The Sharpest Blade

“Something’s wrong, Trev,” I say, and when he looks up at me now, something clicks. I see it in his eyes, the suspicion.

“How do you know?” he asks.

When I don’t answer, he lets out a short, dry laugh. “The fae who were at the veligh when the remnants attacked said you’d died. I thought they were exaggerating your injuries and that the rumors of your resurrection were Aren’s doing. I never thought . . .” He shakes his head. “You’re sure something’s wrong?”

I didn’t die—the life-bond kept me alive—but all I do is nod.

Trev lets out a tired sigh, then rises. “Let’s go.”

TWENTY-TWO

WE’VE FISSURED INTO one of the safe houses Lena’s set up just outside the silver wall. Trev opens the front door and leads the way out.

It’s early morning in Corrist. The first rays of sunlight are just beginning to smear the lower portion of the sky. The street is uncharacteristically crowded for the early hour, though, and no one looks like they just woke up. They look like they’ve been up all night.

A shout rings out from down the street. The fae it came from has a sword in his hand. He raises it into the air and yells, “Cadig!” the same huzzah the fae were chanting after Lena burned the ledgers.

“Are they still celebrating?” I ask Trev.

“I’m not sure,” Trev says hesitantly. His hand is on the hilt of his sword. The chanting fae down the street isn’t the only one who has his blade out now. Others have joined him, yelling as they thrust their weapons toward the sky. “We need to get inside the wall.”

I nod, already walking toward the wall of silver towering over the stretch of homes and shops in front of us. A narrow alley leads between an anchor-stone store and a cafe. We follow a trio of fae down the pathway and pass more than a few other people heading back our way. One of the latter locks his gaze on me. My chaos lusters are bright in the still-dark morning, especially with us eclipsed in the shadows of the alley. I return the fae’s stare, keep my shoulders straight and confident until the fae’s gaze falters.

We emerge from the alley not far from the western entrance to the Inner City. Trev stays close by my side, so close, the lightning on my skin flashes erratically across my left elbow, threatening to leap into him at the slightest brush. But he’s not going to step away anytime soon. He might not be my biggest fan, but he’ll protect me with his life, and that’s something he might very well have to do. Something isn’t right in Corrist.

It’s not unusual for the gates to the Inner City to be closed overnight, but it is unusual for so many people to be gathering in front of them this early in the morning. They should be opening soon, but I’m not even sure the fae want to go inside. The air buzzes with their shouts and chants and the low, constant murmur of a thousand conversations.

My brow furrows as Trev and I make our way through the crowd. It’s too loud and discordant for me to decipher what they’re saying. I ask Trev again if he knows what’s going on. He shakes his head, presses me forward. Most of the fae who see the lightning flashing across my face and arms back away, but a few of them don’t. They deliberately brush against me, agitating my edarratae and heating my skin. I grit my teeth and keep moving, trying to look as pissed and determined as possible to keep them from messing with me. And trying to figure out just what the hell everyone’s doing out so early in the morning.

Before we reach the wall, a small, discreet door opens. The portcullis behind it is already lifted, and four armed fae step out. Trev and I reach the guards—who most likely spotted us the second we stepped out of the alley—and enter the Inner City without much trouble.

The guards follow us in, closing the door behind them, then lowering the portcullis.

Trev turns to the nearest fae. “What are they celebrating?”

“The kingkiller has stepped forward.”

Every ounce of blood drains from my face. My mouth goes dry, my chest tightens, and I’m cold. Colder than I was in the In-Between.

“No,” I say. I mentally focus on Kyol, trying to break my way through his mental wall. He pushes back, and I can’t read him. I can’t rant or scream or rage at him.

Not from this distance.

I don’t remember the run through the Inner City. I only vaguely recall Trev shouting my name. My heart thunders against my chest, and the only thing I can focus on is stopping Kyol. I can’t let him do this. King Atroth was his friend. Kyol killed him to save me. He wouldn’t have done it otherwise.

The plaza outside the palace’s main gate is just as packed as the area ringing the silver wall. When I reach the edge of the crowd, I falter for the first time. Yesterday, they were celebrating the burning of the ledgers. Today, they’re celebrating the pending execution of one of the most respected fae in the Realm. The fae are a fickle, violent people. I’ve always known that, but I’ve never before loathed them so much for it.

The crowd parts in front of me. Not out of fear of a lightning-covered human but because I’ve picked up an escort along the way. Trev and half a dozen swordsmen make a path for me. I take it, striding through the mass of fae and reaching an open door just as the sun peaks above the eastern city.

No one says a word once I’m inside. I keep silent as well. I don’t need them to tell me where Kyol is. He might be eclipsing his emotions, but he can’t hide his location. He’s in the northern wing of the palace. In Lena’s apartments, most likely.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m stopped before I enter the queen’s antechamber. I don’t recognize the fae standing between me and the open double doorway, but my guess is they’re fae who are loyal to Hison. The high noble is inside. He’s speaking to Lena. Her back is to me, so I can’t read her expression. She’s rigid, though, and I’m hoping she’s angry and resolute, that she’s refusing to allow Hison to arrest and execute Kyol, who’s somewhere in the room.

I try to push my way past the fae in front of me. One of them, a tall, thick-chested man with a green-and-white name-cord braided into his hair, shoves me back.

I slam into Trev, who steadies me before he takes an aggressive step toward the other fae. All the fae guarding the door must be on edge. They overreact, drawing their weapons and moving to intercept each one of my escorts.

“Kyol!” I yell, but I already feel him moving toward me, shoving aside Hison’s men.

“Don’t do this,” I tell him as he pulls me into his arms.

“Quiet!” he orders.

I dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his forearms. Hison’s ordering his men to arrest Kyol; Lena’s ordering them to stand down. I won’t let them take him away. I have to get through to Kyol, use everything in my arsenal to make him deny his involvement in the king’s death.

“The life-bond—”

“Quiet!” Kyol says again, shaking me. We’re touching. All my emotions jumble with his. I can’t sort them out.

“Please, Kyol.”

“Lord Hison, control your fae,” Lena says. “You’ve taken my sword-master. You cannot have my lord general as well.”

Hison issues an order to his people. They step back.

Kyol’s jaw clenches. His silver eyes are dark and pain-laced as they stare into mine. “I’ll fix this, McKenzie,” he says. “I’ll find a way to fix it.”