The Shadow Reader (22 page)

Read The Shadow Reader Online

Authors: Sandy Williams

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Contemporary

BOOK: The Shadow Reader
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Something rams the door.
“Kelia!” Lorn shouts from the hole in the wall. He motions her to join him.
“Go!” Naito pushes her forward. She doesn’t let go of his arm.
Kelia eyes Lorn. “Does it go to the gate?”
Exasperation takes over his expression. “You can’t stay with him, Kelia. The Court fae will—”
“Does it go to the gate!” she demands.
He winces as the door creaks. “
Nom Sidhe.
Yes! Yes! Come on!”
Naito shoves her toward Lorn. “Take care of her.”
“Naito, no!”
“Both of you go,” I find myself saying. “I’ll slow them down.” I mean it. I don’t want Naito or Kelia to get hurt. Somebody’s fairy tale has to have a happy ending.
“We all go,” Aren says. “Now. Run!”
After Lena disappears into the black hole, Lorn grabs Kelia, then Naito, propelling them both out of the room before following. I back away from the exit, but Aren catches my arm. An instant later, I’m half falling down a staircase.
Aren keeps me on my feet. He’s moving too fast and I can’t see a damn thing. I slip, landing hard on my left knee. No time to feel the pain. Aren wrenches me back to my feet. I catch sight of a flash of white lightning as
edarratae
brighten Naito’s cheek. He’s no more than a few feet ahead. Behind us, wood splinters as the king’s soldiers finally burst through the door. They’ll be inside this tunnel in seconds.
I try to tug my arm free. “They’re here for me, Aren. I’ll stall them.”
His grip tightens. “No.”
“You’ll have time to get away.”
“No!”
Damn it, why won’t he leave me behind? Dragging me with him only slows him down, and I have no clue how he expects to get past the inspectors at the gate. If they don’t turn me over to the Lyechaban citizens, they’ll call the guards. They’ll hold me until Kyol gets there and they’ll arrest or kill Aren.
“I’m trying to help you!” I yell.
“You can help by running faster.”
Okay. Fine. I don’t know why I’m worried about him anyway. He lied to me. If his insistence to keep me destroys him and his rebellion, so be it.
I stop fighting him and run. It’s not an easy thing to do blind. I trail my fingers along the damp stone wall and hold tight to Aren’s hand. We’re still not fast enough. The soldiers are gaining ground.
“Hurry!” Lorn’s voice breaks through the blackness. A second later something intangible breaks. It feels like the snapping of a cord. The tension in the air shatters and the temperature plummets. A deep rumble vibrates through the tunnel.
Aren stops running. He shoves me against the wall, pressing his body against mine and tucking my head under his chin.
It’s going to cave in on us. Whatever magical trip wire Lorn activated, he did it too soon. The ground lurches beneath my feet. My knees buckle. I cling to Aren, praying he has some kind of magic that can save us as the thunder grows louder and louder.
He swings me away from the wall. Something slams down on my shoulder. I stumble and lose Aren as I fall. When the ceiling hails down, I cover my head and pray.
An eternity passes before the quake subsides. I’m skinned up and bruised, but still alive. Nothing’s broken.
Rocks skitter across the ground. I have no idea which way I’m facing, but it has to be Aren making his way to me. I consider playing dead until I choke on a breath. My lungs are so filled with dust and micro-debris it feels like I’m coughing up an avalanche.
Aren kneels beside me. “You hurt?”
“Yes,” I force out between coughs.
Maybe his ears are ringing as badly as mine because he says, “You’re fine,” and lifts me to my feet. He starts to lead me down the tunnel, but my cloak drags me backward.
“I’m caught.”
“Take it off.” He unhooks the clasp holding the cloak together and shoves it off my shoulders. I look down when it falls and see an
edarratae
flash over my forearm. Short sleeves in Lyechaban. Not the greatest idea.
“I can’t go out like this.”
He tucks my hand against his side. “Just stay close.”
I have no choice but to follow. My lungs itch, my shoulder aches, and I feel so beat-up the heat of the
edarratae
spiraling from me to Aren doesn’t bother me.
“Watch your step here,” he says, and I’m hit with déjà vu. I’ve done this before, stumbled along blind and hurt, depending on someone else to get me to safety. Kyol’s always taken care of me, but little by little, Aren whittled away my faith in him. That shouldn’t be possible. I know Kyol—I’ve always trusted him—and he . . .
He refused a life-bond because of me.
Guilt cuts through my gut, sharp as a dagger. It’s this Stockholm syndrome. It’s totally screwing with my common sense, making me doubt things I’ve always known to be true. Everything will be better as soon as I get away from Aren.
I hold tight to his arm as I trip. Since it’s sudden, I almost take him down, too. He catches me before I hit the ground. I turn in his arms, sliding a hand behind his neck and letting my other hand drop to the ground.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
God, his lips are close. A part of me doesn’t want to do this, but as soon as my fingers find a loose rock, I swing it toward his head.
He curses. Blind in the darkness, I swing again. This time, he catches my wrist.
“Stop,” he snarls.
He might be pissed, but so am I. “You lied to me.
Deliberately
lied!”
“I didn’t know he refused it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t know!” He shoves me away.
“You’ve manipulated me from the beginning,” I accuse.
Somewhere to my left, he laughs. “
I’ve
manipulated
you
? I’ve kept you alive and safe. I haven’t hurt you. I haven’t lied to you. In a few days, you’ve learned more about this world and this war than you have the entire time you worked for the Court. Kelia’s taught you our language. I’ve saved your life. I’ve healed you. You repay me with nothing.”
“You kidnapped me!”
“I should have killed you!”
There’s so much emotion in his voice, I swallow back my retort. I’m not sure if it’s all anger. Is he hurt? I only hit him once. Maybe he was injured when the ceiling caved in? I refuse to believe the undertone of pain is from anything else. He feels nothing for me. And I feel nothing for him.
He sighs. “I can’t let the Court have you back, McKenzie. If you want to live, stay by my side.”
He pulls me forward, and I stumble along in the dark, trying to convince myself I have no reason to feel guilty. Aren hasn’t killed or tortured me only because he needs my willing cooperation. I’m useless as a shadow-reader without it. I’d lie, I’d stall, I’d fissure the rebels into a trap. But shouldn’t he know by now that I’ll never turn against the Court? There’s no reason to keep me alive anymore.
Chaos lusters mark a shadow ahead. Naito. Before we reach him, a sharp
shrrip
cuts through the air. Kelia steps out of the fissure, tosses a sword to Aren. She hands another one to Naito, saying, “Hurry. The Court fae are coming.”
“Lena?” Aren asks.
“She’ll fissure back with help.”
We’re only a few steps from the end of the tunnel. A faint light from above allows me to see Naito’s and Aren’s silhouettes and the wooden ladder climbing the wall beside us. Naito goes up first. I follow, grimacing each time a chaos luster flashes over my hands and arms. By the time I slide out a narrow crack in the rock, I’m shaking. I know better than to expect the street to be free of Lyechabans.
A fissure opens to my right. I recognize Aren’s scent, the warmth of his touch, as he steps out of the light and helps me to my feet. Squinting, I take in my surroundings. We’re on a narrow strip of land between the city and its river. Behind us, shops and residences are built almost on top of each other. Vendors have opened kiosks along the bank. I’m able to translate most of their shouts. Fortunately, they’re selling their fish and produce, not pointing fingers at me and Naito. Yet.
Aren pulls me in front of him. I stumble forward, toward another group of merchants who are standing with their carts and
cirikith
, beasts of burden that look like a cross between a horse and a stegosaurus with small, opalescent plates as skin. Their bridles and the carts they pull are inlaid with imprinted anchor-stones to ensure nothing gets lost in the In-Between when they fissure. We’re close to the front of the line where a thick band of silver plating covers the ground. The merchants have to pay a toll to cross the silver and reach the semicircle of bare earth, right on the river, where the gate is located. That’s where the inspectors wait. When one of them looks up, looks right at me, I suck in a breath.
The next instant, his attention snaps to his left. A dozen fissures rip through the air just beyond the band of silver. Rebels charge out of the light, swords drawn and bellowing. A second wave appears behind them with Lena in the lead.
I’m astounded when the merchants don’t run. They
always
run, saving their hides by abandoning their wares and
cirikith
. The rebels have been successfully attacking gates like this for years, but maybe the merchants have finally had enough of being caught up in the cross fire. Only a few of them flee. The rest draw their weapons and move between their carts and the approaching rebels.
“Sidhe,”
Aren mutters under his breath. One glance at him, though, and it’s clear he’s not worried about a bunch of merchants with swords. I follow his gaze behind us, down a street that leads toward the city center. The Court fae—about two dozen of them—sprint toward us. All at once and midstride, they open fissures and disappear.
“Go!” Aren shoves me forward. I skid across the silver plating. Fissures open up behind me—the Court fae are reappearing—and metal rings against metal.
Some of the king’s swordsmen run by to intercept the rebels. As I push up to all fours, a second wave arrives at the edge of the silver. Then there’s a third wave. Lena is in the midst of the chaos, vanquishing every Court fae who encroaches within the reach of her sword. Bodies drop around her. Some enter the ether before they hit the ground. Their soul-shadows float up and mingle with others. So many others. The bank looks like it’s covered in fog.
Anxiety pools in my gut. I peer over my shoulder, looking for Aren. He’s outnumbered, but okay. No, he’s more than okay. In seconds, he fells two of his opponents, turns, and blocks an attack from a third. Holy hell, he can fight. He’s surrounded by soul-shadows, too, and I realize there’s a damn good reason why this rebellion has lasted so long: its leaders wield swords almost as well as the king’s sword-master.
The sword-master. I climb to my feet and search the faces of the fae as they rush by, but I don’t see him. There’s too much chaos for me to recognize anyone.
“To the gate, McKenzie!” Aren yells. He’s stepped onto the silver.
“Watch out!” The warning escapes my lips as a bleeding fae on the ground pushes up to an elbow and swings his sword at Aren’s ankles. Aren jumps over the path of the blade and then plunges his sword into the fae’s gut.
“Go!” Aren orders.
Frozen, I stare at the dying fae until he disappears and the white mist of his soul-shadow rises into the air. What did I just do? My warning killed him. I killed a
Court
fae. I back away from my crime, clench my hands into fists so they don’t tremble.
Someone runs into me. Then someone else.
“Tchatalun,”
a voice whispers. The word means “defiled one” but it’s practically synonymous with “human.”
“Tchatalun,”
the merchant says again, louder this time. I leap back when he swings at me, realize he’s holding a dagger only when he strikes again. Aren kills him before he can cut me a third time. Numb, I stare down at the red stain growing across my stomach.
Aren’s hand is there a second later, slipping under my wet shirt and flaring with magic. Lena comes to his aid, fighting off fae as he heals me. He eases me closer and closer to the gate, but there are too many people closing in on us. When a fae lunges toward us, Aren shoves me toward a merchant’s cart.
I lose traction on the silver underfoot and land hard on my side. Pain, white-hot and nauseating, shoots across my middle. My stomach’s not completely healed. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the wound, crawl to the cart, and slide underneath.
It takes a moment to catch my breath. When I focus on the blood and chaos beyond the shadow of my shelter, I see him—Kyol, conquering his way through the rebels. A rush of emotion fires through me. I want to shout his name, to be at his side again, but I keep my silence because I’m afraid I’ll distract him. I don’t think he knows I’m here. If he did, he’d be searching past the fae he’s fighting, looking for me near the gate or the edges of the battle to make sure the rebels don’t take me away from him. Instead, he wears an expression of cold indifference as he cuts through his opponents. It’s a mask. He shuts off his emotions when he fights. I think Atroth and I may be the only ones who know how much the killing bothers him, but Kyol will do anything, slay anyone, for his king.

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