The Shattered Dark

“They’ll fissure her to the palace,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. He can’t; he just knows me well enough to know how I think. “We need to leave before the remnants return.”

This time, I finish my nod. I slip the dagger I found in the house into the scabbard at my back. Fortunately, it fits, and less than two minutes after exiting the house, we’re on our way, heading east. I’ve memorized a map of the Realm, so I’m fairly certain we should reach the outskirts of a forest in an hour or two. After hiking through it, the river curves its way to the north. A gate is on the western bank. It’s one of the gates that was lost during the Duin Bregga, an ancient war that resulted in the loss of a good portion of fae history, and the locations of an unknown numbers of gates. This gate isn’t labeled on any public maps, but I don’t think fissuring from there is going to be as safe as it used to be. It’s likely that at least one of the remnants was high-ranked enough to know the locations of all the Missing Gates Atroth knew about. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to set up an ambush there.

I glance at Kyol. He doesn’t seem to be worried about an attack. He never once looks over his shoulder to check for pursuers, and only three of his fae are traveling with us. Even if he thinks we’re safe, I’m surprised he hasn’t brought along more guards. My jeans and T-shirt mark me as human. I usually change into fae clothing when I’m in the Realm, but I didn’t know I’d be needed to shadow-read so soon.

Despite how tired I am, I’m able to keep up with Kyol. We’ve worked together long enough for him to know the quickest pace he can set. Any faster, and I’d wear out too quickly. It helps that I’m anxious to get away from the city. I was lucky twice today. The remnants could have killed me at my apartment complex, or they could have killed me just now in Spier. They had the chance, but Jielan chose to swing his fist, not his sword, at me, and that last remnant was definitely trying to capture me, not end my life.

“Why do the remnants want me alive?” I ask Kyol. There’s the briefest break in his stride, like his thoughts were wandering and he’s just now remembering I’m here.

“They can use you against us,” he finally responds.

“They already have humans helping them, and even if they didn’t, they should know I won’t shadow-read or uncover illusions for them.” At least, they should know it if Kyol is right about their leader being one of Atroth’s high-ranked officers. Those officers know I willingly betrayed their king.

“That’s not why they want you,” Kyol says. “They know what you mean to Jorreb. They know what you mean to me.”

This is the first time since I broke things off with him that he’s mentioned how he feels about me, and the admission makes my chest hurt. He doesn’t look like he regrets his words, though. His expression is serious, but not pained, and I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t even know if I should.

Before the awkward silence stretches too long, a fissure opens a few yards ahead of us. One of the fae Kyol sent after the tor’um steps out of the light. I listen to his report and hope I’m misunderstanding him.

“Keep searching,” Kyol orders. The fae nods, then steps back into the In-Between, returning to the house, I assume. We’re still within line of sight of it.

I look at Kyol. “The tor’um disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“But tor’um can’t fissure.”

“Most of them can’t,” Kyol confirms. “A few of them can. The ones who manage it aren’t able to fissure far or often. The small amount of magic they possess takes months to regenerate. Most likely, the tor’um ran or hid.”

I stare at the grass beneath my feet, feeling the small glimmer of hope that we’d get Paige back soon disappear.

“I know what Paige means to you,” Kyol says after a moment. “We’ll find her.”

“You recognized her, didn’t you? The tor’um?” I focus on the swath of dark green that marks the edge of the forest some few hundred feet in the distance, but when Kyol doesn’t respond, I slant a glance his way. Kyol is twice my age but still young for a fae. His dark hair doesn’t have a streak of gray, and his broad shoulders, his back and torso are more toned and muscled than most humans’ in the prime of their lives, but tiny lines appear at the corners of his eyes. I look at the gash above his elbow again, wondering how bad it is.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I recognized her.”

The wound is barely bleeding. I don’t think it’s hurting him, so it has to be the tor’um that’s weighing on his mind.

“Who is she?”

Another long pause. I think he’s not going to answer until he draws in a breath, and says, “She almost became Atroth’s sword-master.”

This time, I break stride. “His sword-master?”

Kyol’s a few paces ahead of me now. He looks over his shoulder and slows, waiting for me to catch up.

“She wasn’t tor’um then,” he says, when I’m at his side again.

I almost ask what happened to her, but I don’t think I want to know. It’s possible for fae to burn out their magic, but it’s extremely rare. They know their limits and the consequence for pushing too far, so I’m almost certain that’s not what happened to her. No, chances are, overexposure to human technology killed her magic.

I don’t realize I’m clenching my teeth until I feel Kyol looking at me. I try to force my jaw to relax, to act like nothing is bothering me, but he sees right through my façade.

“It was years ago,” Kyol assures me.

The muscles in my shoulders relax, and my next breath comes a little easier. We started hunting Aren just under a year ago. It’s unlikely he was the one who turned the woman tor’um. I know that shouldn’t matter—Aren stripped others of their magic—but Kyol knew the fae. They were colleagues—they might even have been friends—so I’m glad Aren isn’t the one who made her insane.

Of course, that leaves the question of who did make her tor’um, but it’s obvious the memories bother Kyol, so I let the subject drop. We spend the next few minutes in silence; then, just when we reach the outer edge of the forest, Kyol catches my arm, making me stop and turn toward him. His touch excites my edarratae, making the lightning come quicker and intensifying their heat, but I don’t pull away. His brow is ever so slightly creased. No one else would notice it, but I’ve learned that’s a sign that he’s worried about something.

“McKenzie,” he says. “You’ve escaped the remnants twice now. They won’t let that happen again. The next time they find you, they’ll kill you. You have to be careful. More careful than we were today.” He pauses and glances at the three fae who’ve stopped a respectable distance behind us. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower than before. “Someone in the palace told the remnants that I was bringing you here. You specifically, not another shadow-reader. Vinn isn’t the only traitor.”

Vinn must be the fae from the roof, the one wearing the black necklace. Even after ten years, it’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that anyone would want me dead. I mean, I do get it. My shadow-readings keep fae from being able to fissure to safety, and that makes me at least indirectly responsible for the deaths and captures of hundreds of fae over the years, but I still feel like a relatively normal person, and normal people don’t have enemies who want to slit their throats.