on Lena; they weigh heavily on him as well, and I feel his guilt, his remorse keenly. He couldn’t save the palace for Lena. He couldn’t save the lives of her most loyal swordsmen.

  “Trev?” Lena asks. For the first time, her gaze goes to me.

  I swallow down the lump in my throat, whisper, “Dead.”

  She gives no reaction to my proclamation. I doubt she knew the way he felt about her, why he did whatever she said without protest or complaint.

  “Lorn?” her eyes are still on me. I didn’t see Lorn die. It’s possible he could have survived.

  “The rumors say he’s dead,” Kyol answers.

  I want to contradict what he says. I want to give Lena some hope, tell her that I never saw Lorn cut down, but in the end, my focus wasn’t on him. It was on her and Sosch and the false-blood.

  Lena blinks. Her eyes become glassy. She looks back up at the ceiling and draws in a
slow breath. I’m surprised Lorn’s death affects her so much. More than once since I’ve known her, she’s wanted to kill him herself. But maybe she’s just bracing herself for the next name.

  “Aren?” she finally asks. Her chest stops rising and falling, waiting for the answer.

  Kyol is silent.

  “Aren,” she says again, angry this time. She lost her brother, Sethan, two months ago, her parents years before that. Aren was the closest thing to family she had left. Kyol knows his death will crush her. He knows it will crush me.

  “I’m not certain he’s dead,” Kyol finally says. The life-bond tells me those words are just short of a lie. He thinks Aren’s entered the ether.

  Lena turns her head to look at him. “I want the truth, Taltrayn.”

  Apparently, I’m not the only one who can tell when he’s twisting facts. It’s something he does so rarely, and only to protect the people he cares about. Sometime in the last two months, he’s grown to care for Lena. I’m glad. I think it softens his guilt over killing the king.

  “I saw no sign of him,” Kyol says evenly. “And the rumors I heard all came from unreliable sources, not from fae I would ever trust.”

  He’s giving us hope. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing at this point.

  “I need to get out of this bed,” Lena says. She attempts to sit up on her own, but Kyol’s there in an instant, taking one of her hands in his and placing his other behind the back of his would-be queen.

  She closes her eyes when she’s upright, swaying just a tiny bit. Kyol remains there, steady, until she nods once and releases his hand. He returns to his chair.

  “Can you estimate how many elari the false-blood has?” Lena asks, her cool silver eyes locking on his.

  “Fewer than two hundred have taken and are holding the palace,” he says.

  It sounds like such a small number. Lena’s soldiers were overworked, but I’d guess she had close to five hundred swordsmen in the palace and guarding the silver wall. The elari might have killed and executed a number of our people, but they lost of number of theirs as well. Maybe our odds aren’t as bad as I think?

  Kyol’s gaze doesn’t waver from hers. “My opinion is we cannot retake the palace from the false-blood.”

  Lena’s mouth tightens. She looks like she’s about to ask Kyol to do the impossible, to find a way to retake the palace anyway, but instead, her eyes slide to me, and she asks, “Have you shown him the map?”

  “Yes,” he answers for me.

  “It’s the false-blood’s camp,” Lena says. “He’s been hiding there, building an army and plotting to take the throne for a decade.”

  “We don’t know it’s his camp,” Kyol says.

  “I want it searched,” she continues as if he didn’t speak. “I want every piece of paper read, every anchor-stone’s location determined, and I want arrests. I need his followers to deny him.”

  A few seconds pass, then Kyol says, “I’ll do what I can.”

  Cardak’s followers, at least the ones who are close to him, are fanatics. I’m not sure they’d believe the truth even if they were buried in evidence of it.

  I run my hands over my face, trying to ease the tension building behind my eyes. It doesn’t help. I feel like I’m going to be tense and tired for the rest of my life.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “WHERE’D HE GO?”

  Kynlee’s question makes me wrench my gaze away from the backyard. It’s ridiculous that I’m staring out there so often—the life-bond tells me Kyol’s still in the Realm—but I’m more on edge than usual. I can’t take any more losses. My heart’s already in pieces. The only thing holding it together is Kyol.

  Plus, there’s the whole issue of our lives being linked.

  “He fissured to Corrist,” I say.

  “The capital?” she asks. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch with her homework resting on her lap.

  My gaze goes to the kitchen as I nod. Nick is there, the sleeves of his buttoned shirt pushed up to his elbows so he can wash the dishes. Kynlee knows some of what’s happened in the Realm, but I’m not sure if Nick wants her to learn more. She lost her permission to visit the palace when Cardak took over.

  “Do you think my brother is still alive?” she asks.

  Nick shuts off the faucet.

  “I haven’t heard that he isn’t,” is all I say.

  Kynlee throws a glare over her shoulder. It doesn’t seem to have any effect on her dad.

  “It’s not going to kill me to know what’s going on,” she says, facing me again.

  I agree—I’m always furious when people withhold information from me—but Nick is her dad, and he has the final say in how much his daughter should know. On the other hand, he’s not telling me to keep my mouth shut.

  “I think there’s a good chance he’s alive,” I say. Her brother, Lord Garon, is the high noble of Ristin. He wasn’t one of Lena’s close allies, but he didn’t oppose her, either. If he’s smart, he’s kept his mouth shut and hasn’t opposed the false-blood either. “Kyol will be able to tell us more.”

  “When is he supposed to be back?” she asks, closing her notebook and setting it aside.

  “Anytime now,” I say with a shrug. I’m trying to appear less worried than I am, but I can’t get a good sense of what Kyol’s doing right now. His mental wall is in place, and he’s a world away. He’s not giving me the slightest hint as to whether he’s found any of the high nobles or Lena’s swordsmen alive.

  Or someone more important than them.

  My throat tightens, and that weak, shaky feeling that comes with crying begins to spread over me. I don’t cry, though. Honestly, I don’t think I have any tears left.

  I need a distraction, so when Nick finishes in the kitchen and joins us in the living room, I ask him if there’s any chance he’ll use his Sight and shadow-reading skills to help Lena.

  I expect an immediate no. Instead, he says, “She told me she wants to protect tor’um.”

  “Yeah. She wants . . . I guess you’d say she’s fighting for the fae to all be equal, tor’um included. That’s why it’s been hard to get support from the high nobles. They don’t want to lose their power and their privileges.”

  “Why does she care what they want?” Kynlee asks. “Wouldn’t the majority like those changes?”

  “It’s not a democracy,” I say. “It’s . . . a different kind of society, based on bloodlines and magic.”

  “It’s based on the whims of the ruler,” Nick says.

  “That’s one of the things Lena wants to change.”

  He meets my gaze. “It’ll be interesting to see if she actually makes any changes.”

  She will. I have every confidence of that now.

  A flash of light draws my attention back to the window. An instant later, Kyol’s presence slams into me. I grip the arm of my chair, waiting for my equilibrium to level out. It does quickly—I’m getting used to being near him—but then I see a second slash of light wink out. He isn’t alone.

  The way I launch myself to my feet must startle Nick and Kynlee. They jump up, too, Nick reaching for the drawer in a side table.

  “Wait,” I say, waving him off. “I think it’s okay.”

  “You think?” Nick asks, his voice rough. His hand is on the knob of the drawer.

  “Lord Hison is with him,” I say. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but Kyol’s emotions are steady. He isn’t angry or alarmed.

  The back door opens, and the two fae step inside.

  Nick finally lets go of the drawer. Hison doesn’t look like a threat. He looks incredibly uncertain and out of place. It’s not just because of his embroidered black shirt, fae pants, and high boots. His shoulders are hunched, and his head is slightly bowed as if he’s afraid some piece of tech—the fan, maybe—is going to drop from the ceiling. He’s one of the most antihuman high nobles I’ve met, and I’m sure he’s never been to Earth before.

  He stops after just a couple steps insid
e the house. His face is twitching, probably because he catches an occasional glimpse of the edarratae flashing across his nose or cheekbones.

  “What’s he doing here?” Nick demands. I’m not sure if he’s angry because he knows Hison or if he’s simply mad because Kyol brought a high noble here without permission. He was supposed to tell Lena’s remaining supporters to meet us in Adaris in a week. That’s when we think Lena will be healthy enough to fissure between worlds.

  “He’s here to speak to Lena,” Kyol says.

  Nick’s jaw clenches. “You planning on bringing every high noble here?”

  “Most of the high nobles are dead.” Lena’s voice carries across the room.

  I look over my shoulder, see her standing just outside the hallway with one hand braced against the wall. She shouldn’t be out of bed—I have the feeling her knees could buckle any second—but she manages to make herself look tall and regal standing there, not pain-ridden and broken.

  I swear the life-bond growls. I glance at Kyol, but his expression is as neutral as always.

  “Sit.” His order isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but I catch a glimpse of relief on Lena’s face. She makes it to the sofa chair—the nearest seat in the living room—without showing any other sign of weakness.

  Kyol focuses on the high noble. “Sit.”

  Hison’s nostrils flare, and the way he eyes the couch makes me want to laugh. Furniture in the Realm is handmade while ours is made mostly with machines, but it’s completely harmless. Even the TV remote sitting on the side table is a miniscule amount of tech.

  When Hison still doesn’t budge, I roll my eyes, grab the remote, then elaborately motion for him to sit.

  His expression hardens as he takes two stiff steps toward the couch, then, not taking his eyes off mine, he gingerly sits on its edge.

  “Does he always act like he has a stick up his ass?” Kynlee asks.

  “Kynlee,” Nick snaps at the same time I answer, “Yes.”

  Hison doesn’t understand English, but his scowl deepens.

  Actually, Hison is stiffer than usual. That might have something to do with the fact that I tranqed three of his fae freeing Aren from his offices.

  “He should lighten up,” Kynlee says.