Naito gives me an appreciative smile. Not only will the camo allow me to blend in; if Aren and the rest of the rebels wear it, it’ll make it more difficult for the humans to tell them apart from the rest of the vigilantes. Sure, they’ll eventually notice the rebels’ swords and edarratae, but with the camo, it might take the humans two or three seconds longer than if they went in wearing only their jaedric armor. Two or three seconds is enough time for the rebels to fissure out of the way.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” Naito says. “I can look up the locations of a few army surplus stores.”
“We need a fourth front,” Lena says suddenly, looking up from a map. There’s no preamble to her announcement. It’s the first time she’s spoken since I sat down. “We need to attack the palace itself.”
“We don’t have enough fae for that.” Aren rests his hand on my thigh.
I catch my breath. My jeans protect me from his edarratae, but the natural warmth of his hand seeps into me. He’s leaning on his opposite elbow, which rests on the table. I don’t think anyone else notices we’re touching.
“We won’t need many,” Lena says. “Just enough to force Atroth to keep guards on the wall. Taltrayn can suggest places to attack.”
Is Aren staking a claim or something? Letting me know I’m his? That he’s going to keep his promise not to let Kyol have me back?
“There are weaknesses to exploit,” Kyol admits. “But the guards will be on alert.”
I like kissing Aren. I like his teasing smile, his haphazard appearance, his loyalty to Lena and the rebellion, but do I like him? I barely know him.
“It will be worth the risk,” Lena says. “Once we fissure inside the silver walls, we’ll have men attack the guards from behind.”
Aren rubs his thumb along my outer thigh. It’s distracting, and now is not the best time to sort out my feelings, not with Kyol sitting across from us, not with a battle looming on the horizon.
Aren’s thumb stops its caress. “Strategic assassinations might work. We need to control the entrances to the inner city. Taltrayn?”
“I can list sentries to neutralize.” There’s no emotion in Kyol’s voice. He stares at the center of the table and doesn’t look up. I want to crawl into his arms, tell him he’s doing the right thing, and that everything’s going to be okay, but I can’t. I can’t do any of that.
“Good,” Lena says as she rises. Realizing she’ll definitely notice where Aren’s hand is if she’s standing, I beat her to my feet.
Naito straightens out of his chair, too. “I’ll look up those surplus stores.”
“I’ll help,” Kelia pipes up.
“I’m not going to let you touch the laptop, baby.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I’ll have to find other ways to occupy myself, then.”
Naito grins and takes her hand.
Kyol’s gaze follows them when they leave the table. He has to know they’re a couple. He has to see they’re happy together, good together. If Kyol was a weaker man, if he’d given in to his desires, we could have been like that, too.
Aren and Kyol both rise when Lena steps into the living room to talk to Nalst. When Aren turns toward me, I grab the glass of cabus and use it as a shield between us. There’s a faint smile on his lips. It doesn’t last long, though. It disappears as soon as Kyol steps to my side.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, ignoring Aren. He’s still trying to take care of me, to give me a way out of this war.
My hands tighten around my glass. “I have to do this.”
I’m worried he’s going to argue that point. I take a sip of cabus. I don’t know why. To buy some time? To show my determination? Whatever my motivation, I regret it immediately. Trying not to make too much of a face, I gulp the liquid down, then set the glass aside.
“I choose to do this,” I tell him.
He looks into my eyes. If we were still working for the king, this is the type of battle he’d shelter me from. He only tolerated the risks to my life before because they were minimal: he and a contingent of his best swordsmen were always with me, and we ambushed the fae I tracked. Tomorrow will be different. The Court knows we’re coming. There will be a lot of death, a lot of violence. This could be as bad as Brykeld.
Kyol takes my hand. Warmth spreads through my palm and a chaos luster spirals to my elbow. “You’ll stay by my side and do as I say. You’ll fissure out when and with whom I tell you to.”
“Except,” Aren interjects, taking a small step forward, “she’ll be with me.”
Kyol squeezes my hand. He lets it go before addressing Aren. “She and I have worked together before.”
Aren gives a lazy shrug. “In the past. She’s not your puppet anymore. I’ll keep her safe.”
“I’ll keep her safe. I’ve protected her for ten years.”
“You didn’t protect her from me.”
Kyol’s fist launches Aren into the wall.
Nalst rushes forward, drawing his sword, but Kyol snarls something I can’t translate and doesn’t slow down. He strides through the living room and out the back door.
“Sidhe,” Aren groans on the ground. He gingerly touches his jaw.
“You deserved that,” I tell him.
Lena scowls and adds, “You should have seen that coming.”
“I did see it coming. I just didn’t have time to duck.” He sits up and stretches his jaw, working it to the left, then to the right.
I don’t feel sorry for him. Aren was an ass. There was no reason to provoke Kyol.
“McKenzie,” he calls out when I turn to leave. I ignore him and go outside.
It’s a warm evening. Humid. A half-moon hangs low on the horizon, half obscured by thin wisps of clouds. Kyol’s sitting to my left, his back against the brick wall, his forearms resting on his bent knees.
I sink down beside him. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He’s staring at his clasped hands. His edarratae are bright out here. In the past, I’d trace their paths on his skin. I miss doing that. I miss the heat of his touch, the familiar comfort of it.
“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”
His pain tears me into pieces. My throat closes up, and I can’t answer him. I don’t know how to. I’ve been avoiding this conversation, this decision, for far too long because I thought it would end with me alone and heartbroken. Now . . . now it doesn’t have to end that way. Lena’s made him her lord general, but if Kyol and I both survive tomorrow, he would abandon that position. He’d abandon the Realm if I ask. Ten years ago, one year ago, maybe even a month ago, I would have asked.
He lets out a sound that’s so very close to a single, choked sob. “I dedicated my life to my king. I should have dedicated it to you.”
I swallow against a raw throat. “I shouldn’t have had to wait ten years for you.”
“I . . .” His voice breaks. “I’ve wronged you all this time. I knew how you felt, how I felt, and I did nothing.”
I bite my lip, taste blood, but the pain isn’t enough of a distraction. The tears fall.