Authors: Sandy Williams

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Contemporary

The Shadow Reader (35 page)

BOOK: The Shadow Reader

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“You need to start talking,” Radath says. “You can start by explaining what you were doing last night.”

I’m so damn cold it’s a struggle to pull my thoughts together. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them, and search the shadows of my prison. How did I get here? How much does Radath know?

“Where did you get this?” Radath asks. He’s holding something in his hand. A dagger, the one Raen gave me.

“I want to talk to Taltrayn.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I’m shivering too much.

Radath laughs. “Of course you do.”

Something moves in my peripheral vision. A tiny glimmer of hope rises in me. It’s snuffed out an instant later when Micid, not Kyol, steps into the light.

Radath follows my line of sight. “I’ve brought along my
ther’rothi
. He asked to meet you.”

The fae’s gaze oozes over me. I’m already shivering, but a deeper tremble runs through my body.

“Micid is a rare breed,” Radath continues. “Possibly unique. Show her what you do.”

The
ther’rothi
’s lips stretch into a smile one moment before he disappears. I press back against the wall, afraid of what he’ll do, but he reappears a few seconds later in the exact same spot. That’s when confusion sinks in. Radath said Micid wanted to meet me, but we already met. And I already know what he can do. Why the demonstration?

Radath chuckles. “Does it bother you? Not being able to see him? I learned of his magic a few years ago and agreed to keep it secret—only the king and I know what he can do. In exchange, he works for me when I need him.”

Someone’s
not keeping it a secret, but I’m not about to correct the lord general.

Radath leans forward, drops his voice to a whisper. “I also ignore his little trips to
tjandel
.”

Tjandel.
I recognize the word. Micid said he visited there.

“Unfamiliar with the place?” Radath inquires. He wants me to ask about it. I won’t.

“It’s a . . . What do your people call it? A whorehouse. Yes. It’s a whorehouse in an unsavory district on the edge of Corrist. It’s outside the silver walls, so its clientele can fissure in and out without being seen. I know of many nobles who have tasted the delights there. All would deny it, but not Micid. Micid is addicted to the whores. Addicted, in fact, to their chaos lusters.”

It feels like Radath just dumped a third bucket of icy water over my head.

“Most of the whores are there willingly,” he says, his voice saccharine. “Some of them aren’t. They don’t all have the Sight, and Micid has a fetish for humans who scream and thrash beneath him. He likes them slightly insane, grasping and clawing at the invisible demon they believe to be inside them. Since you do have the Sight, you’ll understand what’s happening, but I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to breaking you in. You’d scream for him, wouldn’t you, McKenzie?”

Micid watches me with a small, sadistic smile.

Then, suddenly, Radath gets to the point. “There were two others with you last night. Who were they?”

He doesn’t know about Naito and Evan. Thank God. They must have escaped. At least I accomplished something last night. I sit straighter, trying to ease the bite of the shackles into my wrists.

Radath lifts the poisoned dagger. Carefully, he slides its blade under a damp lock of my hair, lifting it out of my face. He wants me to be scared of him—I am—but I won’t tell him about the humans. It won’t save me; it will only condemn Kyol.

Radath grips the left side of my neck in one big hand, laying the dagger flat against the other side, right over the puckered scar Aren left on my skin. His hand tightens, constricting my airway. “Who were they?”

I have to tell him something, something that will appease him and buy me time.

“Rebels,” I choke out. “I was supposed to get them inside the palace.”

Radath’s grip loosens. Micid, smirking at the edge of the orb’s glow, lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t deny my claim, though. He really doesn’t want the lord general to know we met before.

“And what were these rebels supposed to do,” Radath asks, “once they came inside?”

I scrape up the courage to pin him with a glare. “They were supposed to kill you.”

Radath chuckles. “I’m as untouchable as the king, McKenzie.”

A door creaks open. “Lord General.”

I let out a shaky breath. Kyol’s found me.

“I told Atroth I would handle her,” Radath says without turning.

“I will handle her,” Kyol says. I’m not sure if his coldness is directed at Radath or at me.

“You already had an opportunity to make her cooperate,”
Radath says, switching to Fae.
“You failed. She’s no longer your pet.”

“You may discuss that with Atroth. He wishes to speak with you.”

The lord general glares at me without rising. I don’t think he’s going to leave. He doesn’t take orders from Kyol, and he seems to enjoy having me chained to this wall. My interactions with him over the years have been few, but I never thought he’d treat me like this. Of course, I never thought I’d give him reason to.

Radath’s shoulders slump. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stands, turning to Kyol.
“She’s betrayed our king, swordmaster. Atroth expects her to be punished. I expect you to pry out the rest of her secrets. Understood?”

“Understood.”
Kyol’s expression gives away nothing.

Radath gestures to Micid. The
ther’rothi
leaves my cell first. Radath follows.

He smiles, then lets the door thunk shut behind him.

For a long time, Kyol doesn’t move. A thousand different apologies make their way to my tongue. They die before they pass my lips. I’d do it over again to save Naito and Evan.

“How could you be so foolish?” Kyol demands. I flinch at his tone. “They were safe, McKenzie!
You
were safe!”

He strides beneath the orb, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I couldn’t stay here, Kyol.”

“So you were going back to
him
!”

“I—” My voice cracks. My chin quivers. I bite my lower lip, refusing to cry.

“McKenzie.” His voice is pained now. He drops to his knees in front of me, his face drawn and shoulders hunched as if he’s just lost a war.

My heart twists in my chest. Still, I swallow back an apology. Instead, I softly ask, “Can you get me out of here?”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know.”

I don’t really have a right to ask it of him. I got myself into this mess; he should make me get out of it.

“Sidhe.”
He cups my cheek in his hand and leans his forehead against mine. We stay like that for a long time, him warm, strong, and steady; me cold, wet, and shivering. I feel raw, like my emotions have been stripped away, layer by layer, leaving my soul pink with abrasions. Even the
edarratae
seem dull and distant.

“If you want out of here, McKenzie, you have to give me something. Atroth won’t consider releasing you without information on the rebels.”

I can’t help the Court anymore. The rebellion might have done things I don’t like, but the Court’s manipulated and used me. Radath’s ordered humans executed, and I’m certain he gave my name to the vigilantes hoping they would kill me. The king’s done nothing to stop the lord general. Kyol’s done nothing to stop his king.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

He lets out a long sigh and then, slowly, he slides his hand up my left arm toward the manacles. When he reaches my wrist, a part of me is convinced he’s going to free me anyway, but then his fingers slip to the diamond necklace hidden under my sleeve. He tugs, and the necklace falls free in his hand.

He touches the center stone and then nods to himself. “This will buy your freedom.”

Oh, God.

“No, Kyol, you can’t!”

“Shh,
kaesha
.” He places his fingers over my mouth. “It’s the only way to save you.”

I yank against my shackles. “No, wait. Listen. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll do whatever you want, but please—
please
—don’t do this. Don’t trade my life for his.”

His face is expressionless as he rises; only his eyes betray how much I’m hurting him.

“You’ll hate me for this, won’t you?” he asks.

I nod because I don’t trust my voice. Aren trusted me with his life. He was confident I wouldn’t betray him. If the Court fae show up at the anchor-stone’s location, he’ll think I care nothing for him.

Kyol slips the necklace inside his pocket. “I’m sorry, McKenzie. For everything.”

TWENTY-THREE

T
HE BLUE-WHITE ORB hanging from the ceiling is the only thing keeping back whatever I hear scurrying in the darkness. It doesn’t keep back my nightmares, though. Some of them are old, recurring ones; others are brand-new. Every time my eyes close, I pray that when I open them, I’ll discover these last few weeks have been a dream. The king’s war will be uncomplicated, the rebels will be clearly bad, the Court will be clearly good. But the world doesn’t work that way. War is never so simple.

Plus, I’d never have met Aren. His kiss doesn’t seem like a manipulation anymore. All his gentle moments, the way he’s looked at me . . . Maybe he really does care for me.

The scrape of a sliding latch echoes in the darkness. The door cracks open. The door shuts. In the darkness, I hear someone suck in a breath.

Please, don’t let it be Micid.

A shadow moves to the edge of the orb’s glow. The toes of two scuffed boots break the circle. The fae advances another step, then another. Light rises slowly up a pair of black pants pulled tight around muscled thighs to a hand gripping the hilt of a sword, to a strong, broad chest, then to an angry face framed by wild, disheveled hair.

“Aren,” I whisper.
No, no, no.

His jaw clenches. My chest constricts.

I shake my head. “No, Aren. Please. I didn’t give Kyol the necklace, I swear.”

His scowl fades as he strides beneath the hanging orb and then he kneels beside me. He cradles my face between his palms. “
Sidhe
, you’re freezing.”

Heat pours into me. I don’t know if it’s from my
edarratae
, from his magic, or just from being near him again. It doesn’t matter. It feels good.
He
feels good.

That’s when it registers he still has his sword. No way would the Court allow him to remain armed.

“Kyol didn’t . . . ?”

He smoothes back my damp hair. “You’re going to be okay, McKenzie. I’m getting you out of here.”

I look beyond his shoulder. Kyol stands just visible at the edge of the orb’s glow.

“He . . .” My throat closes up. “He brought you to me?”

Grim, Aren nods once. Without turning to the sword-master, he demands, “The key.”

When Kyol doesn’t move, Aren stiffens. Slowly, he stands. His hand moves back to the hilt of his sword. “The key, Taltrayn.”

“Radath has the only key.”

A moment passes where nobody moves, nobody even seems to breathe. When Aren’s gaze shifts back to me, my stomach sinks. If I’m reading his expression correctly, he’s horrified.

He turns back to the sword-master. “You’re going to make me do this?”

“You can heal her,” Kyol says without a flicker of emotion.

Aren’s shoulders sag—just for a second—then he kneels once again.

“Aren?” I search his face, trying to figure out what they’re talking about.

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “This is going to hurt, McKenzie. I have to heat the metal, make it malleable so I can pull it off. I’ll heal the burns as soon as you’re free.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. Then I remember Tom. I remember how he screamed when Aren touched him. I remember the smell of his burnt flesh and the blisters on his arms when Aren took his hands away.

“No. No fucking way. Are you crazy?”

“I’ll do it as quickly as possible.”

“No.” I pin my gaze on Kyol. “Don’t you have bolt cutters or something?”

Kyol doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Listen,” Aren says. “You can’t scream, McKenzie. Taltrayn has a fae loyal to him guarding the door, but other fae are on patrol. Here.” He unfastens his belt and lifts it toward my mouth. “Bite down on this.”

I shake my head.

“You can do this,” he says. “You have to.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it. I don’t
want
to, but Aren would never suggest it if there was any other way. And Kyol would never let him hurt me.

BOOK: The Shadow Reader

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