The Sharpest Blade ml-3

by Sandy Williams

  Aren finally wrests his gaze away from me. He looks at Lena, then at the other two fae. Something passes through his eyes, and I think he’s just now realizing who Caelar is.

  “I thought you were dead,” Lena whispers.

  Caelar rams his sword back into its scabbard. “This meeting is over.”

  “Wait,” Lena says, pulling herself back together. “Please, wait.”

  Hison grabs Caelar’s arm. “Listen to what she has to say,” he hisses. “We need her help. We don’t have a choice.”

  Caelar jerks his arm away. “There’s always a choice.”

  “I did not deceive you,” Lena says. “We all believed the false-blood killed him.” She pauses, draws in a breath. “Since that is not true, you may kill him now.”

  “What?” I blurt out. The human couple sitting near the window frowns. They’ve been watching me since Caelar’s chair hit the floor a second time.

  “We will not interfere,” Lena continues.

  The hell we won’t. I try to rip my wrist away from Kyol, but he only tightens his grip and pulls me into his chest.

  “Not a word, McKenzie,” he says. “She has to do this.”

  “Riquin?” Caelar asks.

  Lena nods. Riquin? What does that mean? Is she suggesting a duel to the death? It’s freaking ridiculous.

  “His death must be at your hand and without Lord Hison’s aid,” Lena adds.

  “I don’t need help,” Caelar says, drawing his sword.

  “And I will handicap him with silver.”

  “Good, Lena.” Kyol’s whispered approval is barely loud enough for me to hear. If he wasn’t holding me so tightly, I’d elbow him in the gut.

  “No silver,” Caelar says, his hate-filled eyes locked onto Aren.

  “I don’t agree with this,” Aren says, keeping his hand away from his sword. “I won’t fight you.”

  “You have no choice,” Lena tells him.

  “Is something wrong?” The question comes from the man sitting at the window. His wife or girlfriend is openly gaping at me.

  “Seizures,” I say. It’s an excuse I’ve used many times before.

  “Not in here,” Lena says to Caelar. “Outside.”

  Caelar and Hison both open a fissure. Their exit fissures appear a half second later on the other side of the windows.

  Aren’s jaw clenches. He shakes his head. “He has a right to want me dead.”

  “You’ll do this,” Lena says.

  “Lena—”

  “It’s an order, Aren,” she cuts him off.

  He glances outside. His face is stony, unhappy. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, then he looks at me. When his gaze shifts to Kyol, I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. My back is pressed against his chest, and his arm is wrapped around me. He’s not holding me as tightly as he was a moment ago, but our skin is touching, and Kyol’s chaos lusters are zigzagging up my arm. My heart’s beating so rapidly, I barely noticed them.

  Aren swallows. I take a step toward him, but he turns away and fissures outside. My gaze goes to the parking lot in time for him to step out of the light.

  Caelar’s expression darkens. He raises his sword and swings it at Aren’s torso.

  No!

  I sprint to the front of the coffee shop, shove open the door.

  Aren’s on the pavement. He must have turned his back to the blow because he’s not bleeding; the jaedric he’s wearing stopped Caelar’s sword from delivering a mortal wound.

  “Get up!” Caelar barks.

  Aren complies. “Brene had information I needed. You would have done the same.”

  “I wouldn’t have used tech!” His fist slams into Aren’s jaw. Aren staggers back a step, nearly stepping off the curb and in front of a car that’s circling the lot.

  “You would have used fists and blades,” Aren says. “I couldn’t risk killing her.”

  “Draw your sword,” Caelar says.

  “No.”

  “Draw it!” Caelar swings his sword at Aren’s midsection. Aren raises his arms above the blade’s arc and leaps back a step, but the edge cuts a shallow groove in his armor.

  Keeping his eyes on Caelar, he unbuckles his weapons belt. “People I cared about died because I didn’t press Brene for answers quickly enough.” He tosses the belt to Lena. “They were her parents, and yet, she’s willing to ally with you.”

  “Quiet!” Caelar lunges forward, stabbing his sword into Aren’s chest.

  Or, into the air where Aren’s chest was before he fissured out of the way.

  God, that was way too close.

  “Aren,” I call out. “Please!”

  A mom with her two kids frowns in my direction. I ignore her, take a step forward, but once again, Kyol grabs me.

  “Wait,” he orders.

  I clench my teeth, then look back at the one-sided fight. Caelar swings at Aren again and again. Aren’s favoring his left leg, the one Lena didn’t have enough strength to heal, but he’s able to dodge most of the attacks. I don’t think Caelar is trying to kill him right now. It’s dishonorable to fight an unarmed opponent.

  “Fight!” Caelar yells. Aren isn’t able to evade his next attack. Caelar’s blade slices into his upper arm.

  Aren curses as he twists away from Caelar. Blood flows from the wound, but he regains his balance, meets Caelar’s gaze, and says, “No.”

  Enraged, Caelar sheathes his sword. Then he balls a hand into a fist and launches it at Aren’s face. Aren stumbles backward and, this time, a car does hit him. There’s a loud thump, then Aren’s spinning. He slams into the passenger door, almost gets pulled under the car, but the tires screech to a stop.

  My heart feels like it’s splitting in two. What the hell is wrong with Aren? He’s so set on wasting his life. I don’t understand why.

  “He knows what he’s doing, kaesha,” Kyol says. “Be patient.”

  The driver gets out of his car, looking for whatever he hit, but Aren’s still invisible to normal humans. Aren gets back to his feet and faces Caelar again.

  And Caelar hits him again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I try not to watch—I try not to think or feel or do anything—but even when I close my eyes, I hear the thuds of Caelar’s fists.

  “Just a little longer,” Kyol says, still holding me. “It will be okay.”

  I shake my head. His arm tightens around my waist.

  “Let go,” I say, trying to knock Kyol’s hand away. He moves it from my hip to the curve of my jaw, makes me lift my chin to meet his eyes.

  “Wait.” Our bond opens fully, flooding me with his strength and confidence. He’s certain Caelar will stop short of killing Aren.

  I close my eyes and turn my head to the side, resting my cheek on Kyol’s chest. Hison is standing in my line of sight. He’s watching Caelar beat the shit out of Aren with the most neutral expression I’ve ever seen the high noble wear.

  Aren’s grunts of pain grow farther apart. So do Caelar’s blows. It probably hasn’t been more than four or five minutes, but it seems like forever to me. I’m sure it seems like forever to Aren.

  Finally, Caelar says, “There’s no honor in this.”

  I’m afraid to turn away from Kyol, but I force myself to look. Aren’s on the ground, bloodied and unmoving. He’s collapsed out of the flow of both vehicles and people.

  “You will not heal him,” Caelar says to Lena. He’s sweating and breathing so much harder than Aren is. It doesn’t look like Aren’s breathing at all.

  “No,” Lena answers coolly. “It would be foolish to attack the false-blood without the aid of one of my best fighters. I will heal him, but I’ll give you three days.”

  Caelar’s eyes narrow, but he says, “He’ll have no place on your Court.”

  “Done,” Lena agrees. “I’ll need a new sword-master, however.”

  He tightens his hand into a fist then stretches his fingers out, easing tension from knuckles that a
re bloodied and swollen. Ten minutes ago, he clung to the chance that he might be able to find someone else who could rule the Realm. Now, he’s changing his mind about Lena. Her offering of Aren as a sacrifice worked.

  “I’ll think about it,” Caelar says.

  “Thank you,” Lena answers.

  “Not all my people will join you, but I’ll speak with them. I’ll meet you here at nightfall.”

  Lena nods.

  As soon as Caelar and Hison fissure out, Aren rolls to his back. God, he looks awful. His face is red and swollen, and he’s holding his right side. Likely, he has broken ribs, probably other fractured bones as well, and that cut on his arm is bleeding badly.

  I try to remove Kyol’s hand from around my waist.

  “There are too many humans watching,” Kyol says.

  I freeze. Then, for the first time, I look at my surroundings. There are people watching me. Most of them just glance my way with you’re-crazy expressions as they cross the parking lot, headed to the coffee shop or the electronics store next door, but a few people have stopped and are openly staring. Kyol’s been holding me relatively still this whole time, but I’ve called Aren’s name at least once.

  “I’ll release you,” Kyol says, “but you mustn’t draw any more attention to yourself.”

  Biting my lip, I nod.

  It’s hard not to rush to Aren’s side the second Kyol lets me go. But Lena’s already there. She doesn’t have to worry about the humans.

  She crouches next to him.

  “Where have you been?” she demands. No Hi, How are you, or Thank God you’re alive. I want to know the answer to the same question, though. I left him in the tunnel. All it would have taken was a half-hour jog to move beyond the silver wall, but it’s been three days since we lost the palace. There’s no way the false-blood’s magic kept him passed out for that long.

  Aren winces when he draws in a breath to speak. “I didn’t know you were alive,” he says, staring up at the sky. “Either of you, and there was . . .” He closes his eyes, reopens them. “The false-blood put a human on display. Skinned and unrecognizable. He told his people it was the shadow-witch and . . .” His silver gaze shifts from the sky to me. “I had to confirm it was you. I took an elari’s name-cord, pretended to be one of them so I could get close.”

  “It was Shane,” Kyol says. He’s standing beside me.

  Aren gives a small nod.

  “He’s dead now,” he says. “I kept looking for you, but I ended up finding Naito and Lee instead. They made it out of the palace and were hiding in the Inner City. I fissured them to Naito’s house this morning. I didn’t think to look for you at Nick’s until an hour ago.”

  In my peripheral vision, I see a man light up a cigarette. He’s strolling this way, so I quietly say, “We should get back to Nick’s.”

  Really, I just want to get Aren someplace where I can wrap my arms around him.

  Kyol takes a step forward, then offers his hand to Aren. “I will fissure you there.”

  Despite his injuries, Aren stiffens. I do, too, until I feel the reluctant respect that travels along the life-bond. This is the first time the three of us have been in the same place since Aren and I slept together. If Kyol were a lesser man, all he’d feel for Aren is resentment.

  Aren closes his eyes. His bloodied forehead creases, and his jaw clenches. After an agonizingly long moment, he accepts Kyol’s outstretched hand.

  * * *

  BY the time I walk across the shopping-center parking lot, cross the street, then make my way into Nick’s neighborhood and to his front door, Aren’s passed out in Lena’s bed. Lena’s in the living room with Kyol, discussing plans and strategies for dealing with Cardak. I leave them to it and quietly slip into the guest room.

  Aren still looks like hell. A bandage is wrapped around his injured arm, but that’s all that’s been done for him. His face is still bloodied.

  I’m afraid I’ll wake him if I try to clean the cuts and bruises, so I just curl up in the bed beside him. He doesn’t move. Keeping the sheet between us, I risk draping my arm over his body. He’s hot, and despite the blood and sweat clinging to his skin, his cinnamon-and-cedar scent makes its way into my lungs. It should soothe me, but it doesn’t. I’m terrified I’m going to wake up and find that this is a dream. I’ve been keeping my grief at a distance so that I can function, but now, it hits me again, so much more potent than it should be since I have Aren right here with me. He’s not dead, and Naito and Lee survived. Others might have as well.

  But not Sosch.

  Not Trev.

  Maybe not even Lorn.

  I kiss the back of Aren’s neck, only long enough to feel the heat of his edarratae. They reassure me that he’s alive and here, and I let myself close my eyes.

  A soft rap on the door wakes me. It feels like I’ve only slept for minutes, but when I open my eyes, the room is dark. No light is shining in through the window, so it has to be well after nine.

  I look to the door, see Kynlee peeking her head in.

  “Lena’s sending Kyol and Caelar to the false-blood’s camp. She said you need to name the nearest city?”

  If Caelar’s here, and they’ve already discussed a plan, I’ve slept a hell of a lot longer than I thought.

  Careful not to disturb Aren, I get out of bed and follow Kynlee into the main part of the house. Lord Hison and Caelar are sitting at the kitchen table across from Lena and Kyol. Nick is here, too. I slide into a chair beside him. My map, messily drawn in dirt on the pouch that held Lena’s anchor-stones, is spread out on the table, along with other maps and a few notebooks, which I’m guessing Nick loaned to the fae.

  “Jythkrila,” I say, watching Caelar’s and Hison’s expressions. Recognition flashes in both of their eyes. They’ve never been there before, but seeing my map and hearing the location is as good as if they fissured there on their own.

  “Do you know what we will find there?” Caelar asks.

  “I’m hoping you’ll find evidence that Cardak is not Tar Sidhe as he claims to be,” Lena answers. “If we can link him to Thrain, it will give people a reason to doubt him.”

  “They need reason to doubt him?” My voice is unexpectedly tight, and I’m surprised by the anger that’s pumping through my veins. I’m mad at the fae, I realize. I’m mad at every single one of them who has so much as entertained the idea that the false-blood could actually be Tar Sidhe. Wanting to rid the Realm of human influences is one thing; torturing humans and using the fae’s hatred of them to further your cause is something else entirely.

  “He has an extremely rare and powerful magic,” Lord Hison says. “And he’s presenting himself as a savior. Many fae want that. That’s why the elari are growing in number.” His expression sours, and he glances at Lena. “That’s why we need you. We may have ignored certain parts of the population for too long.”

  May have. Well, that’s certainly an improvement in his attitude. Hison hasn’t mentioned his wish to see the kingkiller brought to justice again. I don’t know if that’s because of the position he’s found himself in, or if it’s because he’s honoring the pledge he made to Aren at the palace. If Aren and I hadn’t stayed behind to face the elari, they would have captured or killed the high noble and his people.

  “Taltrayn and Caelar are fissuring to the Jythkrila camp tonight,” Lena says. “Tomorrow, Caelar will agree to meet with the false-blood.”

  Caelar raises an eyebrow. “I will?”

  “When the false-blood allows you in the palace,” Lena says, “you’ll have access to the surviving high nobles. You will make our case to those you believe will be amenable to ousting Cardak.”

  It’s a risky mission, as risky as any she’s ever asked Kyol to accomplish, and Caelar stiffens at the command in her voice. His jaw clenches and unclenches, but after a handful of seconds, he nods exactly the same way Kyol would.

  “Taltrayn,” Lena says.

  Kyol stands. When Caelar does as well, I rise, too, assuming
they’re going to fissure to the false-blood’s camp now.

  “You’ll stay here, McKenzie,” Lena says.

  “If Nimael is there, they’ll need a set of reliable eyes.” The words are out of my mouth before I remember that’s not necessarily true. Kyol can see through fae illusions now. Or, he can at least see shadows of invisible fae. We haven’t tested his vision out to see how well it is.

  “We don’t know if there will be a gate nearby,” Lena says. “Taltrayn and Caelar will make do. If they’re seen and outnumbered, they’ll fissure out immediately.” She looks at the two men and emphasizes, “Immediately.”

  “Of course,” Kyol says. Lena looks appeased by his words, but I’m not. His definition of “outnumbered” isn’t the same as hers or mine.

  THIRTY

  “IS HE OKAY?” Lena asks for the umpteenth time. She’s not pacing back and forth in Nick’s living room, but I’m sure she would be if she wasn’t still recovering from her injuries. After Caelar’s so-called fight with Aren, she fissured back to Nick’s. It was a mistake. It drained her magic and has made her impatient and short-tempered.

  “I’m still breathing,” I tell her, trying to hold on to my patience. “So, obviously he is.”

  “But he’s still there?” she asks.

  I sigh. “Yes, he’s still there.”

  Kyol and, I assume, Caelar are both in the Realm. I think they’re both still in the false-blood’s camp in the Jythkrila Mountains, but I can’t be sure. His heart isn’t pumping adrenaline through his veins, though, and he’s not injured. Both are good signs.

  “They’re not fighting anyone,” I tell Lena, hoping that will calm her.

  “They’re not supposed to be,” she bites back.

  Kynlee looks up from her homework, wide-eyed. Yeah, Lena is touchy. But she’s worried, hurt, and generally exhausted and stressed out, so I’m trying to be understanding.

  I just give Kynlee a shrug as Nick walks into the living room. He’s carrying a glass filled to the top with a white liquid that I’m guessing isn’t milk. He holds it out to Lena.

  “What is it?” she asks without taking the glass.

  “It’s something I mix up for Kynlee when she’s not feeling well,” he says.