The Shattered Dark

Aren rests a hand on my shoulder. “We should wait until things calm down to use the gate.”

“Wait where?” I ask, backing away from the chaos.

He takes my hand, turns me back down the alley. “Hison should have a place…”

Two fae are walking toward us. They’re wearing jaedric over thick woolen shirts and pants. Their gloves and heavy animal-skin boot coverings look warm but tattered. Well before they reach us, I move aside. Aren doesn’t. His posture relaxes, and he stands his ground. That’s when I notice the two newcomers don’t exactly seem surprised to see us.

“We heard you were here with an asset,” the fae on the left says. Interwoven feathers are braided through his hair, almost as if they’re taking the place of a name-cord.

“Did you?” Aren replies lazily. He slips an arm inside the folds of my cloak, and I feel him slide the dagger out of my waistband.

“You know them,” I say.

It’s not quite a question, but he responds with, “You know that past you’re holding against me?”

Great. This can’t go well. I throw him a glare but take the hint and wrap my hand around the hilt of the dagger, making sure I keep it hidden beneath my cloak.

“Also heard you’re with the daughter of Zarrak,” the second fae says. “You know how to get inside the palace. Useful information, that is. Valuable.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard many things, Vent,” Aren says. He squeezes my arm gently beneath the cloak. Telling me to be ready?

Feather-braid takes a step forward. “We control the gate, now.”

Aren throws an exaggerated look of surprise over his shoulder where the marketplace is. “I can tell.”

Feather-braid scowls. “You can either pay for the human or turn her over to—”

Aren appears beside the fae. I’m just as startled as they are because I didn’t sense or see the slash of light until he was already gone. But there he is, swinging his sword through the shadows from his exit fissure and cleaving into Feather-braid’s shoulder. Feather-braid is nothing but a soul-shadow a second later.

Vent reacts quickly, fissuring out of Aren’s way. Aren pivots, his sword arcing around, and kills the fae as he exits his slash of light. His soul-shadow joins his companion’s.

An instant later, Aren’s at my side, taking my arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Good friends of yours?” I ask. The fight started and ended so quickly. A spike of adrenaline is just now pumping through my veins.

“The best,” he answers, leading me back the way we came. “We have to get to the gate.”

I slant a wide-eyed glance his way. “The gate? Now?”

“Yes,” he says. “Unless you have another idea.”

“I can probably come up with something that doesn’t include a horde of pissed-off fae.” Seriously, he’s crazy to think that we can make it to the gate, the same gate everyone else is trying to fissure through, with the crowd standing in our way.

“You can’t stay in Rhigh,” he says. He’s walking so quickly I have to run to keep pace. “If Vent and Tyfin know you’re here, then the others do as well. They’ll be looking for you.”

“Who were they?”

“A local…gang?” He looks at me to confirm he used the correct word. “Thrain paid them to do minor jobs. They’re idiots, but they can be dangerous.”

We reach the end of the alley again and stop. Aren curses under his breath. I don’t have to ask why. The marketplace is crammed with twice as many fae as before.

“And exactly how are you planning to get to the gate?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His face is pinched, and I can practically see the thoughts churning in his head. His brow lowers. Then, he must lock on an idea because the tension running through him evaporates. He looks at me, and he grins.

TWELVE

“WE’RE GOING TO use what?” I ask. I had to have heard him wrong.

“We’re using your reputation,” he says. “Take off your cloak.”

“It’s minus a million degrees out here. I’m not taking it off.”

“They need to see the edarratae.” He pulls the cloak off my shoulders. I’m just able to catch the hood before the whole thing falls into the mud.

“Can’t you fissure to Corrist for help?”

“I wouldn’t be able to bring back more than three or four fae, and it would leave a section of the wall more vulnerable to attack. This plan is better.” He tugs on the cloak.

“That’s the only thing keeping me from freezing to death,” I snap, refusing to let go.

“This won’t take long, I promise.”

“This is crazy.”

He laughs. “I know, but it will work. The fae in Rhigh are superstitious. They’ll see you and make room.”

“Like Vent and his friend made room?”

His smile finally fades. He looks directly into my eyes, then says, “Trust me, McKenzie.”

He has a lot of nerve asking me to trust him after not being forthcoming about his connection to Thrain. I should be stubborn about this, tell him to come up with another solution because this is the most ridiculous idea ever, but Aren has a reputation for crazy plans that work. Plus, I really don’t like being back in Rhigh. I want out of here.

I let go of the cloak. “This doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you.”

The grin returns to his face. “You will, nalkin-shom.”

He moves aside so I can see the crowded marketplace. “Count to thirty, then walk directly toward the gate.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he says, and before I can question his sanity again, he’s gone.

I swear to God if this plan of his gets me killed, I’m haunting him for the rest of his life. I hug myself, trying to trap in what little warmth I have left, and count.

It’s hard as hell to force myself to step out of the alley once I reach thirty. There’s still a mass of fae around the gate, and nearly every window in the marketplace has been broken. The fae are preoccupied looting and yelling and fighting each other, but it doesn’t take long for them to notice me. I tighten my grip on my dagger and keep my eyes focused on the gate as I stride through the melted snow.

I usually don’t notice the edarratae unless I’m touching a fae, but I’m aware of each strike of lightning across my skin. So is everyone else. This never happens. A human doesn’t just walk through the Realm unescorted. It’s strange and unusual, and it’s obvious the nearest fae don’t know what to make of me. They back away. I hear nalkin-shom whispered more than once. I don’t know if that’s a guess—maybe they’d think any human female is the shadow-witch—or if Aren’s described me in those rumors he’s spread.

When I near the thickest portion of the mob, I think my luck has run out. These fae aren’t moving. They’re not even looking at me. They’re too involved in cursing out the people around them or stealing the food and clothing and everything else the merchants were transporting.

Just when I think I’m going to have to stop or turn back, something happens. The shouts lessen, and more than one fae’s gaze goes toward the night sky. I look up, too, but I don’t see anything except faint stars.