When I don’t immediately do what she says, she arches a perfect eyebrow. “Aren won’t be upset if I hurt you.”
“He was upset when you broke my arm,” I point out, even though I know things have changed between us.
She shrugs a shoulder. “Only because he wanted you to willingly read the shadows for us.”
My stomach knots. I shouldn’t let her bother me. She’s just confirming what I already know: Aren’s been manipulating me, using his edarratae to tease and tempt me to his side of the war.
The silver in her eyes seems to brighten. “Oh, it worked, didn’t it? At least a little?”
I use the cloak as a distraction, unfurling it more aggressively than necessary. I don’t like her seeing a crack in my loyalty to the Court.
“He was certain he had you after the vigilantes’ attack,” she continues. “But when you made those phone calls . . . Well, Aren’s patient, but he can pretend for only so long.”
I find the top of the cloak and swing it on. Forcing myself to keep my composure, I meet Lena’s eyes. “Don’t we have somewhere to be?”
Sethan would have been a much better escort, but at the last moment, Aren told him it wasn’t safe to come. I’m not sure if Lena is here because they need an extra sword or if she’s needed for some other reason. It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t see a way out of this mess.
Lena has no trouble returning my gaze. She crosses her arms, taps a finger idly on her elbow, then says, “Rumor has it you’re in love with the sword-master.”
If I look away, it will be an admission of guilt. Somehow, I manage to return her stare, though I don’t think I’m breathing anymore. I’m cold, as cold as if I’m passing through the In-Between. I’m not used to people knowing how I feel about Kyol. I’ve spent the last ten years hiding it from the Court.
“So it’s true.” Lena shakes her head in mock pity. “The Court bought your allegiance with a kiss. Or was it more than that? No, Taltrayn would never lie with you, not unless his king ordered it, and there was no need to when you were purchased so cheaply.”
I blink. I think she just called me a whore. Anger sparks deep in my chest, but before I can do or say something I’ll undoubtedly regret, my skin tingles. I press flat against the wall as a fissure splits the air. A second later, Kelia and Naito emerge from the light. I try to focus on the shadows even though I know I won’t be able to read them without sketching a map, but Naito distracts me. I rarely encounter other humans in the Realm, so it’s odd seeing the white chaos lusters on anyone’s skin except my own.
The storage room’s door opens. Aren slips inside and shuts it quickly. He looks at Kelia. “Is he still here?”
“Yes. Near the herev,” she says. I don’t recognize the last word.
“How far from the gate?”
Kelia’s brow wrinkles as if she’s concentrating. I assume they’re talking about Lorn. I also have to assume she can sense where he is. That’s odd. And disturbing.
I watch an edarratae skitter across Naito’s clenched jaw. His movements are jerky, angry, as he pulls the flaps of his cloak around him. Well, huh. My suspicion must be correct. Unless Kelia possesses some type of magical ability I’ve never heard of, the only way she could sense another fae’s location is if she has a life-bond with him.
“Near enough,” Kelia says.
“Good,” Aren says in English. “That will make things simpler. You and Naito will lead the way. McKenzie and I will follow. Lena, you’ll stay five to ten paces back. Don’t look like you’re with us. If anything goes wrong, fissure out. Understood?”
His gaze travels over them as they each agree. He doesn’t look at me. He hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction since he entered.
He gestures toward the door. “Go.”
Naito dons his hood and follows Kelia out. Lena leaves next. Aren’s going to have to say something now. He’s at least going to have to acknowledge my existence because I’m not walking out of here without more information.
“Who’s Lorn?” I ask.
He stares at the crates stacked against the wall. “Pull on your hood.”
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere you shouldn’t be seen. Your hood, McKenzie.”
“Are you worried the king’s soldiers will recognize me?”
He finally turns. If my back wasn’t already pressed against the wall, I’d retreat from those eyes. They’re angry, miserable, and judging all at once. I don’t breathe as his gaze follows what I assume is a chaos luster across my face. Another one flashes across my hand.
Aren steps toward me. His expression doesn’t soften, but his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something. He takes a second step, then another. He’s within an arm’s length. I can feel the heat of his body, smell cedar and cinnamon.
He jerks my hood over my head. “Keep your skin covered.”
Aren’s seriousness scares the shit out of me. I force myself to breathe again and try to slow my heart rate. “Where exactly are we?”
He grips my arm through the cloak. “We’re in Lyechaban.”
“Lyechaban!” So much for slowing my heart rate; it triples its pace. “Are you crazy?”
He harrumphs. “Indeed.”
“These people will kill me, Aren.”
“I strongly advise against an escape attempt.” He pulls my hood lower, puts an arm around my shoulders, then forces me out the door.
I’ll draw attention if I struggle, so I stay pressed against his side. I wish my edarratae could be hidden by illusion, but that magic doesn’t work on humans so when a stout wind lifts the edges of my cloak and threatens to pull off my hood, I cling to the woollike material, desperate to hold it in place. I’m careful to keep my hands unseen, and to walk casually, to look like I belong in the Realm and this city when I very much do not. There are certain places where humans aren’t welcome in this world. Then there are places like Lyechaban.
I try not to let the memory surface. I try to focus on the shacks lining either side of the road, on Kelia and Naito, who lead the way east, toward the briny scent of the ocean. We’re in a poorer district of the city. You can always tell by the amount of silver on the buildings. These are made of wood and brittle stone and none are painted with a coat of silver.
A fae crosses my path. His booted feet pass within my hooded vision. I lean into Aren. The one and only time I was in this city, a full guard of Kyol’s swordsmen escorted me. Lyechaban is the capital of Derrdyn, one of the provinces that did not vote King Atroth to the throne. It’s always been—not a lawless place, but a place with its own laws. After Kyol rescued me from Thrain, Lord General Radath learned Lyechaban’s magistrate and his council were sheltering the false-blood. Since I was young and new to shadow-reading, I wasn’t the first reader they sent in. I came after two others were . . .
No. I won’t think of that.
Aren’s arm tightens on my shoulders as he guides me around a corner. Beneath my cloak, I can see little of the city. I feel it, though. It always takes time to adjust to being in the Realm. Being in the Realm in Lyechaban takes even longer. Every movement I make feels so human and so wrong here. It’s hard to convince myself I don’t stick out in this cloak, but it’s not like I’m walking down a street in my world. Capes and cloaks are common here, especially with such a cold wind blowing. I blend in. Probably.
We take another right turn. Aren keeps me between him and the buildings lining the road. I try to calm my heart rate and force my feet to continue at Aren’s pace. It’s artificially slow for a fae, but it’s all I can do to keep up, especially when I have to be careful of my steps. The streets of Lyechaban are full of potholes and gaps.