But she wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t tried so hard to hang on to my human life. She wouldn’t be dying.
“Hey,” I say.
Soft moonlight spills inside when she opens the door wider. “Here. It’s for your head.”
She’s holding something wrapped in a cloth. Ice, I realize when I take it from her. It’s heavy and cold.
“The remnants don’t have a healer?” I ask.
“Not one who will touch you,” she says, a touch of annoyance in her voice. She looks completely at ease, though. She’s comfortable with the remnants. She’s comfortable with fae. I don’t know how she’s adjusted so well in a week. I’m not sure I was ever this relaxed around Kyol and the Court fae.
I put the ice to my temple. The pressure hurts, but it numbs the pain some, and the panic I felt a few minutes ago eases as well. Paige is here. A gate can’t be that far away.
“How did I get here?” I ask.
“Tylan,” she says and doesn’t elaborate. “I’m sorry about your head.”
I’m sorry you’re dying.
She doesn’t know. She wouldn’t be this calm if she did.
Those knots in my stomach tighten further.
“Paige—”
“I know you’re mad,” she says. “But Tylan was right there at the palace, McKenzie. I didn’t have time to think. He wouldn’t leave without me, and the rebels would have killed him if they’d caught him again.”
“You’ve only known him a week,” I say, almost grateful she interrupted me. It’s easier to talk about this than the serum. “He told you I was being held captive. All the remnants know that’s not true.”
“I know, and I’ve had words with him about that, but, McKenzie, the Court fae didn’t kill the humans in London. We showed up there after the rebels.”
She saw the humans. I wasn’t sure she knew anything about them. Neither she nor Lee has mentioned them before now.
“The rebels didn’t kill them,” I tell Paige, pronouncing each word so that she knows there’s no doubt of it. “We received a tip saying you were there.”
I expect at least a glimmer of surprise in her eyes; there is none.
“We received the same tip about you,” she says, her tone and cadence matching mine. “I went to London to find you. The remnants didn’t want to take me. They thought it was a trap, and when the rebels attacked us, they tried to force me to leave. They’ve been protecting me.”
I remember the fae who wrestled Paige off the stage. She was trying to get away from the remnant but not for the reason I thought. She wasn’t scared of him; she just wanted to find me.
Suspicions and theories turn over in my mind. The deaths of the Sighted humans bother me and not just for the obvious reason. The remnants convinced Paige to support them. Surely they could have convinced the others. What motive would they have for killing them? Am I being blind, not considering the possibility that it was someone else? It’s been easy to blame everything on the remnants. They’re the ones who have attacked Corrist, they dragged Paige into the Realm, and they want to punish the rebels for deposing Atroth, their king who had become increasingly violent and extreme.
But what if someone else is puppeteering this war?
That possibility seems like so much wishful thinking. I don’t want Paige and me to be on opposite sides of this war, and I want to justify her choice, find a way that we can negotiate a peace. But that’s the thing. Lena has tried to contact the remnants. Their leadership has an open invitation to meet with her—she’s guaranteed their safety—but they’ve never responded.
They’d rather kill us than talk to us.
Something squeaks to my left again, but it’s the door behind Paige that moves, swinging open all the way. Tylan steps inside. Another fae is with him. A brother, perhaps? They look enough alike. Both have the same shade of brown hair, the same deep-set eyes, the same sharp-angled nose. The other fae is shorter, though. Stockier. And he’s also somewhat familiar. He’s definitely a former Court fae. Kyol thinks one of Atroth’s higher-ranked officers is organizing the remnants. Maybe this guy is him. He has that quiet confidence that comes from years of training and experience.
He stares down at me. Even though I hate craning my neck to look up at him, I don’t bother to stand. I don’t think the short cord between my shackles and the wooden beam will allow it anyway.
Eventually, he crouches down so that he’s eye level with me. “I should slit her throat and send her back to them.”
And I’m supposed to believe these fae aren’t the bloodthirsty killers they’ve proven to be? Right.
I want to translate what he said for Paige, but I don’t know if she’d believe me, and I don’t want them to know I’ve learned their language, so I stay quiet and give no indication that I understood his words.
“English, Caelar,” Tylan says beside him.
Caelar’s lip twitches at the request. He doesn’t repeat what he said, though. He just crouches there, glaring. I think he’s contemplating the most painful way to kill me, and my stomach churns, remembering the skinned humans in London. With the amount of hatred contained in his silver eyes, I can believe he slaughtered them himself.
Finally, he says, “You and I worked together once before.”
I give no reaction to that. I worked with a lot of Court fae off and on over the years, usually when Kyol needed to put distance between us.
“It was soon after you came to the Realm,” he continues. “You were young and wary. The false-blood Thrain had starved and beaten you, but you wouldn’t let our healers touch you. We thought you were broken, but you agreed to read the shadows for us. You hated Thrain that much. Given that, I don’t understand how you can support the fae who is his prodigy.”
He’s waiting for a reaction, some sign of shock or outrage. I don’t give it to him. I knew where this was going the second he mentioned Thrain, and the news doesn’t blindside me. “Aren isn’t Thrain.”
“He is exactly like Thrain,” Caelar all but snarls.
“We’re looking for a fae,” Tylan says quickly, taking a step forward. His posture is tense, and his gaze is on Caelar, almost as if he expects the other fae to carry out his wish to send me back to the rebels with my throat slashed. “Her name is Brene. She’s—”
“Tor’um,” I finish for him. Caelar’s jaw clenches at the word.
“You know her?” Paige asks.
“She’s in Corrist,” I say, still watching Caelar. His silver eyes are angry and agonized.
Caelar curses, then stands, facing Tylan. “You were supposed to watch her.”
“I’m sorry, I was busy being captured in Eksan,” he says in English. Then, softening his tone, he adds, “If I’d known she was there, I would have made sure she escaped with us. You know that.”
“She was there because you’d been captured. She wanted to help. She’s…” I see the muscles in his neck tighten as he swallows, and I can’t help it. My heart breaks a little for him. Brene means something to him, that much is obvious.
Paige clears her throat, mutters, “English, please,” under her breath. She’s demanding the fae speak our language. Please tell me this isn’t why she trusts them. She’s not a naïve sixteen-year-old. Surely she doesn’t believe they’re translating everything they say for her.