The Sharpest Blade

We’re only a few steps down the corridor when my spine tingles. I feel someone following us, someone besides Lorn. Tightening my grip on my sword, I turn.

Ah, hell.

“No, Sosch,” I say, kneeling down as the kimki scurries into my arms. “No. You can’t follow us.”

“Scratching behind his ears isn’t going to get rid of him,” Aren says behind me.

I don’t answer him; I just push Sosch away and tell him, “Go.”

He rolls to his back, belly up.

“Nom Sidhe,” Lorn curses. “Just get rid of the animal.”

Sosch looks at Lorn, and I swear his next chirp-squeak sounds more like a chirp-hiss.

I stand, then, more firmly, I say, “Go.”

When he rolls onto my foot, I give him the gentlest shove with my shoe. His whiskers twitch as if I’ve just attempted a field-goal kick with his head.

“Come on,” Aren says, taking my arm, pulling me down the corridor. When Sosch follows us again, Aren turns and, in Fae, growls out, “No! Go find a fissure!”

The damn kimki listens to him, of course. He curls into a ball and blows air out of his mouth, wiggling his whiskers in discontent.

We don’t stumble across any more of the elari, but when we step out of the corridor and into the Mirrored Hall, evidence of their presence paints the floor and furniture. Blood streaks across the long wood table like spilled wine, and more than half the chairs are overturned. My foot hits a sword that’s lying in a pool of crimson, and the smell . . . It’s acrid and metallic.

I breathe through my mouth and try not to gag. I try to ignore the scene entirely. I can’t let the violence touch me.

“How do we know if she’s alive?” I ask quietly. The wide, double doors to this room aren’t completely shut. My gaze swings between them and the almost hidden servants’ corridor we exited. It unnerves me that no one is here. Where are the elari? Where is the false-blood?

Where the hell is Lena?

Aren doesn’t answer my question. He walks slowly alongside the table, taking care not to step in the blood. Finally, he says, “The false-blood shouldn’t be capable of this. We have guards on the Sidhe Tol—all four of them.”

“He wouldn’t have to use a Sidhe Tol.”

I glance over my shoulder as Lorn makes his way toward us, using a chair for balance. Even with its aid, he looks like a sailor who hasn’t gained his sea legs yet.

Or, he looks like a man who was knocked out with a tranq gun.

“Do you know something we don’t?” I ask. It’s actually a stupid question. Of course Lorn knows something we don’t. That’s his joy in life. Hell, he probably knows the location of all the Sidhe Tol, the extremely rare, special gates that allow fae to fissure to places protected by silver.

“A slaughter like this would be easy to accomplish if your enemies trust the fae they’re fighting with.”

Aren’s jaw clenches. Lorn notices it, and says, “I decouraged Lena’s recruitment drive.”

Discouraged. I don’t know if the tranq is causing him to trip up on his words or if it was just a mistake, but I get what he’s saying.

“We screened the new recruits.”

“You didn’t screen them well,” Lorn says. “You’ve added several of my fae to your lists.”

Aren gives Lorn a tight smile. “We know.”

“Do you?” Lorn asks. “Or do you know only the fae that I want you to?”

I roll my eyes. “This isn’t accomplishing anything. We need to know if Lena’s alive.”

“You moved too quickly taking over the palace,” Lorn says. His words sound like an accusation, like he’s blaming Aren for this invasion.

“The opportunity was there,” Aren fires back. “We had no choice but to take it.”

“That’s exactly what the false-blood wanted. You weakened the king, the king’s remnants weakened you. Makes it simple for the Taelith and his elari to take over now.”

“It would have been helpful if you’d given us that information months ago.” He turns his back on Lorn, nods to me, then makes his way toward the double doors.

To the double doors that are silently swinging open.

Terror moves through me as a fae comes into view. It’s him, the false-blood. I know it the instant I see him. There’s something different about him. His face is slender, with hollow cheekbones and a high hairline. His hair is black and . . . and something about him is familiar. His eyes? They’re bright, with more color than a normal fae’s, and they’re ringed in a dark band of silver. They’re wicked and calculating, and they’re locked on me.

TWENTY-FIVE

GOOSE BUMPS PRICKLE across my arms. Lorn said the false-blood was interested in finding me. He wanted to use me as an example. The way the false-blood tilts his head to the side and gives me a cruel, teeth-filled smile, tells me that’s still true.

He takes an easy, almost lazy step inside the Mirrored Hall.

“Nom Sidhe,” Aren whispers. Then, “Lorn. Get McKenzie out of here.”

Lorn’s hands are clenched on the back of a chair—he needs my help more than I need his—but I’ve already taken a step back. When I realize I’m retreating, I make myself stand my ground. It takes a conscious effort to do so, but I’m not leaving Aren to fight on his own. He might be able to take on the false-blood by himself, but it would be stupid to leave when I can tilt the odds in his favor.

I tighten my grip on the hilt of my sword and stride forward.

“McKenzie,” Lorn calls after me. I intend to ignore him—I won’t let him talk me into abandoning Aren—but then he adds, “You might consider turning around.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I spin in time to see an elari emerge from the servants’ corridor.

Lorn lets go of the chair and takes a wobbly step toward the fae. His sword is held ready, but it’s blatantly obvious he’s in no condition to fight.

The fae’s gaze moves from Lorn to me, then back, as if he’s considering which of us is the bigger threat: the noble who can barely stand or the human who can barely hold a sword.

At least, it appears that I can barely hold it. I take a step forward, volunteering as a target, and when I swing my blade, I hope the fae sees how awkward the movement is.

He does. He focuses on me, looking extremely unimpressed with my skills. Good.

I deliberately do everything wrong when I swing for his head: I stare at where I’m aiming and I prep the attack by hunching my shoulders.

He deflects my blade with ease as Lorn sweeps forward, attacking from the left. The elari blocks that, too, then he follows up with a powerful slash at Lorn’s midsection.

Lorn’s blade catches the blow, but the weapon flies from his hand. That’s all the diversion I need. The elari’s momentum carries his blade just a fraction too far to the left, allowing me to plunge my sword into the small area under his arm that’s not protected by jaedric.

It isn’t the easiest place to embed a blade, but I put all my weight behind the move and plunge deep enough to nick his heart. His body disappears an instant later, and my gaze locks on his soul-shadow, a white mist that twists as it rises.

“McKenzie!” Lorn shouts out a warning just as something dark parts the mist.