The Shattered Dark (20 page)

“Where’s Aren?” I ask.

“I sent him away.”

I lift an eyebrow.

She scowls. “He wasn’t doing you or anyone else any good sitting here waiting for
you to wake up.”

“How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” she says dismissively. Because, you know, people fall into icy rivers
and lose consciousness all the time.

“What were you doing in Nashville?” she asks.

Nashville? It feels like it’s been days since Trev picked me up from there. And what
did he tell me? That Sosch went to Lena with a message attached to a collar. Apparently,
Lorn didn’t sign that message.

“I was repaying a favor.” I roll to my side, then try to sit up. I’m surprised when
my body actually cooperates.

“A favor to whom?” Lena asks.

I’m a little dizzy. I wait for the room to settle then focus on her. She’s dressed
in a long, white dress. A wide
jaedric
belt encircles her slender waist. A series of
abira
trees are etched into its surface at even intervals. They each have seventeen branches,
one for each of the Realm’s provinces, including the ones Atroth dissolved years ago.

“Lorn,” I tell her. By her lack of reaction, she already knew that. “He said you guys
had an argument.”

She
hmmphs
, and her already unsmiling face turns stony. She reaches up and tucks a long strand
of blond hair behind her ear. It’s an action I’ve rarely seen her do, and it makes
her look…
Softer
is the best word I can think of.

“You read the shadows for him, I presume.” After I nod, she asks, “Whose?”

“A fae named Aylen.”

“And who was this Aylen?”

“According to Lorn, an associate,” I say. Then, I remember the connection to the fae
in Rhigh. “She fissured to Eksan.”

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows go up. “The same Eksan that’s on the southern edge
of the Daric Ocean?”

“I tried to tell Aren, but he fissured out before I could. Then we had to figure out
how to get out of the city and—”

“And you found out about his connection to Thrain.”

That’s not what I was going to say, but now that it’s out there, I shrug. “Yeah.”

There’s a knock on my open door. A magically lit orb on the corridor wall outlines
Aren’s lean frame in a soft, blue light. He looks like something out of myth standing
there. Appropriately so.

“Is it okay if I come in?” he asks. There’s a cautious note in his tone, like he’s
afraid I’ll say no and send him away.

Lena rises before I answer. I try to stand up, too, but my head spins when I lean
forward.

“Easy, McKenzie,” Aren says, coming to my side. He places a hand on my shoulder, keeping
me still. “You hit your head hard when you fell.”

His palm warms my skin through my thin, fae-made shirt. I’ve been changed out of my
wet clothes. The pants I’m wearing are black, loose, and comfortable. I sit on the
edge of the bed and face Aren, feeling my strength slowly seeping back into my muscles.

“You scared me,” he says. There’s a glimmer of leftover fear in his silver eyes. I
don’t know what happened after I went under the water, but I know I didn’t get out
of the river on my own. He must have dragged me out, dragged me through the gate,
and brought me here.

“I told you your plan was insane,” I say.

A small grin. “I thought we’d have a few more seconds before they reacted.”

If I wasn’t still a little dizzy, I’d roll my eyes. Instead, I give him an exaggerated
glare. His smile widens, then his gaze goes to my lips. Suddenly, I’m conscious of
them. I’m conscious of just how close he is. His hand is on my side instead of my
shoulder now.

There’s an exasperated sigh from the doorway.

“We’re meeting with the high nobles after sunrise,” Lena says. “Don’t be late.”

Aren just nods, not taking his eyes off me. When she leaves, closing the door behind
her, he asks softly, “Are we okay?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. It’s the truth. I haven’t had a chance to process his
connection to Thrain yet. What kind of person follows a false-blood? The only answers
I can come up with are the foolish and the cruel. Aren doesn’t fit the first category—he’s
smart and observant—but he doesn’t fall into the cruel category either. He’s always
taken care with me, and he’s a healer. He helps people by taking their pain away.

“I just…I need time, Aren.” Time. That’s what I’ve been asking for these last two
weeks, and it’s the one thing we don’t have much of. He said he understood, but if
the shadow that moves through his eyes is any indication…

I want to make that shadow leave his expression. I want to lean forward, press my
lips against his, and let my
edarratae
chase away his fears, but kissing him is dangerous. I wouldn’t want to stop, and
as ridiculous as it is to be a twenty-six-year-old virgin, I need to be 100 percent
sure about Aren before we’re together. So, instead of closing the distance between
us, I slowly push my way to my feet. Aren moves back to give me room to do so, but
he stays close enough to help me when I sway.

The dizziness passes in just a few seconds. I actually don’t feel that bad. I think
I’ll be fine if I walk some. My equilibrium will return.

I start to tell him that but stop when my gaze settles on the chest of drawers beside
the restroom. Or rather, when it settles on what’s on top of the chest of drawers.

“Is that my…” I stop because it’s not
just
my favorite pair of jeans. It’s my favorite pair of jeans, my sketchbook, and my
photo album. Not the entire contents of my suitcase, but it’s the important stuff.

I cross the room, pick up my photo album.

“It’s all I could bring without risking some of it being lost to the In-Between,”
Aren says behind me.

The In-Between can be temperamental. In general, it lets a fae fissure with what they
can easily carry, but if they start
trying to take armloads of clothes or boxes stuffed full of food or supplies, it’ll
steal random things. It’s safer to use a gate if you’re carrying multiple items. “I
can go back if you need something else.”

I turn to face him. “You went to my apartment?”

“Trev told me you’d packed a suitcase. I was there and back within a few minutes.”
His gaze drops to the photo album in my hands. “I flipped through that. I hope you
don’t mind.”

I look down. I’ve opened the album to a random page. My mom and dad are there, both
holding shovels in our backyard. They’re planting a tree—a peach tree, if I remember
correctly. I was twelve or so, and I’d just gotten a camera for my birthday. A photographer,
I am not. My parents are off center, and the whole image is crooked, but the memory
makes me smile. I was young then. Happy and innocent. I miss that life. I miss my
parents.

“I would meet them,” Aren says.

I clap the album shut. “What?”

“I would meet your parents,” he says, taking a step toward me. “If you wanted me to.”

God, this man loves me, and all I can do is stare at him, feeling my heart thump against
my chest. Every time I start to question why I want to be with someone like him, he
shows me why. He shows me he loves me, and underneath his half smiles and his laid-back
attitude, he’s considerate and caring. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking why I want to be
with him. Maybe I should be asking why he wants to be with someone like me.

“You’ve only known me a month,” I say, placing the photo album back on top of the
chest of drawers.

“Yes,” he says, giving me a small smile that suggests he knows where I’m going with
this.

“How can you be so sure of the way you feel about me?”

“You’re human,” Aren says. “You’re the weakest person I know.”

The warm, fluttery sensations in my stomach disappear. “Geez, thanks.”

He laughs and takes my hands in his before I turn away.
“And that makes you the strongest. The most courageous. When I found you on your campus,
you fought me. You didn’t give in even though you knew you were outmatched. I was
halfway in love with you before we reached Germany.”

And
the sensations are back. His touch excites my chaos lusters, making them spark across
my skin. He reaches up, touches the side of my face. It’s so, so hard to keep my distance
from him. Back in Rhigh, he told me he wasn’t a mistake. Maybe I should just take
his word on that. Maybe now is the time we should be together.

A warm, pleasant ache flares up low in my stomach.

“When is sunrise?” I ask, moving closer to him.

“Soon,” he says. “Now, probably.”

Which means we have zero time together. I close my eyes, stifling a curse.

Aren’s thumb traces the line of my jaw. “Come with me.”

My brow furrows as I try to make sense of his words. “To the meeting?”

“Yes,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “The meeting with the high nobles?”

“Yes.”

I reach up to take his hand away from my face so I can think about something besides
his touch. It doesn’t help much, though, because he doesn’t let go of my hand.

“They’ll hate that,” I say.

He responds with a smile.

Ah, I see. He doesn’t want to go play politics. “That’s okay. I’ll pass.”

“You can think about it on the way,” he says, as if I didn’t just answer. “It could
be entertaining.”

He uses his foot to nudge something out from under the bed. Tennis shoes, the ones
I bought on the way to the gate in Vegas. I let out an exaggerated sigh but grab a
pair of socks and shove my feet into the shoes. They’re dry. I don’t think they’ve
had enough time to do that on their own, so I’m guessing a fae evaporated the rest
of the water using magic.

Aren opens the door. I finger-comb my hair, pull it back into a quick ponytail, and
ask, “Will Lena let me sit in on the meeting?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

If Atroth were still king, it wouldn’t be a question. He would never have considered
letting me stick around for even an informal conversation with a high noble. Oh, he
would have been polite about it, maybe even apologetic, but he would have sent me
back to Earth the moment I finished whatever task he gave me to do.

Things aren’t that way with Lena and the rebels. I’ve made it clear I want to know
what’s going on in this war, and I won’t let them keep me in the dark like her predecessor
did.

Aren and I are passing through the sculpture garden, and I’m imagining all sorts of
reactions from the high nobles if I decide to sit in on that meeting when Lena steps
out of the north wing of the palace. She stops beside a carved pillar, looking almost
startled to see us.

“Is the meeting canceled?” Aren asks, sounding hopeful.

Lena’s gaze moves back and forth between us before it settles on Aren. “It…No. No,
it’s not canceled.”

“Then you’re running away?” he asks, letting the question hang there.

Her expression turns cool. “No. I came to get you. I want you to look like a sword-master
at this meeting. There’s new armor waiting for you in your room. Go change into it.”

“I don’t think what I wear will make a diff—”

“Go, Aren,” she says.

He clenches his jaw as he nods once, reluctantly accepting her order before he turns
and leaves. I actually agree with Lena. Aren and the rest of the rebels should look
like they belong in this palace; they shouldn’t look like they’re…well, rebels. This
is just an odd time to insist on the clothing change.

I’m struck by how exhausted Lena looks. Her hair, usually shiny and smooth, is pulled
back into a simple ponytail, and the silver in her eyes is dark. They don’t have that
sharp edge that they used to.

“When was the last time you slept?” I ask.

As if she’s suddenly conscious of her appearance, she straightens.
“When was the last time you slept?” she fires back.

“I just woke up,” I point out.

“Unconsciousness doesn’t count as sleep.” The almost petulant note in her tone reminds
me of Kelia, which is a comparison I really don’t want to make. Lena and I are allies.
It’s best that I think of her as a queen and a means to keep the people I love safe.

“So tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” Lena says. She draws in a breath, lets it out. “The high nobles. They
insist I tell them who…” She stops, closes her eyes and begins again. “They’re insisting
I tell them who killed Atroth.”

Kyol killed Atroth. She’s keeping that from them? “Does it matter who did it?”

She gives me a look. “It’s illegal to kill a king.”

“Okay. And?”

“And nothing,” she says, almost dismissively. “Let’s not talk here.”

She turns to head back inside the north wing of the palace. I have to jog to catch
up with her.

“I received a message today,” Lena says, when I reach her side.

When she doesn’t elaborate, my gut tightens. “What did it say?”

She looks at me a moment before focusing ahead. Her face is rigid when she says, “If
I let you go, I have to let them go. It could be a trap, and…” She sighs. “And nothing
can happen to you. I’ll lose both of them if you die.”

I grab her arm, make her stop walking. “What did the message say, Lena?”

She easily shakes free of my hold as she faces me. Then she hands me a folded piece
of paper she removes from beneath her
jaedric
belt.

I open it.

“Shane said it gives Paige’s location.”

A good number of fae can speak my language, but I don’t know of any who can read it.
What looks like a UK address
is written in the center of the paper. Below it is Paige’s name. That’s it. No explanation.

“Who’s this from?” I ask.

Lena’s lip twitches. “It’s anonymous. It came with a stack of other correspondence.”

I sniff. Of course. I look back down at the writing. It could be from Lorn. It could
also be from the remnants. “How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“We don’t. That’s why you can’t go.”

Refolding the paper, I slip it into my pocket. “I can’t
not
go.”