Authors: Sandy Williams

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

The Shadow Reader (46 page)

BOOK: The Shadow Reader

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Atroth’s frown deepens. “She shouldn’t be here like this; you’re right. Neither should you. I’ve been lenient with you, Taltrayn. I allowed you to continue seeing her. I believed you when you said you had no hand in her escape. I
trusted
you, and you repay me with treason?”

Kyol’s jaw clenches. “I lost her because of my loyalty to you.”

“Lost her? To Jorreb?” Atroth’s temper cools. “Taltrayn . . . Kyol, you never should have lost your heart to a human. They’re fickle creatures. They don’t understand loyalty like we do, like
you
did before she bewitched you. McKenzie was with the rebels for a handful of weeks. She couldn’t possibly have felt the same way for you as you did for her, not if she’s given herself to another fae so soon.”

Something in Atroth’s tone catches my attention. I glance from him to Kyol, then from Kyol to Radath. Kyol’s here. Kyol’s alive. If Atroth intends to kill him, why the hell is he taking so long? Why didn’t he order Radath to kill Kyol on sight?

The only plausible answer is that Atroth doesn’t
want
to kill him. He’s searching for a reason to forgive his sword-master. If Kyol plays this right, he might be able to survive.

Radath mutters something under his breath, then, more clearly, says, “My lord, this has gone on far too long. We should have executed him before. We should execute him now.”

Atroth sits back in his throne, taps his fingers on the sleek, silver armrest. “He’s my friend, Radath.”

“He’s a traitor. He has been for a while. We’ve only discovered his deceit recently, but he’s been working against me, against
us
, for years. If he hadn’t opposed every plan I had, we could have ended this war a thousand times over. You cannot trust—”

Atroth holds up a hand. “Kyol, don’t you see she doesn’t care about you? Maybe she never has.”

I keep my mouth shut because he might be able to survive this, but my heart’s pumping adrenaline through my veins and my mind is scrambling for an idea, some spark of enlightenment that might save both our lives.

“If she lives, she’ll aid the remnants of the rebellion,” Atroth continues. “If we destroy it today, the next false-blood will find her. I won’t allow her to hunt down my officers. You can give her a quick death, Kyol.”

Kyol’s gaze doesn’t waver from the king. I swallow, trying to wet my throat. I need to tell him it’s okay, there’s no reason for us both to die, but I’m too damn scared to force the words out.

“I’m willing to forgive you if you do this,” Atroth says. “Everything can go back to the way it was.” He draws a dagger from his belt, holds it out toward his sword-master.

“Did you ever love me?”

Kyol’s words are so soft I barely hear them. I certainly have a hard time comprehending them. He’s listening to Atroth, doubting how I felt? I waited for him—for ten years, I waited. Does he think that’s normal behavior for a human? I can’t tell. His mask is in place. There’s not a glimmer of emotion in his silver eyes.

“Take the dagger,” Atroth urges, sounding sympathetic.

“Did you?” Kyol demands, facing me squarely. “Or did you use me, McKenzie? Did you meet Jorreb before he abducted you?”

It feels as if the In-Between steals my breath away. My throat is raw when I manage to swallow. I shouldn’t have to deny his accusations. He should know me better than this.

“Kyol,” Atroth says again.

“I want to know,” he says. “I want her to tell me.”

“I . . .”

“They’re stalling.” Radath draws his sword. “My lord, it’s foolish to let him live one moment more.”

Kyol’s expression doesn’t change, the muscles in his face don’t twitch at all except when he blinks, but something in that one action is more a wince than an involuntary movement. He
is
stalling.

Atroth sighs. “You’ve sealed your fate, Taltrayn. Kneel.”

“I’m sorry,
kaesha
.”

Radath walks forward. My heart thumps when he raises his sword and . . .

No, I can’t watch Kyol die.

Time blurs. My thoughts tangle. The Realm grows small and distant and I’m no longer standing where I was. I’ve leapt onto Radath’s back. I’ve torn the piece of shrapnel from my arm. I’ve drawn it across the lord general’s throat.

The metal is small, blood-soaked. My grip isn’t firm enough to really slice, so I bring it around again—

Radath grabs my wrist and twists. Something cracks. Then something slams into my face.

“McKenzie!”

Two people, three, maybe a dozen scream my name. I can’t separate the voices or the shouts or the whistles of flying arrows.

Blood drips from my face, splatters on the floor beside a leather boot, a leather boot that disappears. At first, I think my vision’s failing. Then the noise filling the throne room registers.

“McKenzie!”

I recognize Aren’s voice this time. He made it through the
Sidhe Tol
. He’s just inside the throne room, hiding behind the body of a Court fae. Arrows bounce off the fae’s
jaedric
armor, but puncture his throat and arms. When he vanishes into the ether, Aren dives back out the doors.

Half the fae follow him; the other half . . .

The other half target Kyol, who’s managed to free himself from the ropes binding him. He holds a dagger—the one Atroth offered him moments before—to the king’s throat. The muscles in Kyol’s arm quiver, and my heart breaks at the bleakness in his eyes.

“Taltrayn,” Radath grinds out, holding a hand to his bleeding neck. The lord general doesn’t move, though. He doesn’t have to, not with Micid moving . . . somewhere.

I throw myself across the floor, searching for the
ther’rothi
. My elbow hits something. I swing my arm around, ensnaring what have to be Micid’s legs. He stumbles, falls.

I scream when pain explodes through my injured wrist, but shouts from the other end of the throne room drown out my cry.

Somehow, I’m underneath a still-invisible Micid. I lock my arms around what I think is his waist, then wrap my legs around, too, as a fae screams behind me. The sound of metal striking metal becomes a steady percussion. I catch a brief glimpse of Aren and a dozen rebels fighting Court fae.

I lose sight of him, and I can’t see Kyol because Radath’s in the way. I can’t help either of them. All I can do is hang on to Micid. Hang on while he strangles me.

Black shadows creep in from the corners of my vision. My body tingles, demanding that I unlock my arms from around Micid and pull his hands from around my neck, but still I hold on. If I let him go, I’m dead. Aren and Kyol and the rest of the rebels are dead. No one will see Micid’s attack.

I can’t let go.

I can’t . . . let go.

I can’t . . .

Something wet spills across my chest. Air snakes inside my lungs, just enough to allow me the strength to blindly swing my fist. It’s no use, though. Something heavy weighs me down, stealing my breath again.

“McKenzie.”

I desperately try to shove Micid away.

“McKenzie, it’s me. It’s okay. He’s dead. The
ther’rothi
is dead.”

I stop struggling. Sometime later—seconds, millennia—my vision clears. Aren smoothes damp hair back from my face. He kisses me and then hugs me tight. I say nothing when my body screams in protest.

“I thought I lost you,” he says.

Edarratae
warm my skin, then his magic seeps into me when he presses his fingertips to my swollen cheekbone.

I want to tell him I’m okay, but my throat refuses to work.

He glides his hands lightly down my neck. I manage a quiet moan as he heals the bruises Micid left behind. I swallow, try to sit, but only manage to roll to my side.

The fight’s not quite over, but some of the Court fae are dropping their weapons. A few of them are actually helping the rebels. Taber’s here and two or three others who I know Kyol trusts.

Kyol.

I look behind Aren to see him still standing with the dagger to Atroth’s throat. Radath . . . As I watch, Radath stalks this way, sword raised.

“Aren,” my voice cracks.

“Jorreb!” Kyol shouts. His gaze locks with mine, and in that one brief moment, I know. I know he sprung Radath’s trap and came here to die. He didn’t come prepared to kill his king. The horror of his choice, of his decision, is reflected in his eyes, and a part of him shatters when he draws the dagger across Atroth’s throat.

Aren turns toward Radath, but he’s too late. He can’t get out of the way, not without leaving me exposed. He presses me to the ground as Radath lunges forward, sword raised.

No!

Radath smiles.

No!

The smile’s still there when Kyol’s blade plunges into his back. Radath’s eyes widen. His mouth contorts into a sneer. With his last breath, he swings his sword down, but Kyol shoves him forward.

The lord general stumbles over us, his blade narrowly missing Aren. He vanishes into the ether the moment he hits the ground.

THIRTY-ONE

S
OMETIME LATER—MINUTES, hours, days, I have no concept of time—the battle is over. Supposedly, it’s a victory. It doesn’t feel like one. I’m in the sculpture garden, sitting on a marble pedestal. Two stone fae rise up behind me, the shadows cast by their swords crossing at my feet. The bladeshadow on the left points to a smear of blood not too far away. There are a lot of those throughout the palace, a lot of them in my memory, too.

Naito’s rampaging somewhere nearby. Lena won’t let him leave the palace. At least for a while. Until the pain and anger subside. Until he’s no longer determined to hunt down his father. It’s for his own good, she says. She’s worried about the vigilantes killing him. I’m worried he’ll end up imprisoned for murder.

Something shatters, and Naito’s shouts end. I close my eyes, sympathizing with his pain, his need for vengeance. I doubt he’ll ever be able to go home.

I’ve only caught glimpses of Kyol and Aren since they left the king’s hall. They’ve been occupied securing the palace. The rebels have blocked off the residential wings. Every other room and corridor has archers—both rebels and the handful of Court fae Kyol trusts—standing ready to kill. Word has been circulated that they’re to shoot anyone who fissures here as soon as they step out of the light. So far, the strategy has worked. The Court fae have almost completely stopped using the
Sidhe Tol
.

I lean back against the legs of one of the stone fae. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is just now beginning its descent from the bright blue sky. Without Naito screaming, it’s quiet. If I keep my gaze away from the bloodstains, it’s peaceful even. There’s something very wrong about that. A day like this should be filled with darkness. It should be filled with clouds and the threat of violent weather.

“McKenzie.”

Lorn stands a few paces away. I’ve never seen him look so disheveled. His white shirt is wrinkled and dingy, his shoulders are slumped, and his silver eyes seem darker, duller, than normal.

My throat closes up. It did the same thing earlier when Lord Raen found me. I couldn’t say anything then, but I didn’t have to. Kelia’s father took one look at my face and paled. Tears blurred my eyes. By the time my vision cleared, he was gone.

Lorn sits beside me.

“I hired fae to protect her,” he says.

I look at him, but he’s staring at the floor.

“I haven’t heard from them,” he continues. “I assume they entered the ether before she did.”

“It was chaotic.”

There’s something pensive in his soft
hmm
. We sit in companionable silence for a while. Then a stream of curses comes from nearby. Naito again.

Lorn looks in the direction of the subsequent crash. His Adam’s apple bobs once before he thins his lips and straightens his shoulders.

“
That
must end,” he says, almost sounding like his normal self. Almost.

He stands, starts to take a step away, but a flash of light cuts through the air. The Court fae is in this world for all of a half second before three arrows pierce his chest. I watch, not even flinching, as his soul-shadow rises into the air.

This time, Lorn’s
hmm
is heavy with perception. “You’re not doing well.”

“Nobody’s doing well.” Him included.

“True. But everyone else here reacted when that fissure opened. You didn’t. You would be dead if it wasn’t for the archers.” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “You’re not going to recover here. You should go back to your world.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You just pointed out nobody is fine. If you’re staying for them, you shouldn’t. Seeing you like this will not cheer either of them up.”

BOOK: The Shadow Reader

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