“I didn’t—”
“Was I not clear that I want you to come along?” Hison asks, peering back down the walkway.
Aren draws in a breath. I start walking before he lets it out, partly because I’m hoping moving will warm me up and partly because I’m just a tad bit hurt. I’ve been worried about him. Has he been too busy to worry about me?
He’s fighting a war, I remind myself. He has more important things on his mind.
“Are you okay?” he asks, falling into step beside me. His gaze dips to my bare arms.
“I’m fine,” I say. I intend my response to be short, but it comes out harsher than I wanted. It’s the weather’s fault. My face is going numb. I am going to get sick if Trev doesn’t return soon. I’m sure he’s staying in this world; he shouldn’t have to wait too long before he fissures back.
“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” Aren says, keeping his voice so low I wonder if Hison understands English. Two fae are with the high noble. Only the woman is a guard, I think. She’s on Hison’s right, trailing slightly behind him. The fae on Hison’s other side wears a name-cord in his hair. He’s carrying a sword, too—all fae carry them—but he doesn’t seem as ready to use it as the woman does.
“I’ve missed you. I’ve been wanting to see you, too, just not like…” He stops, clenches his jaw, then continues. “Not here. Not like this.”
He almost sounds pained. I scan him, searching for injuries. He looks okay, but he looks different. He’s not the same Aren who held me captive. That Aren was cavalier and sly, always ready with one of his infuriating half grins. This Aren is tense. Stressed-out. I want to help him, but I don’t know how.
Not for the first time, I’m struck by just how little I know him. I was his prisoner for two weeks. I’ve been his ally for two and a half.
His ally. Is that all our relationship is? It feels like it sometimes, but I want to be so much more than that.
“This province has been unstable since we took the palace,” Aren says, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “Hison issued a curfew to try to keep things under control.”
A curfew. That explains why the streets are empty.
“It’s not working,” he continues. “The gate isn’t being monitored. Merchants are fighting over who gets to use it first, and while their backs are turned, fae are stealing their goods. They’re breaking into their stores, too. Hison should be able to take care of it, but the gate guards were paid by Atroth. Even if they’re willing to work for Lena, we don’t have the tinril to pay them. The high nobles won’t send the gate taxes to us because they haven’t voted Lena to the throne.”
I frown. I think I do, at least. My face is so numb I can’t tell for sure. “Sethan was against taxing the gates.”
Aren looks at me. “No.” His gaze drops to my bare arms again. He seems agitated. “We wanted fair tolls. Atroth’s were designed to keep him in power. He let merchants from the provinces he dissolved fissure for free so they wouldn’t protest. The gates need to be taxed, but we don’t have enough fae to spare to monitor them and…And I can’t watch you freeze like this.”
His arms are around me before I process his last sentence. I look at Hison. He’s still walking, but he could turn around any second.
“Screw him,” Aren says.
I’m too cold to step away. Instead, I meet Aren’s eyes. “Did you pick that phrase up from Naito?”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “From you, actually.”
The nervous feeling in my stomach disappears. It’s replaced with a warm, tingling sensation.
His smile widens. “I really have missed you, nalkin-shom.”
That smile disappears when he takes my hands in his. “Sidhe, your fingers are ice.”
“Yeah.” I look back the way we came. We’re still in line of sight of where Trev and I fissured in. I’m assuming that’s where he’ll reappear, but there’s still no sign of him. How long does it take to get a freaking cloak?
I turn back to Aren. Past his shoulder, I see Hison staring at us.
“We need to keep walking,” I say.
Aren scowls, but we turn and follow the high noble. Aren doesn’t stop touching me. He runs his hands up and down my arms, then alternates cupping first my right, then my left hand between his. The contact helps. The lightning distracts me—he distracts me—and somehow, I’m as hot as I am cold. My body isn’t numb anymore. I’m all too aware of just how much I want him.
“You didn’t say what we’re doing here.”
Aren’s thumb massages my palm. “Hison captured a fae who’s been encouraging the disorder. He’s outspoken against Lena, the corruption of the palace, the war. We think he’s close to the remnants’ leadership. We’re going to let him escape. We need to know where he goes.”
Hison leaves the street, taking a narrow path between two tall stucco buildings. The shadow-reading should be simple. This is the type of assignment I was given almost all the time when I worked for the Court. It’s safe. The target never even knows I’m there unless something goes wrong.
Like something went wrong back in Spier.
“You trust Hison?” I ask.
“Not at all,” he replies. Then, “Here’s Trev.”
Trev must have either known where we’re going or seen us turn down this path. He jogs toward us, carrying a white cloak. Maybe that’s what took him so long. Most of the fae’s cloaks are dark colors—deep blues and various shades of gray and black. This one will help me blend in with the snow.
Aren takes it from him. He runs his hands over it twice before he opens its folds and places it around my shoulders.
I very nearly moan. It’s like being tucked inside a blanket taken directly from the dryer.
“God, I love you…you’re magic.” Shit. That was a bad stumble. Humans throw those words around so casually, but I don’t know if he knows that, and I’m not ready to tell him I love him, not while we’re fighting a war and not while our relationship is so new and unstable.
He pulls my hood over my head. Keeping a grip on the front edges, he pulls me close.
“Careful, nalkin-shom,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I might think you’re starting to like me.”
I’m grateful he’s making light of my slip. My shoulders are defrosted enough that I manage a shrug. “I might not hate you quite as much as I used to.”
He smiles, then lets go of my hood to run his hands over the cloak again. A new wave of warmth envelops me. Seriously, fae magic is pretty awesome sometimes. I could melt inside this cloak. It’s heavy enough to block the wind and it has huge, wide pockets on the inside that I can slip my arms into.
Aren’s palm glides down my back…and stops just above my waistband. That’s where the dagger he gave me should be. It seems like forever has passed since I left the Vegas suite, but that’s where the dagger is, uselessly parked on my dresser. Unless the maid called the authorities.
“It’s Sosch’s fault,” I mutter.
Aren lifts an eyebrow as if to say, “Really?” There’s an entertained glint in his silver eyes that makes my stomach flip again.
He unhooks a short scabbard from his belt. “Lena’s not going to be happy when she learns you’re depleting the armory.”
He lifts the back of my shirt to slide it—
“Cold!” I squeak as soon as the scabbard touches my skin.
“Oops,” he says, sliding it into my waistband, but he’s grinning. He sobers a second later, though. Softly, he asks, “You’re okay?”
I pull the cloak more tightly around me. “Yeah, this is warm enough. Thanks.”
“No. Are you okay with being here? In Rhigh?”
I’m not sure what he’s asking. He knows Thrain was the false-blood who pulled me into the Realm. Does he know Thrain held me here? I don’t see how he could. This was only one of Thrain’s bases, and I don’t think Atroth or any of his fae went around telling others this is where they stumbled across me.