The Shadow Reader

Aren lowers his hand to the bag, palm up. The kimki stares at me a few seconds more before it scurries up Aren’s arm and perches across his shoulders. Another ruffle runs through its sleek fur and the silver fades until the animal is snow-white.

Aren reaches up to scratch behind its ears. “His name’s Sosch. Kimkis flush silver when they’re near gates or other things they’re attracted to, so he must really like you. He curled up in your backpack the moment he caught your scent in it.”

Sosch blinks innocently at me.

I glare at Aren. “I . . . You . . .” The bastard’s tricked me. This is why he was willing to make a bet. He set me up to fail, and now he looks so . . . so entertained by my reaction.

No. No way. I am not losing like this.

I reach down to the bed of rocks beneath the picnic table and pick up the largest one I can find. It’s sharp on one end, and as I straighten, it takes all my self-control not to chuck it at Aren’s head. I don’t have time for that. My memory of the shadows is fading fast.

I face the two fae sitting on the table. “Move.”

They glance at the rock in my hand, at each other, then back at me. I’m about to shove them both off the table when they scoot off its edge and stand out of the way. I fist my rock pointy-side down in my right hand and begin to carve the shadows. The wood is old and damp with humidity. It gives way to my makeshift knife. I sketch quickly, seeing the shimmers and shifts of the shadows in my mind’s eye. I draw the curve of a river down the craggy side of a mountain. A village lines its west bank, but that’s not where Trev fissured to. He’s somewhere in the farmland on the opposite bank.

My map’s scale changes when I narrow his location down to a smaller area. I focus in on that, trying to remember distinguishing features in the shadows. There was an orchard, I think. Right there.

I mark the spot, but I have no clue if Trev is in the orchard or in the farmhouse half a mile away. Where is he? Where?

The shadows tell me nothing, and a moment later, they vanish from my memory. Shit. In frustration, I stab my rock into the orchard.

Wait. I focus on my map.

A rock in the orchard.

Yes.

I pick up my rock to scratch an X near the edge of the orchard.

“He’s there.” I point. “Near Carbada.”

As soon as I voice the name of the city, Aren’s grin vanishes. I don’t know which of us is more surprised. He’s visibly stunned, but I’m downright astounded because I know the location that magically locked into Aren’s mind isn’t just within a hundred feet of Trev’s location; it’s practically underneath his boots.

Holy crap, I’m good.

I push away from the picnic table, and with an unwavering gaze and a little attitude, I tell Aren, “That’s what I’m worth.”

He sets Sosch on the ground. The whole camp must be shocked, because nobody says a word, not even Lena, who’s still staring at my scratched-out map.

“Have a nice life,” I say, and then I turn on my heel and head for the narrow trail that brought me here. I keep my spine straight, my chin up, but I’m half expecting a dagger to be thrown at my back. I listen for the sound of metal sliding free of a sheath, but hear only the wind, the chirping of crickets, and the shuffling of feet. I’m almost to the tree line when Aren finally speaks.

“Stop her.”

I wince but continue walking until a fae cuts off my path. He reaches for my arm, but stops just short of touching me. I can’t outrun him. I can’t fight him. With a sigh, I return to Aren.

I meet his eyes. “Glad to know you’re a man of your word.”

“I said I’d give you your freedom and I will. Eventually.” He pauses to pass his silver-eyed gaze over me as if he can’t quite figure me out. I don’t like the scrutiny, especially not when something in my chest tightens in response. “But I can’t let you go right now. Especially not after seeing what you can do. You’re amazing.” A small smile finds its way back to his mouth. “I’m sorry, McKenzie, but you’re going to have to stay with us until this war ends.”

“The war’s never going to end.”

He shrugs. “I guess you’re going to be here awhile, then.” His gaze shifts to the fae beside me. “Take her up to her room, then find Sethan. We need to talk.”

Aren takes one last look at the map scrawled into the picnic table and shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it.

“Aren,” I call when he starts to walk away. I don’t want to say another word to him, don’t want to look into his silver eyes a moment longer, but I have to know.

He turns.

“The king’s sword-master,” I say past the lump in my throat. “He’ll kill you for taking me.”

If Kyol’s dead, I have no doubt Aren will boast about it. I hold my breath and my heart shatters and mends a thousand times while I wait for his response. I’m too terrified to hope, too desperate not to. Finally, after what seems like millennia, Aren dips his head in acknowledgment.

“It will be an interesting fight.”

FOUR

AS SOON AS the door to my room closes, I waste no time stripping the sheets off the bed. I test their strength. Both are ratty but they’re strong enough to resist my attempts to rip them. Whether they’re strong enough to hold my weight, I don’t know yet, but I’m not sitting here for another twelve hours alone with my thoughts.

I walk to the window. My room faces a bright, full moon. Its light struggles through the treetops, mottling the surface of the picnic table. The rest of the lot is deserted. I don’t know if that makes me lucky or the rebels careless, but I plan to take advantage of the situation. Problem is, I’m three stories up and two sheets aren’t going to make a long enough rope.

I try again to rip the cotton. I don’t break a single thread. At least it’s stronger than it looks, but I need something sharp, something that will cut.

The bed is the only piece of furniture in the room. Kneeling beside it, I inspect underneath for anything that might snag the fabric. The mattress rests on a network of metal links. It’s too dark to see anything useful, so I pat around until I feel a loose link. I work it around until one end pulls free from the bed frame. Once that’s accomplished, I stab the metal through the center of one sheet, brace both my feet on the bed, lean back, and pull.

“Ha!” I gloat to the empty room when the sheet rips perfectly down the middle. I repeat the process with the other sheet, ending up with four halves. Tying each of these together, I take my makeshift rope to the window and peek out. Still no patrol.

I test each knot. When they all hold, I clamp down on a sudden surge of anxiety. I have to do this. I won’t wait around for Kyol to save me.

Kyol’s alive.

I close my eyes, silently say a quick prayer of thanks. Our relationship—if you can call it that—has been awkward these past few months. It’s my fault. I’m trying to be a normal human. I’ve concentrated on my studies. I’ve looked for a real job. I’ve even let Paige set me up on a number of blind dates. The guys have all been nice, and I’ve tried to like them—really, I have—but, so far, I haven’t been interested in a second date.

Frustrated, I shove open the window. Christ, it’s loud. It screeches like it hasn’t been opened in decades. I hold my breath and listen. No footsteps sound from the hallway; no voices shout from outside. I breathe again, but count to a hundred just in case. After one last scan of the inn’s yard, I tie one end of the rope around the radiator bolted beneath the window and then toss the other end outside. Even with the knots, it reaches almost to the ground.