The Sharpest Blade (10 page)

“I’m fissuring out,” he says. “If you choose to do so as well, then you’re the one who’ll be leaving her alone.”

A slash of white light slices through the air beside him.

“Wait!” Kyol barks. “Just get her out of the city. I’ll meet you within view of Tholm’s westernmost building.”

Then, before Aren can step into his fissure, Kyol opens one of his own and disappears.

Aren curses.

“I’m not that repulsive, am I?” I ask lightly.

Aren’s gaze slides to me, and the way his silver eyes peer out beneath his dark lashes says my words are ridiculous. I just give him a tiny shrug, wrap my arms around my now-shivering body, and start walking.

“Did you really need to get rid of your shoes and cloak?” Aren asks, falling into step beside me. He’s looking at my bare feet. Throwing off my shoes wasn’t a mistake—my toes were already numb, and I get better traction without them—but losing the cloak might have been.

I don’t admit to it, though. Instead, I say, “You took off your cloak.”

“It’s easier to move without it.”

“Exactly.”

“Besides,” he says, “I can keep warm.”

“If you’d like to keep me warm, you can start any time.”

Even in the darkness, there’s a glimmer in his silver eyes when he looks at me. “You’re determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

We step onto a curved stone bridge. “If you’re referring to you dumping me, then yes. I am.”

“Did you make it this difficult for Taltrayn?”

“I—” The question surprises me, and I’m not sure how to answer. With Kyol, I knew the reason he kept his distance. I even respected it, and in the beginning, I believed that human culture was damaging the Realm. Over the years, I started to doubt that, but I never started to doubt Kyol. He was noble, a man of his word, and each time he told me we couldn’t be together, I tried to move on.

I look at Aren as the bridge takes us across a canal. I have no desire to move on now.

“I didn’t make it easy,” I finally say, focusing on the long passageway in front of us. We’re near the edge of the city. The homes are larger, the storefronts aren’t smashed together quite as much, and even though dawn is still hours away, the shadows between the buildings don’t seem as dark here.

It’s still cold as hell, though, and Aren hasn’t moved one inch closer to me.

I stop walking and turn toward him. “Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

He faces me and, almost reluctantly, meets my eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re here,” he says. “You have the normal life you always wanted.”

Not breaking his gaze, I tilt my head to the side. “Don’t you know? I could never be a normal human.”

The smile that spreads across his face tells me he recognizes the words. He said them to me two months ago, right after the vigilantes attacked the inn in Germany. I was still fighting my attraction to him, still clinging to the hope that I was shadow-reading for a good and honest king.

“Look,” I say. “You said I needed time to understand the life-bond. It’s been almost a month. I get it. Kyol’s in my head, but we’re in the same world, and I’m not throwing myself into his arms.”

“You’re not,” he says, “but you want to.”

“God, just . . . just stop telling me what I want! And don’t give up on us so easily.”

“You think this is easy?” he says, agitation sliding into his voice. “Do you think I like knowing that
he
knows where you are every second of the day? That
he
knows when you’re in trouble, when you’re sad or scared?” He grabs my arms then gently pushes me back against a stone façade. “He knows when you’re aroused, McKenzie.” His head dips, bringing his lips closer to mine. “He knows when we touch, when we kiss. He’ll know if we make love. Do you want that? Can you handle hurting him like that?”

“I can control it,” I say, my gaze locked on his lips. “I’ll find a way to control it.”

He chuckles, low and sexy, as he eases closer to me, and whispers in my ear, “The last thing I want you to have when you’re with me is control.”

I’m not cold anymore. My body flushes with heat at his words. I turn my face toward him as he backs away. He’s still holding on to me, but any second he could let go and leave.

“Your lips are blue,” he says softly.

“There’s a solution for that.”

His gaze meets mine again, and my stomach flips. Even rain-drenched and in shadows, he’s gorgeous. He’s fully dressed, and the air is cold, but he looks like he’s just stepped out of a steamy shower. His hair is darker than normal, the wet locks curling slightly at the ends, making him look haphazard and sexy.

He swallows. “Please, McKenzie. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

That’s one of the reasons I love him. He’s trying to undo a past that he regrets. He’s trying to be a good man, and I think that might be why he’s pushing me away. Fae respect the sanctity of a life-bond more than humans respect the sanctity of marriage, and in his mind, even touching me is a violation of the connection I have with Kyol.

But Naito and Kelia didn’t care about that. Right now, I don’t either. I grab the top of Aren’s cuirass and pull him closer. “I am the right thing, Aren.”

I thought my lips were numb. They aren’t. They feel the firm, delicious pressure of Aren’s mouth. The magic he’s using to keep himself warm rushes into me, and chaos lusters fire across my skin, so sudden and hot, I lurch into him. I feel him shake, too, and he grips me tighter, one hand in my wet hair, the other moving down my back. His palm curves over my butt, pulling me firmly against him.

Jaedric
protects both our torsos. I want so much to remove his, to run my hands over the hard planes of his chest and down the ridges of his stomach. I’ve seen him shirtless. I want to
feel
him shirtless. Naked and hot and lit by my chaos lusters.

He nips my lower lip, then sucks it between his teeth, but even as he does that, deepening the kiss in a way that draws a moan from me, I feel him holding back.

I reach up, intending to fist my hand in his hair, but he intercepts me, grabbing my wrist as he breaks the kiss.

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“We can, Aren. Please.”

“No, it would be . . . I just can’t. I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head, ending any opportunity for me to reinitiate the kiss. My cheek presses against his chest, and I listen to the steady thump of his heart.

“I’ll find a way to sever the life-bond,” I tell him.

“There’s only one way for it to end, McKenzie,” he says, and the pain in his voice is like a sword through the gut.

I close my eyes and bite my lower lip as I soak in his warmth. His words can’t be true. I refuse to believe them because, if they are, then the only way to gain freedom from Kyol is for one of us to die.

A
REN AND I
don’t speak or touch the rest of the way through Tholm. Kyol fissures to the city when we reach the western edge of it. I don’t know if that’s a coincidence, or if he felt when I started searching for him. He’s not alone. Trev and Nalst, a fae I’ve worked with before, are with him. The look Trev gives me says he’s not here by choice, and I’m beginning to think his presence is a punishment from Lena. Whether she’s punishing him or me, though, I don’t know.

Kyol’s mouth tightens when he sees me. He knew I was cold, but seeing me shoeless and soaked makes him angry. Without sparing Aren so much as a glance, he holds out a cloak. It’s folded up into a square package that’s fat enough to hold a pair of shoes and dry clothes.

I hold the wrapped-up cloak against my chest as I scan the area for someplace to change. It’s not quite dawn yet, but the sky has a lighter hue to it. We’re within view of the city and several of the outlying buildings, so I’m not exactly comfortable with stripping naked out here. I’m not about to wait to change clothes, though. I need to get warm now.

“I can hold the cloak around you,” Kyol says, sensing my hesitation.

I make the mistake of looking at Aren. His gaze rakes down the length of my body, and the hunger in his eyes makes my stomach tighten. His expression goes neutral the instant he notices me watching him. Then, after a quick, curt nod, he opens a fissure and disappears.

No good-bye. No promise to see me again. My emotions are so tangled, I honestly don’t know if I’m more hurt or angry. It doesn’t help that, for Kyol’s sake, I’m trying not to feel anything at all.

I focus on the cloak in my arms and unhook the belt that’s holding it tight around the boots and clothing Kyol brought. If my clothes were dry, I could put the cloak on and figure out a way to wiggle out of them, but since they’re wet and sticking to my skin, Kyol’s option is the best.

“Okay,” I say, and he steps forward, taking the ends of the cloak and encircling me with them. His arms are around me, sort of. Not touching, but it feels intimate. He’s averting his eyes, though. I try not to focus or think of him at all as I loosen the laces on my cuirass. My numb fingers have trouble with them, but I’m not about to ask for help. I undo them as much as I can, then lift the armor over my head.

I shed all my clothes as quickly as possible then pull on a pair of dark gray pants and a double-layered black shirt with straps that cinch tight over my chest. Socks and knee-high boots are last.

“I’m done,” I say, taking the cloak from Kyol. I’m more comfortable, but I’m far from warm.

“Your hands,” Kyol says, reaching for them. He massages my fingers and palms, sending a magically charged heat into them. “I didn’t think to bring gloves, but it will be warmer when the sun rises.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, and we start the long journey to Corrist. Nalst leads the way, and Trev brings up the rear, walking a few paces behind us.

By the time the sun touches the horizon, hovering beneath a few gray clouds, I’m thoroughly defrosted. An hour later, I’m actually hot. I strip off my cloak and start to fold it over my arm but Kyol takes it from me.

“Nalst,” he says. He instructs him to take the cloak to Corrist and to bring back a few things.

After Nalst fissures out, we sit down to rest and eat. It’s breakfast for the fae and dinner for me: warm bread encircling a layer of meat and an assortment of fruits from the bag Kyol’s carrying. I lean my back against a fallen tree and stare out at the sea below us. We’ve walked along the edge of a forest for most of the way, with the Imyth Sea to our left. We’re a good thirty feet above it. Our path has gradually risen, and the forest has thinned. Another hour, and it’ll be all open plain between us and Corrist.

Kyol stands when Nalst rejoins us. I do so as well, eyeing the two red-hilted swords Nalst hands the lord general. When Kyol then hands one of them to me, I frown down at the blade. The metal is cloudy, not bright like most fae’s swords, and the edge looks dull. The sword in the scabbard on my left hip is much better than this one.

“Hold it like this,” Kyol says, wrapping both my hands around the red hilt. “Hold it tight, but loose.”

“Tight but loose?” I echo. “What is this, Kyol?”

“‘This’ is something I should have done a long time ago.” His silver gaze locks on me, and I forget what I was going to say. Maybe the emotion betrayed in his eyes is just evidence of how determined he is to do this, but it could just as easily be passion, especially when my chaos lusters leap to his skin. They’re enticing, and something deep and familiar clenches low in my stomach.

I swallow. “Kyol—”

“When the fae attacked you in the
tjandel
,” he interrupts gently, “it terrified me. I was afraid again when Lee startled you at your apartment and earlier when you went after the
elari
. I need you to be able to defend yourself.”

Tenderness and affection leak through his mental wall. I’m not prepared for those emotions. My defenses aren’t up, so an echoing warmth spreads through my chest, and his feelings become my feelings. It doesn’t help that this is the way I felt about him for ten years. Standing here in front of him now, I want nothing more than to step into his embrace. He would wrap his arms around me and hold me like he used to. Like he wants to.

My chest rises and falls, and my entire body aches with a tangible need to move forward.

No, that isn’t right. This isn’t a tangible need; it’s a magical one.

I keep hold of the sword hilt but pull my hands free from his, biting my lower lip to extinguish the desire running through me.

“This isn’t going to help,” I manage to say. “You and half the Realm have trained with swords since birth. I can’t win a sword fight against any of you.”

“More than half the Realm, McKenzie.” Neither his tone nor his eyes betray any emotion, and now he has the leaks in his mental wall sealed up tight. “But you’re human, and you’re . . .” His gaze darts to Trev and Nalst, who don’t know about our life-bond. “You’re quick. Fae will underestimate you. They’ll be overly confident and careless. They’ll make mistakes. You need to be able to take advantage of those mistakes.”

I want to ask him if he’s attempting this because he saw how I caught the sword a few days ago at my apartment. The move felt like an instinct, and if I want to be honest, when I swung my sword at the
elari
back in Tholm, that, too, felt natural. I still doubt that I’ll ever be good enough to fight a fae one-on-one, but I’d love to be proven wrong.

“You’re the best swordsman in the Realm,” I tell him, a small smile on my lips. “Let’s see how good a teacher you are.”

“Basics first,” he says, then, as we continue on toward Corrist, he shows me how to protect myself and how to kill.

 • • • 

KYOL’S
not a teacher, he’s a tyrant. A heartless, unrelenting, and unforgiving tyrant. The training goes well for the first few hours. He drills me on the forms in a cool, emotionless voice, and I put up with it until fatigue settles into my shoulders and biceps. And my back. I didn’t realize holding and swinging a sword used so many muscles.

I don’t complain, though. I keep practicing the forms, defending when Kyol orders me to defend. I’m waiting for him to call a stop for the day—he knows how tired I am—but he doesn’t show any signs of ending the training. When sweat begins to sting my eyes and blisters start to form on my palms and fingers, I lower my sword.

“I need to rest.”

“Pitch right,” he says, telling me how to defend his attack.

“Really, I’m done—ow!” He jabs the point of his practice sword into my rib cage.

“We’re continuing,” he says in the same level tone he’s used all morning.

I hold my side, glaring at him. That one almost drew blood. It’s definitely going to leave a bruise. It’s not the first one, though, and it won’t be the last, especially if we keep going. I’m moving twice as slowly as I was an hour ago, my hands hurt like hell, and pausing to fight so often is making the trip to Corrist take twice as long as it otherwise would.

“For how much longer?” I ask, trying to be patient. I
want
to learn how to defend myself, but I also want to be able to crawl out of bed in the morning.

Kyol calls out another strike. I barely knock his sword out of the way in time.

“Until you don’t forget the forms or until we reach Corrist,” he says.

I bite my lower lip. I didn’t forget the form that time. I just made a mess of it.

An hour later, we’re still going, and I’m seething with rage. I don’t try to hold back the feeling. I do my best to throw it in Kyol’s face because I’ve tried to stop twice now, and twice, he’s slammed his sword into my back, all without a trickle of remorse or concern passing through our bond. I’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours now, but even if I were well rested and hadn’t been walking for half the day, I still deserve a break. Kyol was Atroth’s damn sword-master. He’s Lena’s damn lord general. He’s not attacking me with his full strength—not even half his strength, I’m sure—but he’s not slowing his movements either.

He swings again, his practice sword cutting through the air. I raise my blade and manage to throw his attack off enough to not get hit, but I lose my grip on my sword. When it lands in the thick grass, I glare down at the red hilt. I know why it’s that color now. The blisters on my hands broke a long time ago. They’re bleeding, but you can’t tell by looking at the sword.

Before Kyol orders me to pick it up, I grab it. Then I throw it at his head. Miraculously, he doesn’t get his sword up in time to knock it away. The flat side of the blade thumps into his temple.

Trev laughs at Kyol’s wince. I feel only slightly satisfied.

“I’m done,” I tell him. “I’m tired, I’m hurt, and I’m not touching that sword again.”

“Very well,” Kyol says, picking up the practice weapon. “I’ll meet you in Corrist.”

“What?” I demand, facing him fully. “Well isn’t that convenient for you.”

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks levelly.

“I want you to—” I strangle off my words when his mental wall cracks. He wants me to say yes. God, he wants it so badly my heart breaks. I want to tell him what he wants to hear. I want to say stay. I might be mad at him for . . . for treating me like I’m just one of his swordsmen, but I’ve liked being with him. This day feels like our days together before I met Aren, and suddenly I realize that I’ve missed this. I’ve missed spending time with Kyol.

And he’s missed spending time with me.

My throat feels raw when I swallow. I shouldn’t have come back to the Realm. This isn’t fair to him. And it’s too confusing to me.

“Go,” I say before I give in to the part of me that wants him to stay. With a curt nod, he opens a fissure and disappears.