The Sharpest Blade (30 page)

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 my 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.

“A
REN,” 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.

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 are 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.