The Shadow Reader

“My swordsmen are on the other side of that wall.” He indicates the tall hedge we’re approaching, and I let go of his hand. Just in time. A wooden gate cracks open, and a fae peers out. He’s Taber, one of Kyol’s officers.

“There have been no signs of the rebels,” he says.

Kyol takes off his jacket, hands it to the other fae in exchange for his sword-belt. “Jorreb was alone.”

My Fae is by no measure perfect, but I think I understand their words. Even if my translation is off, Kyol’s tone suggests he expected trouble. At least, he expected more trouble than a dance and a kiss.

Kyol ushers me through the open gate. About a dozen swordsmen wait on the side of the road. They’re dressed in jaedric armor. It’s fancier than what the rebels wear, coated with a black polish and with the king’s sigil—an abira tree with thirteen branches, one for each province—etched in gold over their chests. They’re all invisible, I presume, because they’d look odd standing here beside the street otherwise.

Not that there’s much traffic. Just one car so far, coming around a corner. I watch it, wondering if it’s the one the human is supposed to send. But it’s a limousine. Probably for the wedding. I turn back toward Kyol and Taber to concentrate on their conversation, but they’re both looking at the limo, which is pulling to the curb.

The driver rolls down his window. I sigh. He probably thinks I need help since it looks like I’m alone on the side of the road.

“I’m okay—”

“Are you McKenzie?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah.” I glance at Kyol.

“He’ll take you to Shane’s home,” he says, confirming this is my ride.

The driver climbs out of the car and opens the back door. Before I get in, Kyol cuts me off. He says something to Taber, then ducks inside.

“Ma’am,” the driver says when I don’t move.

I smile an acknowledgment and then slide onto the soft leather seat. Kyol sits across from me. As soon as the door closes, I say, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you’re safe.”

“Aren can’t fissure into a moving car.” I would say more, but the driver climbs behind the wheel and the partition between his seat and our section of the limo is open.

“Do you need anything, ma’am?” the driver asks.

“How long until we get to”—what was the guy’s name?—“Shane’s ?”

“About thirty minutes,” he answers.

Thirty minutes. That’s a little longer than Aren and I were in the car in Germany. He was injured and his magic came back. Kyol’s completely healthy so he should be fine.

“Do you mind if I close this?” I ask the driver, indicating the privacy panel.

“I’ve got it, ma’am,” he says. He presses a button on the limo’s dash. When the panel slides into place, I sink into my seat, trying to relax. For some reason, I can’t. Kyol and I are alone. We’re together. But we don’t say anything; we just stare at each other as if we’ve both doubted we’d ever see the other again. I know I doubted it.

Kyol’s gaze drops to the floor. That’s not like him. I’m more likely to glance away, either because I’m worried others will see the way I look at him or because it’s too hard to stay apart.

He unfastens his sword-belt and lays it on the seat. I’m not used to seeing him like this, looking so unsure of himself. I watch his edarratae. If they start to look too frenzied, I’ll tell the driver I don’t feel well and ask him to pull over. Kyol looks fine, though. There’s only a slight crease to his forehead. Whether that’s because the tech is giving him a headache or because he’s thinking about something serious, I don’t know. Maybe both. The heavy silence suggests he wants to discuss something.

Nervousness coils in my stomach. I think he wants to talk about us. Every conversation we’ve ever had about our relationship ended one way, with him telling me we can never be together.

His gaze returns to me and, suddenly, it’s very important we don’t have that conversation.

“I flunked my final again,” I say quickly. “I don’t know if my professor will let me retake it. I’ll never be able to explain why I ran out of class.”

He blinks. Yeah, my topic is that random.

“I’m sorry. There wasn’t time and . . .” He lets out a breath and his shoulders slump. “In the end, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t fast enough.” He shakes his head and frustration leaks into his voice. “I took precautions. I always double-fissured you home and only a few fae knew your full name. Fae I trusted. If I’d known you were in danger, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I’d have kept you safe.” His hand clenches on the sword lying at his side. Conviction shines in his silver eyes. “I can keep you safe, McKenzie.”

Butterflies take flight in my stomach. Not good. My determination to retire wavers like it always does. I don’t want to leave him. Ever.

He holds out a hand, but I pretend not to see it. Instead, I scoot along my seat toward the wet bar in the back corner of the limo.

“I missed Amy’s bachelorette party,” I say, scrutinizing the label on every bottle, one by one. “It’s a human tradition, basically an excuse to go out and get wasted. I promised Paige I’d be there.”

“McKenzie—”

“I think she’s forgiven me, though,” I continue, refusing to look at him. “She was worried when I didn’t return her calls.”

Kyol moves to sit beside me. I grab an individual-sized bottle of wine, twist the top off, and pour it into a glass. My hand shakes, mostly from the motion of the limo, but partly from nerves. I’m usually more together than this, more in control, but I’m tired of . . . of everything.

Kyol puts his hand over the glass before I raise it to my lips.

“McKenzie.” His edarratae quiver across his skin. “Talk to me. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Look at me.” He lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his silver eyes.

“Kyol.” I draw in a breath. “I can’t do this. I can’t go back to the way things were, sneaking touches when no one is looking.” I won’t live like that. Not anymore.

“Okay.”

“I know Radath and the king will—What?”

He runs his hands down my arms, then back up, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “These last couple of weeks . . . they’ve been the worst of my life. Jorreb sent a fae with your clothes. They were stained red and . . .” He swallows. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again, and I hated myself for holding back when we were together. I remembered every time I told you no, and all I wanted was the chance to tell you yes. I have that chance now.” His hands tighten on my shoulders. “I’ll talk to Atroth, McKenzie. If you’ll forgive me, if you still want me, I’ll talk to him. I’ll convince him you and I should be together.”

Really? I want to ask, but I can’t form the question. This is what I’ve always wanted, the hope I’ve been clinging to for a decade, and now, I’m terrified I might be trapped in a dream. Maybe Aren killed me when he cut my throat. Something has to be up because this is too simple, too easy, to be real.