I don’t protest when he places a hand on my back, just next to the dagger he gave me, and urges me forward. Rightly or wrongly, I trust Aren with my life. Even when we were enemies, he took care of me; my gut tells me he’ll take care of me now. I might be disturbed by his origins, his past, but that’s something I have to deal with later. Right now, I need to deal with what’s going on here.
The shouts and noises grow louder as the snow under our feet turns from a soft, white blanket to a wet, dark mush. People have been through here recently. Lots of people. At the end of our alley, an orb-topped lamppost turns the stucco walls a brighter shade of blue. We stop at the corner and peer out at the scene.
Standing between us and the river, some two hundred feet away, is what I can only describe as an angry horde of fae. They’re massed around the location where I remember the gate being. By the number of sleepy cirikith standing scattered throughout the marketplace, my guess is that half of the fae are merchants. I don’t know who the other half are. Not innocent bystanders. They’re pushing and shoving to get at the crates laden onto the carts the cirikith pulled here. Others are pushing and shoving just for the hell of it, I think. Aren said the people of Rhigh were almost rioting. I don’t think there’s any almost about this. They’re out here breaking curfew and looting just because they can.
I jerk back into Aren’s chest when there’s a crash to our right. It’s followed by an excited shout, and by the time I find the source of the noise, fae are pouring through the broken window of a store no more than ten feet away from us. The fae look like they’re the age of human teenagers, but they could be as old as thirty.
One of those fae slips in the slosh of melted snow and dirt. The whole marketplace is one giant mud pit. It’s been ten years, but I remember Rhigh’s riverfront looking like one of my world’s touristy boardwalks. Even in my delirious, half-starved state, it hit me as ironic because Rhigh shouldn’t have looked like a vacation spot. From my experience in it, it should have looked like a ghetto outside a prison.
It looks like a ghetto outside a prison now.
A strange-sounding wail cuts through the air to the left. A cirikith lies on its side, straining to get back to its feet, but its haunches are stuck beneath a broken cart. It’s bleeding from its neck. Even from this distance, I can see that its huge, opalescent scales have turned crimson. Cirikiths aren’t pretty beasts, with their oversized heads and thick, hooved legs, but I can’t help but feel sorry for it. Cirikiths are strong. The only reason this one hasn’t regained its feet is because it’s hurt, and it’s fighting off its nightly hibernation.
Aren rests a hand on my shoulder. “We should wait until things calm down to use the gate.”
“Wait where?” I ask, backing away from the chaos.
He takes my hand, turns me back down the alley. “Hison should have a place…”
Two fae are walking toward us. They’re wearing jaedric over thick woolen shirts and pants. Their gloves and heavy animal-skin boot coverings look warm but tattered. Well before they reach us, I move aside. Aren doesn’t. His posture relaxes, and he stands his ground. That’s when I notice the two newcomers don’t exactly seem surprised to see us.
“We heard you were here with an asset,” the fae on the left says. Interwoven feathers are braided through his hair, almost as if they’re taking the place of a name-cord.
“Did you?” Aren replies lazily. He slips an arm inside the folds of my cloak, and I feel him slide the dagger out of my waistband.
“You know them,” I say.
It’s not quite a question, but he responds with, “You know that past you’re holding against me?”
Great. This can’t go well. I throw him a glare but take the hint and wrap my hand around the hilt of the dagger, making sure I keep it hidden beneath my cloak.
“Also heard you’re with the daughter of Zarrak,” the second fae says. “You know how to get inside the palace. Useful information, that is. Valuable.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard many things, Vent,” Aren says. He squeezes my arm gently beneath the cloak. Telling me to be ready?
Feather-braid takes a step forward. “We control the gate, now.”
Aren throws an exaggerated look of surprise over his shoulder where the marketplace is. “I can tell.”
Feather-braid scowls. “You can either pay for the human or turn her over to—”
Aren appears beside the fae. I’m just as startled as they are because I didn’t sense or see the slash of light until he was already gone. But there he is, swinging his sword through the shadows from his exit fissure and cleaving into Feather-braid’s shoulder. Feather-braid is nothing but a soul-shadow a second later.
Vent reacts quickly, fissuring out of Aren’s way. Aren pivots, his sword arcing around, and kills the fae as he exits his slash of light. His soul-shadow joins his companion’s.
An instant later, Aren’s at my side, taking my arm. “We’re leaving.”
“Good friends of yours?” I ask. The fight started and ended so quickly. A spike of adrenaline is just now pumping through my veins.
“The best,” he answers, leading me back the way we came. “We have to get to the gate.”
I slant a wide-eyed glance his way. “The gate? Now?”
“Yes,” he says. “Unless you have another idea.”
“I can probably come up with something that doesn’t include a horde of pissed-off fae.” Seriously, he’s crazy to think that we can make it to the gate, the same gate everyone else is trying to fissure through, with the crowd standing in our way.
“You can’t stay in Rhigh,” he says. He’s walking so quickly I have to run to keep pace. “If Vent and Tyfin know you’re here, then the others do as well. They’ll be looking for you.”
“Who were they?”
“A local…gang?” He looks at me to confirm he used the correct word. “Thrain paid them to do minor jobs. They’re idiots, but they can be dangerous.”
We reach the end of the alley again and stop. Aren curses under his breath. I don’t have to ask why. The marketplace is crammed with twice as many fae as before.
“And exactly how are you planning to get to the gate?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer immediately. His face is pinched, and I can practically see the thoughts churning in his head. His brow lowers. Then, he must lock on an idea because the tension running through him evaporates. He looks at me, and he grins.
TWELVE
“WE’RE GOING TO use what?” I ask. I had to have heard him wrong.
“We’re using your reputation,” he says. “Take off your cloak.”
“It’s minus a million degrees out here. I’m not taking it off.”
“They need to see the edarratae.” He pulls the cloak off my shoulders. I’m just able to catch the hood before the whole thing falls into the mud.
“Can’t you fissure to Corrist for help?”
“I wouldn’t be able to bring back more than three or four fae, and it would leave a section of the wall more vulnerable to attack. This plan is better.” He tugs on the cloak.
“That’s the only thing keeping me from freezing to death,” I snap, refusing to let go.
“This won’t take long, I promise.”
“This is crazy.”
He laughs. “I know, but it will work. The fae in Rhigh are superstitious. They’ll see you and make room.”
“Like Vent and his friend made room?”
His smile finally fades. He looks directly into my eyes, then says, “Trust me, McKenzie.”
He has a lot of nerve asking me to trust him after not being forthcoming about his connection to Thrain. I should be stubborn about this, tell him to come up with another solution because this is the most ridiculous idea ever, but Aren has a reputation for crazy plans that work. Plus, I really don’t like being back in Rhigh. I want out of here.
I let go of the cloak. “This doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you.”
The grin returns to his face. “Y
ou will, nalkin-shom.”
He moves aside so I can see the crowded marketplace. “Count to thirty, then walk directly toward the gate.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he says, and before I can question his sanity again, he’s gone.
I swear to God if this plan of his gets me killed, I’m haunting him for the rest of his life. I hug myself, trying to trap in what little warmth I have left, and count.
It’s hard as hell to force myself to step out of the alley once I reach thirty. There’s still a mass of fae around the gate, and nearly every window in the marketplace has been broken. The fae are preoccupied looting and yelling and fighting each other, but it doesn’t take long for them to notice me. I tighten my grip on my dagger and keep my eyes focused on the gate as I stride through the melted snow.
I usually don’t notice the edarratae unless I’m touching a fae, but I’m aware of each strike of lightning across my skin. So is everyone else. This never happens. A human doesn’t just walk through the Realm unescorted. It’s strange and unusual, and it’s obvious the nearest fae don’t know what to make of me. They back away. I hear nalkin-shom whispered more than once. I don’t know if that’s a guess—maybe they’d think any human female is the shadow-witch—or if Aren’s described me in those rumors he’s spread.
When I near the thickest portion of the mob, I think my luck has run out. These fae aren’t moving. They’re not even looking at me. They’re too involved in cursing out the people around them or stealing the food and clothing and everything else the merchants were transporting.
Just when I think I’m going to have to stop or turn back, something happens. The shouts lessen, and more than one fae’s gaze goes toward the night sky. I look up, too, but I don’t see anything except faint stars.
“Quickly.” Aren’s voice comes from my left. “Follow me.”
He shoulders his way into the crowd, carving a path. The fae glare at him when they’re shoved aside, but then their gazes lock on me. Their eyes go wide. They look back up into the sky, then move out of my way.
“What are they looking at?” I ask, striding behind Aren.
“A lightning storm.”
An illusion of a lightning storm. No wonder the fae are backing away. Lightning is extremely rare in the Realm. Some people think it’s a sign that the Tar Sidhe are angry at the presence of humans and human culture. Others think it’s just a random, natural occurrence. Either way, I can see how the fae would be nervous, seeing a lightning-clad human beneath a lightning-struck sky. But Aren can’t be doing this. He’s a healer. It’s a powerful, endangered magic, and while illusionists are more common, creating a lightning show impressive enough to catch this mob’s attention would require a huge amount of skill. I don’t think Aren has the ability to create tiny, short-lived illusions, let alone something on this scale.
The crowd splits. I see the gate on the riverbank. Or rather, I see the flashes of near-constant light that are being opened where I think the gate is. Technically, Aren doesn’t have to create a fissure of his own to get me out of here. We can travel through another fae’s. The slashes of light are rips in the atmosphere that lead to the In-Between; I just need an anchor-stone and a fae escort to live through it.
Aren discreetly hands me an anchor-stone. My hands are so cold and numb, it feels like it scalds my palm, but I clench my fist around it. Just a few more steps to the riverbank. Aren’s plan is actually going to work.
“Tchatalun.”
I’ve blocked out the whispers of nalkin-shom, but that one word whispered from somewhere to my right rings in my ears. It means “defiled one” but it’s basically synonymous with “human.” The last time I heard it, I was in Lyechaban, and it was uttered by fae who wanted me dead.
I can’t identify who said the word now, but there’s a change in the mob. It’s as if they’ve suddenly realized my destination. Their surprised and almost fearful expressions vanish. Aren must sense the change, too, because he hooks his arm around me, pulling me against his side.
Only a few more feet to the gate.
Aren takes my hand. He shoves someone aside.
Someone shoves back. I stumble, but manage to stay on my feet. Two more steps, and we’ll be at an opened fissure.
The crowd surges around us. I tighten my grip on Aren and throw my weight forward. The fae in front of me move when I do so. My momentum carries me to the riverbank. Aren’s hand slips from mine. I try to turn back to find him, but my sneaker hits the edge of the frozen river. I lose traction. Slip.
I put out my hands to catch myself, but I’m falling all wrong, and the river isn’t completely frozen over. The fae have hammered through the ice surrounding the gate.
My shoulder hits first, and I can’t stop my head from slamming down, too. Pain explodes through my temple. Aren calls my name. I push up to all fours, trying to focus on the ice beneath me.
The ice that’s cracking beneath me.
I lunge toward the bank, but I’m too late. The slab beneath me breaks off, plunging me into the dark, cold depths of the river.
I arch my back, trying to free myself from the restraints around my wrists, but the nurse is at my side, tightening them further. A tingling sensation runs up my arm, then it starts itching. It’s the saline solution still, but the drugs the nurse added to the IV bag will enter my bloodstream soon.
We tried sneaking out of Bedfont House. One of Paige’s friends was parked just outside the center’s gate. He took off when the security guards caught us. We were in enough trouble for that alone, but the staff also figured out that Paige and I weren’t taking our meds. Instead of being reprimanded and sent to our room, we were reprimanded and sent to separate observation cells. The isolation doesn’t bother me, but I don’t want my mind to fog over again. The drugs make me feel like I really am crazy.
After I stop struggling, the nurse leaves the room. There’s no way to take the IV out of my arm. My eyelids grow heavy, my vision blurs. I fight against the haze, but I lose the battle.
“McKenzie.” Kyol’s voice near my ear. A hallucination? That’s what I’ve been told I experience. I started agreeing with the counselors weeks ago. It seemed like the quickest, easiest way to get back to my life.
“McKenzie.” I’m afraid to open my eyes, afraid I’ll see nothing but the darkness if I do.
A soft, sweet pressure on my lips.
“Kyol?” I whisper. He’s here, leaning over me in a silhouette that’s etched in lightning. One hand cups my face, the other rests just above my left wrist. His touch is tender, but hot—tantalizing—and something stirring and electric runs through my body.
“You’re real,” I breathe. This must be how Snow White felt when her prince kissed away her sleep.
“I couldn’t find you,” he says, his thumb sliding over my cheek. “I thought another false-blood had taken you.”
I try to lift my arm, but I can’t. When he sees me struggling, he takes out his dagger, slices through the material binding my wrists, then he lifts me into a sitting position.
It’s too quick. Black spots swirl through my vision. I bite my lip, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When I’m able to focus again, I’m staring at my cut restraints. “They were Velcro.”
“What?” Kyol asks.
“Velcro.” Strong Velcro, but the dagger wasn’t needed.
I look up. Kyol stares at the IV bag, at me, then at the IV bag again. He grabs the plastic tubing and cuts through it. I watch the liquid drip onto the floor.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Medicine.”
His brow creases.
“We don’t have healers so we…we put plants in our veins.” I laugh, then cut it off short. God, my head is spinning. Too much of the drug made it into my system. The needle is still taped to my arm. I pull it out.
“Are you okay, McKenzie?”
I stare at the blood welling out of the tiny hole in my wrist. I don’t think I took it out right.
&
nbsp; “I’m fine,” I say, swiping my arm across my clothes. I’m wearing Bedfont House’s standard-issue nightgown. It’s ugly, not much better than a hospital gown. “The door locks from the outside.”
“I’ve unlocked it.”
The knob turns smoothly. Since I’m wobbly, he puts an arm around my waist and guides me out of the cell. I enjoy being close to him way too much. He’s wearing fae armor—jaedric, I think it’s called—but it doesn’t hide the power in his body. He’s warm, safe, and even though we’re forbidden to be together, I’m almost certain I’m in love with him.
We’re almost to the door at the end of the corridor when my brain starts to function again. I tell Kyol to wait.
“I can’t leave without Paige.”
“What page?” he asks, following my gaze back down the hall.
“She’s my friend.” The only friend I have here. Probably the only friend I have period. Jessica, Kelly, all the people I used to hang out with abandoned me months ago. I can’t blame them. I stopped showing up at school meetings and quit two committees that really needed my help.
Not to mention I flunked English, my favorite subject, and ended up in In School Suspension for skipping classes.
“She should be in one of these rooms.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remove the fog lingering in my vision, then I drag him back down the hall. He doesn’t protest. He would if he realized that the tech making his edarratae vibrate so strongly is the building’s security cameras. There are at least two recording me. I might have no more than a minute or two to find Paige and get out of here.
She’s three doors down from where I was imprisoned. It’s locked from the outside with a simple dead bolt.
“Paige,” I whisper as I slip inside.
She doesn’t respond, just lies there strapped down to the hospital bed. They’re giving her drugs, too.
“Paige, wake up.” I carefully remove the tape holding her IV in place.
Her eyes flutter open. “McKenzie?”
“We’re getting out of here.” I yank at the Velcro securing her wrists. It’s freaking hard to get off, but I do it, then help her sit up. “Can you walk?”
The Shattered Dark Page 13