Hison’s lip twitches when he looks at Kynlee. This is probably the closest he’s been to a tor’um in decades, and he’s not doing a thing to hide his distaste.
With all the aplomb of an American teenager, Kynlee folds her arms across her chest, cocks her hip, and meets his glare.
“Kynlee. Room. Now.”
“But—”
“Now,” Nick says.
She lets out a sigh as she turns and leaves the room.
I sit on the arm of the second sofa chair.
Lena levels her gaze on Hison. “You better have a good reason for bringing him here, Taltrayn.”
“I can set up a meeting between you and Caelar,” Hison says.
Lena studies the high noble, and I know what she’s thinking. We’re all but certain Caelar is working with Cardak. Is Hison working with him now, too? He looked terrified when he burst into his office, and he was desperate enough to make a deal to let Aren go free if we helped him escape. But maybe he didn’t escape. The elari were searching the foothills of the Corrist Mountains for Lena and me. They could have found Lord Hison then.
“Why would I want to meet with Caelar?” Lena asks.
“You need him and his swordsmen to retake the palace.”
“If I recall correctly, Lord Hison, you have never wanted me in the palace.”
“I want the false-blood there even less!” he says between his teeth.
“False-blood?” Lena questions coolly. “He told me he’s Tar Sidhe, not one of their Descendants. I believe that makes him a completely different species of fae.”
“That’s a ridiculous claim.”
“Lord Ralsech believes it,” Lena says, referring to the high noble of Derrdyn, the province that declared support for the false-blood. “The elari do as well.”
“Ralsech is a fool,” Hison says. “If you believe the false-blood is Tar Sidhe, you are as well, and I’m wasting my time.” He stands, takes one step toward the back door.
“Sit!” Lena snaps.
He takes another step, but then Kyol is there, cutting off his retreat.
“Sit,” Lena orders again.
Hison straightens. He looks like he’s about to tell Kyol to get out of his way.
“You managed to escape the false-blood when many others did not,” Lena says. “And given our history, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical about your newfound cooperation.”
It’s not an apology, but it’s enough of a peace offering for Hison to stiffly return to his seat.
“The false-blood,” Lena says when he’s settled. “Do you have evidence he is not who he claims to be?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”
Lena’s eyes narrow slightly. “We believe his name is Cardak. He’s the brother of Thrain.”
“Thrain,” Hison says. “He’s dead. So are all of his supporters.”
“What are they saying?” Nick asks quietly. I didn’t notice him approach.
“She’s telling him we think the false-blood is related to Thrain.”
Nick stiffens.
“You’ve heard of him?”
He nods. “He was giving King Atroth problems about the time that I left with Kynlee.”
“He’s the fae who found me when I was sixteen.” I don’t say more than that—Nick’s expression indicates I don’t need to. I turn back toward Lena and Hison and concentrate on their conversation again.
“The word of a human won’t change anyone’s mind,” Hison is saying, his silver eyes darting to me briefly before returning to Lena. “We must return to Corrist and kill him. That’s the only way we’ll convince his followers they’ve been lied to.”
“And I’m sure you would love to be there, fighting at our sides,” Lena says.
I snort out a laugh.
Hison doesn’t bother to look at me.
“You need Caelar’s help,” he says.
“Caelar refuses to speak to me.”
He gives her a small smile. “With the kingkiller dead, I believe I can convince him to meet with you.”
My muscles tense, ready to launch myself at him and wrap my hands around his throat, but Kyol drops his mental shield. Our link opens, and he sends steady, calming emotions my way. I glare at him, trying to shove those emotions back in his face. But I get the message: don’t strangle a potential ally, even if that ally is a bastard.
“You’ve been speaking to Caelar for a while, haven’t you?” Lena asks. Her voice sounds tighter now.
Hison gives her a single-shouldered shrug.
“I’ll meet with Caelar,” Lena says. “But it must be in this world, somewhere public.”
She looks at me. The meeting is going to have to be close by. She’s in no condition to fissure.
“Is there somewhere nearby they can meet?” I ask Nick.
“There’s a coffee shop over there.” He nods toward the back of his house. Beyond his fenced-in backyard is the shopping center I saw the first time I drove here. “It’s not usually crowded, but there’s enough traffic passing through to make everyone stay in line.”
Lena looks at Kyol. “Do you have an anchor-stone you can imprint?”
He nods. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
When he leaves, Lena says, “I assume I’ll have your support once the false-blood is killed?”
“You are the strongest-blooded Descendant,” Hison says. “And the kingkiller is dead. I won’t oppose you anymore.”
“You don’t need him,” I say. “Cardak’s killed most of the high nobles. You’ll have to appoint new ones.”
“And they’ll vote for me,” Lena agrees. “But I can’t afford to make enemies right now.”
“What is she saying?” Hison asks, staring at me.
Lena smiles. “She’s very happy for your support.” She braces a hand on the arm of her chair, then stands. She nods toward the fissure opening in the backyard. “You’ll give that anchor-stone to Caelar. He’ll fissure directly to the coffee shop. You won’t bring him here.”
Kyol opens the back door.
Hison nods. “We’ll meet you at noon.”
He accepts the anchor-stone Kyol’s just imprinted with the cafe’s location, then, as quickly as possible but while still maintaining some semblance of dignity, he flees Nick’s house.
Lena remains standing until the high noble’s fissure cuts through the air outside. As soon as he disappears into the slash of light, her knees buckle.
Kyol’s arm snares her waist, keeping her on her feet. It kills Lena, having to accept help from anyone, but even if she could get to her room on her own, at this point, Kyol won’t let her.
“You must rest,” he tells her, his voice low and rough.
She nods, clutching his shoulder.
Without another word, Kyol scoops her into his arms and carries her back to the guest room.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day, the night, and the next morning alone. I don’t sleep. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see Aren’s face, and every time I see Aren’s face, I grow angrier. I know it’s irrational, that he didn’t intend to let the false-blood kill him, but he intended to let the high nobles do it. He told me his reasons for that, and on some level I understand them, but I don’t understand why he wouldn’t escape with me. If he’d just left when I asked him to, if he hadn’t argued and tried to talk me into leaving him behind, we would have been gone minutes before Hison pounded on that door.
And Lena would probably be dead.
I run a hand over my face, wishing I’d had two antidotes on me. I could have awakened them both. But, again, that’s Aren’s fault. He threw my damn backpack out the window. If I’d had that on me, I could have tranqed the false-blood without anyone needing to get close to him.
If, if, if.
I replay all the scenarios in my head, see so many different outcomes, so many ways I could have saved Aren and Sosch. By the time I stumble down the stairs a little before noon, I’m a wreck
. I’m exhausted both from not sleeping and from grief, and I feel like I might throw up any second.
Lena’s standing in the living room. Her back is to me, and she’s staring out the window at Nick’s backyard. Maybe she’s replaying the false-blood’s attack in her mind, too.
“McKenzie.”
Kyol’s deep voice makes me tense. He’s standing behind me, but I don’t turn. I owe him an apology for the chaos of my emotions, but telling him “I’m sorry” when they’re still so out of control is pointless.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat,” he says gently.
I shake my head, take a step away from him, but he catches my arm and pulls me toward the kitchen. Reluctantly, I let him.
“This?” he asks me, holding up a container of bagels. My shrug is enough of an affirmative for him to take one out, set it on a plate, then grab a jar of jelly out of the semicool fridge. The electricity is back on, but it was off long enough to spoil everything left in the fridge. Nick or Kynlee must have made a run to the store, though, because there’s a new, cold container of cream cheese sitting on a shelf. I exchange it for the jelly.
Kyol watches me eat without a word. I’m pretty sure he thinks if he weren’t sitting here with me, I wouldn’t take a bite. He’s right, and in the end, I only manage to get down a little less than half the bagel.
At five minutes to noon, he’s sitting beside me in the coffee shop. He and Lena are both invisible, so I pull out the chairs far enough for the fae to sit.
The coffee shop is longer than it is wide, and one of its walls is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto a crowded parking lot. At exactly twelve o’clock, two fissures open on the sidewalk: Hison and Caelar. Paige isn’t with them. I was hoping she would be. It would make sense. Caelar should want a set of human eyes to make sure Lena doesn’t have anyone hiding behind an illusion.
We rise as the fae enter the shop. Hison looks even less comfortable than he did in Nick’s house, and Caelar’s expression is hard and angry, pretty much exactly the same as the last time I saw him, when he held me captive in the Corrist Mountains.
“Caelar,” Kyol says in greeting.
Caelar’s glare shifts from Lena to her lord general.
“Taltrayn,” he says, and there’s a note of begrudging respect in his voice. I forget how well they know each other. Caelar was one of King Atroth’s top swordsmen, and the Court fae looked up to him almost as much as they looked up to Kyol. If Caelar hadn’t been the one to rally the remnants together, Lena wouldn’t have had nearly as much opposition to her reign.
Kyol sits when I do. Hison is next, followed by Caelar. Lena is the last to take her seat. All are careful not to let the few humans in here see the chairs move.
Lena steeples her fingers together on top of the table. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Her words receive a single nod from Caelar. A bolt of blue lightning flashes across his stony face. He doesn’t look like he wants to be here, and I get the impression that, if Lena says something wrong, he’ll open a fissure and leave.
But leaving is better than an ambush or a fight. I let my gaze scan the coffee shop and parking lot again, but there are no other signs of fae. If Caelar was working with the false-blood, and this was a setup, the elari would be here by now.
Lena flattens her hands on the table. “We can agree that the false-blood must not remain in the palace?”
Another silent nod from Caelar.
“What can I say to make you support my petition to rule the Realm?” Lena asks.
The table remains quiet. Caelar’s expression hasn’t changed, and Hison is sitting beside him, more concerned about the espresso machine hissing across the shop. He tugs at his shirt collar.
Finally, Caelar says, “Nothing.”
Lena’s lips thin. She stares at Caelar for a long, drawn-out moment, then her gaze slides to Hison. “Then it looks like we’re finished here.”
Hison must be paying attention to the conversation as well as the tech. He stiffens, looks at Lena, then turns to Caelar. “We don’t have a Descendant to place on the throne.”
“Someone will step forward.”
“Who?” Hison demands, keeping his voice low, as if he’s afraid the cashier or one of the customers will overhear him. They can’t unless they have the Sight.
“Someone,” Caelar says, not taking his gaze away from Lena. “The son of Hrenen. The son of Joest.”
“They can barely call themselves Descendants,” Hison says. “Both their bloodlines are diluted.”
“What, exactly, do you have against me, Caelar?” Lena asks.
“You think nothing of the Realm’s traditions and magic.”
“I care more for the Realm than Atroth did. The Realm would be nothing without the fae. Atroth might have claimed his policies were protecting our society and our magic, but they were only protecting himself and the nobles. He cared nothing about the rest of the Realm—the majority of the Realm. He made the strong stronger and the weak weaker. He turned his back on the tor’um, hid them away like they were plague-ridden. You had to beg him to release Brene to your care—”
Caelar rockets to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor.
“You have no right to speak her name,” Caelar says.
I grimace, not just because more than one human is staring at me, but because that wasn’t the wisest thing for Lena to say.
“I will offer her and others like her aid and protection,” Lena says.
“Sorry,” I tell the cashier, pushing my chair back. I circle the table, meet Caelar’s furious silver gaze.
“Please, sit,” I whisper as I right his chair. I don’t stand there waiting for him to comply—the cashier is still watching me—I walk back to my seat.
“Where is Paige?” I ask quietly, because he’s still standing.
Caelar’s eyes narrow, but he sinks down into his chair, thankfully without moving it.
“She’s with Tylan,” he says.
“She’s okay?”
He nods.
I rest my hand against my face, hiding my mouth from a human couple at a nearby table. “She should be okay long-term. We don’t think the serum Lee injected her with is fatal.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“She left a message for McKenzie a few days ago,” Lena says. “She wanted to talk about you and the false-blood.”
Caelar shakes his head slowly. “Tylan and I had an argument. The Taelith wanted to meet with me again.”
“Again?” Lena asks.
His jaw clenches. Lena’s getting him to talk. I think he’s just now remembering he’s supposed to be pissed at her. He looks away from the table, as if he’s still considering leaving.
“He gave me the location of the Sidhe Tol my people used to fissure inside the palace,” he says, turning back to Lena.
“That’s how you found it?” Lena asks. “What did you give him in return?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you give him in return, Caelar?” she demands again.
His expression darkens. “If I choose to—”
“We need to be sure we know what we’re facing when we retake the palace,” Kyol cuts in. “Any information you can give us is appreciated. No one wants to leave a false-blood on the throne.”
“That’s why we need to cooperate with her, Caelar,” Hison says, leaning forward without touching the table. “She is our best chance to kill the Taelith.”
“I promised him nothing,” Caelar says, turning a glare on the high noble. They might be working together, but I don’t think they’re the best of friends. “I indicated I would be open to a future meeting, that is all.”
Lena’s eyes narrow. “You want me to believe he gave you a Sidhe Tol—a Sidhe Tol!—without making any request of you?”
“It actually makes sense,” I put in. A quick glance over m
y shoulder tells me the humans aren’t paying attention to me anymore, so I explain. “We’re assuming Cardak has had his eyes on the throne ever since Thrain died, right? He learned from his brother’s mistake and the mistakes of the false-bloods we’ve fought since then. He knew he couldn’t go up against Atroth, so he let you”—I look at Lena—“the rebels, do it instead. But you were too strong.”
“Because of Taltrayn.” She turns her attention to her lord general. “Very few of the king’s swordsmen would have joined me if not for you.”
“The false-blood used me to weaken you,” Caelar says quietly. His gaze turns somber, introspective.
“You disagreed with some of Atroth’s decisions as much as I did,” Kyol says. “There were other choices he almost made that you and the rest of the Realm never knew about. They . . .” He pauses. “He listened to my counsel on many of them, but in his last days, he chose to disregard all opinions except Radath’s.”
Caelar’s eyes narrow at the mention of the former lord general’s name.
“I would have preferred to arrest Atroth,” Kyol continues, “but I didn’t have the authority, and he would not have allowed it.”
Caelar rests his hands on the table. His head is bowed slightly.
“Perhaps we can come to an agreement on a new Descendant,” he says after a moment, wearing the weariness of someone who’s found himself on the losing side of a war. “Is there anyone you would su—”
A flash of blue light in the parking lot makes him cut off his words. Everyone stands simultaneously. The fae reach for their swords, and I’m poised to reach for the dagger strapped to my leg beneath my jeans.
But only a single fae stands on the other side of the window. It takes me half a second to recognize the face staring back at me.
TWENTY-NINE
“AREN,” I WHISPER.
He fissures inside the building, relief shining in his silver eyes. I start to run for him, but Kyol’s hand locks around my wrist just before Caelar’s chair slams to the floor again.
“You said he was dead!” he snarls at Hison. His sword is out of its scabbard. He takes a step toward Lena, but she’s staring at Aren as if she’s seeing a ghost. We both are.
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