What the hell did I do?
No time to verbalize that question. Aren and Kyol and his men create an opening in the crowd. They’re effective, splitting the masses like a sea, and the farther we get away from the southern doors, the thinner that mass becomes. We don’t escape unnoticed by any means, though. A few fae figure out that only someone who’s important would be hidden beneath a cloak and escorted by a lord general and a sword-master. They trail us, some of them shouting profanities, others begging for help. I scan the faces of the followers, searching for the red-and-black name-cords of the elari or anyone else who looks threatening, but Lena’s guards keep everyone away.
We make it to the eastern entrance relatively easily and, quite surprisingly, unscathed. I think I might have one bruise on my back from an errant elbow, but other than that, there’s just a stitch in my side from running to keep up with Lena and the others’ quick pace.
The guards close the doors behind us, sealing us inside the palace. Inside where it’s safe.
Supposedly safe.
My heart rate doesn’t slow down. With the number of elari I saw in the crowd—at least five of them—I can’t escape the feeling that we made it out of there far too easily.
HALF an hour later, when I’m waiting in the private chamber at the back of the King’s Hall, I’m still uneasy. It looks like I’m the only one, though. Aren’s sitting on the edge of a table against the far wall, grinning and demanding Trev give him details about what Lena said and did, and how the fae on the plaza reacted. He’s positively giddy, high from the energy of the crowd and the scuffles we had to get through to escape it.
Lena’s here, too, but she doesn’t interject any insight. She’s staring at a collage of drawings and writings on the back wall. The drawings are penciled sketches of the high nobles of the Realm’s seventeen provinces, four of which were recently appointed by Lena. They’re split into three groups. I recognize Kelia’s father, Lord Raen, in the smallest group, and I assume he and the other four high nobles there with him are the ones Lena is certain will approve her. The sketches in the second and, by far, the largest group have writing under their names. I can’t read Fae, but my guess is that she’s listed details about the high nobles and possibly ideas for how she might go about persuading them to vote for her.
The last group is a group of one. Lord Ralsech, the high noble who’s declared his support for the false-blood.
I’m not sure if Lena is really looking at the collage, though, or if she’s staring through it to the tunnel on the other side. Her arms are folded across her chest, and her face is hard and smooth. She wants to be visible, on the ramparts of the palace or at least seeing the nobles and merchants and endless number of other fae who want an audience with her, but Kyol insisted we hole up down here. That tunnel, hidden behind a foot-thick slab of rock, is the palace’s only emergency exit. Only a few fae know about it. In fact, aside from Kyol and perhaps Naito, I’m not sure if anyone outside this room knows of its existence.
“Where is he?” Lena demands. I know she’s talking to me even though she doesn’t turn. She’s asked me this question a dozen times now, and finally, I can give her a different answer.
“He’s on his way,” I say.
Not for the first time, Trev gives me an odd look. He knows we’re talking about Kyol. I don’t think he’s figured out we have a life-bond yet, but he will soon if Lena doesn’t watch what she says. I’m not sure she cares if he knows, though. That either shows how much she trusts him—or it shows that she’s not aware of his existence.
When the door to the chamber opens, Lena turns. Kyol descends the narrow staircase that leads up to the King’s Hall. When the blue-white light from the magically lit orbs illuminates his face, his expression is as calm and stoic as ever. But I know how furious he is, and not just because I can feel his rage vibrating across the bond. It’s his eyes. The edges of his irises are so dark, they’re almost black, and they’re a shade of silver that reminds me of a hurricane coming to shore.
My headache—the one that’s been lingering since Kyol learned about Lena’s ledger burning—increases tenfold when he looks at her now.
“What were you thinking?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his words cut through the air, echoing in the small chamber. I have to give Lena props. She doesn’t so much as flinch when his gaze bores into her.
“I was thinking,” she says, emphasizing the last word, “that I needed to gain the people’s support.”
I shift uncomfortably. That’s kind of close to what I told her to do earlier, but I absolutely did not suggest the ledger burning.
“The people’s support will come when the high nobles approve your reign.”
“Which will never happen if I don’t act,” she bites out. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Taltrayn, but they aren’t exactly rallying behind me.”
“They can’t rally behind you if you’re dead.”
“Your concern is touching, but it’s unneeded.”
“Lena,” Kyol grates out. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, and I realize his patience is running thin. That’s impressive considering he’s the most calm and tolerant man I know. “Your actions started a riot.”
She crosses her arms. “My actions started a celebration.”
“They’ve lost their minds out there. People will be hurt. There are fires to put out.”
“And those fires will be put out.”
“It’s not that simple,” he says.
Lena turns to Aren, who’s silently watching the exchange the same as Trev and I are.
“You approve,” she says.
A crooked, haphazard smile leaps to his lips. “You know I do.”
“See,” Lena says to Kyol, and a mix of emotions twists through him: anger, annoyance, and a good dose of protectiveness, too. That last one surprises me. It hasn’t passed through our bond in that quantity except when it was focused on me, and I think some part of him might . . . admire Lena for what she’s done. He doesn’t exactly approve, of course, but she took action. She did something for the people, for the Realm.
“You have to consult us before you do something like this,” Kyol says.
“I consulted McKenzie.”
When Kyol slowly levels his gaze on me, my eyes widen.
I shake my head. “I just helped her carry the ledgers.”
“Ease up, Taltrayn,” Aren says, sliding off the table. “The people are happy, and Lena is safe and unscathed.”
When Kyol looks at Aren, the tension in the chamber doubles. I doubt the two men have spoken more than a dozen words to each other since Kyol formed the life-bond with me. They were enemies for years, and I’m fairly certain any respect they feel for each other now is begrudging at best. Neither man would be upset if the other happened to die and enter the ether.
Something tickles in the back of my mind. The two guards who survived Atroth’s death. How did Lord Hison find out about them?
I shut that line of thought down quickly, ashamed it ever entered my head in the first place. Aren wouldn’t let that information slip out just to off his competition. I’ve told him a million times that he doesn’t have to worry about Kyol.
On the other hand, death is the only way to sever a life-bond.
“Not unscathed,” Kyol says quietly, concern moving through him once again.
“Not unscathed?” Aren repeats, tilting his head to study Lena.
Lena’s gaze remains icy as she stares at Kyol.
“You’re not putting your full weight on your left leg,” he says. “And you haven’t removed your cloak. A knife wound, I presume.”