“What do you mean?” I ask when she doesn’t go on and he doesn’t add anything. A human can’t just give a throne to someone.
“He slept with fae. Many and often until he had sex with the wrong woman, Casye, the daughter of the former high noble of Ristin Province.”
Ristin is one of the four provinces Lena reinstated. Tholm is on its western border. A small line marks the division between it and Corrand Province, just above the Imyth Sea, on the old maps of the Realm.
“Her father slaughtered all the tor’um in Ristin because of that,” Nick says from the threshold of the sunroom. “Because of me. Killing and banning humans from his province didn’t satisfy him.”
He takes a sip of the drink he’s poured himself, and it’s like he’s downing a shot of regret.
Kynlee. Nick must have saved her from the slaughter. But who is she? She can’t be the result of his affair with Casye—or any other fae for that matter. Fae and human can’t reproduce. Plus, fae aren’t born tor’um because of something the parents did or didn’t do. It’s a completely random occurrence.
“Atroth stopped it,” Kyol says.
Nick looks at him. “What?”
“Atroth stopped the cleansing. A few tor’um were killed, but not all of them. Not most of them. Atroth had Lord Kelyon arrested and executed for what he did.”
“And he dissolved Ristin Province instead of allowing another fae to rise to the position of high noble,” Lena adds bitterly. “That laid the groundwork for him to dissolve the other provinces. Without that precedent, he wouldn’t have been able to remap the Realm and strengthen his position as king.”
The others included Adaris, her home province.
No wonder Nick hasn’t been back to the Realm. Anyone in those dissolved provinces along with anyone else who opposed Atroth would blame him for what happened, and in a world as violent as the Realm, they’d kill him.
“Kynlee’s from Ristin Province then?” I ask.
Nick’s jaw tightens. He takes another sip of his drink and doesn’t answer.
Lena shifts her weight. A bead of sweat breaks out on her brow, but for the first time in half an hour, Lorn opens his eyes.
“Lena,” he murmurs. “Lena, you came.” He’s regressed to Fae again.
“Quiet, Lorn,” she says. Surprisingly, her tone is gentle, not impatient or scolding. Lorn’s so out of it, he just murmurs nonsense before he turns his head to the side and goes silent.
I sit beside Kyol on the wicker sofa. Nick leans in the doorway, finishing his drink. Five minutes pass. Ten. Lena’s still healing Lorn.
Kyol stands.
“I’ll return soon,” he says. Then he walks outside to fissure out. I’m staring at his shadows, itching to draw them, when I see Nick’s hand twitch in my peripheral vision. He’s staring at the shadows, too, and I’d bet a million dollars he’s not just a Sighted human. He’s a shadow-reader, too.
I hug my legs to my chest, then rest my chin on my knee.
“Do you know what happened to him?” Kynlee asks, breaking the silence. I’m not sure when she returned. She was supposed to be in bed.
“I imagine he miscalculated,” Lena answers, finally removing her hands from Lorn. She’s sweating profusely now, and her edarratae are agitated. It’s not easy healing someone on the brink of death.
“Kynlee,” Nick says. “It’s almost six. Get ready for school.”
“School? But—”
“Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument. Grumbling, she does as he asks.
When she’s gone, Lena says, “Taltrayn mentioned the false-blood had something to do with this.”
“I don’t know details,” I answer, “but Lorn said the false-blood interrogated him. He ended up giving him my location.”
“That’s all he gave?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “We didn’t exactly have time for a lengthy chat. Nimael and two other elari showed up as I was driving out of the parking lot. If Lorn had gotten there a minute later”—or if he hadn’t shown up at all—“I’d be dead.”
I look at Lorn. Why did he warn me? Since it’s looking more and more like I falsely accused him, I owe him, not the other way around.
Lena wipes the back of her hand across her brow. “I’ll talk to him in the morning. He needs to rest for now.” She looks at Nick. “Do you want him to remain on your floor?”
Nick clenches his teeth. The one-hour limit he gave me when he let us in has passed. He has every right to kick us out. Hell, he had every right not to let us in in the first place.
“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall,” he finally says. “He can stay until he wakes up.” A pause. “Are you all staying?”
“Just McKenzie,” Lena says.
Nick is silent for a moment. Then he says, “We have a media room upstairs. You can sleep on the couch.”
SEVENTEEN
AFTER MY SECOND shower of the night, I pull on a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt Kynlee loaned me, then find the stairs. They lead directly into the media room, the only room on the small second floor. With the electricity still off, it’s nearly pitch-black up here. The walls are painted a dark blue and are bare save for a large screen at the front of the room and a window with heavy drapes on the opposite wall. I pull those aside to let in some of the early-morning light.
Yawning, I turn around. Several large speakers and what I’m guessing is a subwoofer are set up in the corners of the room. A single leather couch is near the back wall. I head for it before I notice the closed laptop sitting on top of a side table. A thick cord leads into the wall. I’m guessing it connects to the projector in the ceiling. I’m about to ignore it and crash on the couch, but a flickering blue light catches my attention. The laptop’s battery is powering it. On a whim, I open the computer.
It’s not password protected. The home screen blinks on, and within a couple of clicks, I’m able to connect to the Internet. That surprises me considering Nick hasn’t turned the breakers back on, but I take advantage of the convenience and access my e-mail. Nothing from Paige. Nothing from Lee or Shane. There is, however, a notice from my employer saying that I’m being terminated. Despite the fact that I knew this was coming—my actions made it inevitable—it hurts a little. I’m a failure. I can’t even keep a simple, minimum-wage job. I’m going to lose my apartment, my car, and my chance at . . .
No. Shut up, McKenzie. You chose a different life.
I click out of my e-mail, annoyed at myself. I should collapse on the couch now, get what little sleep I can, but there’s something else I want to do. I’ve wanted to do it since I left Tholm.
I open a new web browser, then Google “Sight serum.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve entered this search phrase. I’ve done it at least four times before and have always received pure junk in return. I get the same list of makeup miracles and other random, unrelated hits, but this time, there’s one important difference: the top hit is a link to a Web site with a sales page.
Crap.
It’s a simple Web site, not much more than an information and contact page, but it claims that a single injection of their serum will give people the ability to see fae.
“This can’t be legal,” I mutter. People can’t be falling for this. The price tag is outrageous—$12,500 plus a required, in-person interview—and why would any sane person believe that the serum would work? Why would any sane person believe that fae exist? I denied it for a long time, believing I was seeing things that weren’t really there. Surely, the vigilantes haven’t actually sold anything.