The Shattered Dark (11 page)

I glance at Kyol. He doesn’t seem to be worried about an attack. He never once looks
over his shoulder to check for pursuers, and only three of his fae are traveling with
us. Even if he thinks we’re safe, I’m surprised he hasn’t brought along more guards.
My jeans and T-shirt mark me as human. I usually change into fae clothing when I’m
in the Realm, but I didn’t know I’d be needed to shadow-read so soon.

Despite how tired I am, I’m able to keep up with Kyol. We’ve worked together long
enough for him to know the quickest pace he can set. Any faster, and I’d wear out
too quickly. It helps that I’m anxious to get away from the city. I was lucky twice
today. The remnants could have killed me at my apartment complex, or they could have
killed me just now in Spier. They had the chance, but Jielan chose to swing his fist,
not his sword, at me, and that last remnant was definitely trying to capture me, not
end my life.

“Why do the remnants want me alive?” I ask Kyol. There’s the briefest break in his
stride, like his thoughts were wandering and he’s just now remembering I’m here.

“They can use you against us,” he finally responds.

“They already have humans helping them, and even if they didn’t, they should know
I won’t shadow-read or uncover illusions for them.” At least, they should know it
if Kyol is right about their leader being one of Atroth’s high-ranked officers. Those
officers know I willingly betrayed their king.

“That’s not why they want you,” Kyol says. “They know what you mean to Jorreb. They
know what you mean to me.”

This is the first time since I broke things off with him that he’s mentioned how he
feels about me, and the admission makes my chest hurt. He doesn’t look like he regrets
his words, though. His expression is serious, but not pained, and I’m not sure how
to respond. I don’t even know if I should.

Before the awkward silence stretches too long, a fissure opens a few yards ahead of
us. One of the fae Kyol sent after
the
tor’um
steps out of the light. I listen to his report and hope I’m misunderstanding him.

“Keep searching,”
Kyol orders. The fae nods, then steps back into the In-Between, returning to the
house, I assume. We’re still within line of sight of it.

I look at Kyol. “The
tor’um
disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“But
tor’um
can’t fissure.”

“Most of them can’t,” Kyol confirms. “A few of them can. The ones who manage it aren’t
able to fissure far or often. The small amount of magic they possess takes months
to regenerate. Most likely, the
tor’um
ran or hid.”

I stare at the grass beneath my feet, feeling the small glimmer of hope that we’d
get Paige back soon disappear.

“I know what Paige means to you,” Kyol says after a moment. “We’ll find her.”

“You recognized her, didn’t you? The
tor’um
?” I focus on the swath of dark green that marks the edge of the forest some few hundred
feet in the distance, but when Kyol doesn’t respond, I slant a glance his way. Kyol
is twice my age but still young for a fae. His dark hair doesn’t have a streak of
gray, and his broad shoulders, his back and torso are more toned and muscled than
most humans’ in the prime of their lives, but tiny lines appear at the corners of
his eyes. I look at the gash above his elbow again, wondering how bad it is.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I recognized her.”

The wound is barely bleeding. I don’t think it’s hurting him, so it has to be the
tor’um
that’s weighing on his mind.

“Who is she?”

Another long pause. I think he’s not going to answer until he draws in a breath, and
says, “She almost became Atroth’s sword-master.”

This time, I break stride. “His
sword-master
?”

Kyol’s a few paces ahead of me now. He looks over his shoulder and slows, waiting
for me to catch up.

“She wasn’t
tor’um
then,” he says, when I’m at his side again.

I almost ask what happened to her, but I don’t think I want to know. It’s possible
for fae to burn out their magic, but it’s
extremely rare. They know their limits and the consequence for pushing too far, so
I’m almost certain that’s not what happened to her. No, chances are, overexposure
to human technology killed her magic.

I don’t realize I’m clenching my teeth until I feel Kyol looking at me. I try to force
my jaw to relax, to act like nothing is bothering me, but he sees right through my
façade.

“It was years ago,” Kyol assures me.

The muscles in my shoulders relax, and my next breath comes a little easier. We started
hunting Aren just under a year ago. It’s unlikely he was the one who turned the woman
tor’um
. I know that shouldn’t matter—Aren stripped others of their magic—but Kyol knew the
fae. They were colleagues—they might even have been friends—so I’m glad Aren isn’t
the one who made her insane.

Of course, that leaves the question of who did make her
tor’um
, but it’s obvious the memories bother Kyol, so I let the subject drop. We spend the
next few minutes in silence; then, just when we reach the outer edge of the forest,
Kyol catches my arm, making me stop and turn toward him. His touch excites my
edarratae
, making the lightning come quicker and intensifying their heat, but I don’t pull
away. His brow is ever so slightly creased. No one else would notice it, but I’ve
learned that’s a sign that he’s worried about something.

“McKenzie,” he says. “You’ve escaped the remnants twice now. They won’t let that happen
again. The next time they find you, they’ll kill you. You have to be careful. More
careful than we were today.” He pauses and glances at the three fae who’ve stopped
a respectable distance behind us. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower than
before. “Someone in the palace told the remnants that I was bringing you here.
You
specifically, not another shadow-reader. Vinn isn’t the only traitor.”

Vinn must be the fae from the roof, the one wearing the black necklace. Even after
ten years, it’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that anyone would want me dead.
I mean, I
do
get it. My shadow-readings keep fae from being able to fissure to safety, and that
makes me at least indirectly responsible for the deaths and captures of hundreds of
fae
over the years, but I still feel like a relatively normal person, and normal people
don’t have enemies who want to slit their throats.

But normal people
do
have jobs. They have homes and families and friends they don’t pull into wars. I
need at least some of that if I’m going to stay sane. That’s why I have to make it
back to Vegas. Despite the walk to the gate, I should still be able to make it in
time to turn in my paperwork. But then, a part of me thinks that maybe I should give
up on having a human life and concentrate on helping Lena secure the throne, instead.
I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting involved with the fae.

I rub at the headache growing behind my eyes. Everything will be simpler once this
war ends.

“You’re going to have to send the former Court fae away,” I tell Kyol. “I know you
don’t want to.”

He releases my arm, walks a few paces away, then stops with his back to me. “We’ll
lose the palace without their help.”

“The way things are going, we’ll lose it with their help, too. We have to be able
to trust the fae who are helping us.”

“I know,” he says. He grows quiet again, and it’s incredibly hard not to put my arms
around him. I want to comfort him, but I don’t know how much that would help. Plus,
three of his swordsmen are standing nearby. Even if we were together still, I wouldn’t
touch him.

“Are you okay?” I ask instead.

“It’s a shallow wound, McKenzie. It will heal quickly.”

My gaze drops to his elbow. It’s still bleeding, but not enough to cause concern.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say. “Are you
okay
?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again when he realizes what
I’m asking. I stop breathing because, if he says he’s not okay, that I’m hurting him
and that it’s painful to be around me, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t love him
like I did before, but I’d still do just about anything for him. I want him to be
happy.

Finally, the most miniscule of smiles breaks his expression. “I’m okay, McKenzie.
It’s…” He pauses, his gaze goes
to the left as if searching for the right words. “It’s different…being around you
now. I still care for you. I still feel the need to protect you, and I don’t want
to hurt or worry you. But, yes, I am okay.”

Another smile, slightly bigger this time, and something inside me uncoils. I feel
a smile tug at the corner of my own mouth. This is going to work, us being around
each other. I don’t have to be careful around him or feel awkward or guilty. He’s
okay—
we’re
okay—and it’s the biggest relief in the world.

We start walking again, but less than a minute later, he says, “I need to speak with
Lena. You should reach the gate by nightfall. I’ll make sure it’s protected. You’ll
be okay.”

I can’t tell if that last part is a question or not. In the past, it would have been.
But then, in the past, he most likely would have stayed with me and sent another fae
to deliver his message.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.

His gaze moves from me to the three swordsmen trailing us—they’ll make sure I make
it safely to the gate—then, without any other farewell, Kyol opens a fissure and disappears.
It’s only after I blink the shadows from my vision that I realize I still have his
name-cord in my pocket.

I
STEP OUT
of the In-Between and into the Vegas suite I share with Shane. Kyol underestimated
the amount of time it took to reach the gate. It was closer to the middle of the night
before the fae and I arrived. Fortunately, the remnants didn’t show up. Maybe they
sent a scout who saw the thirty swordsmen and archers Kyol had sent to guard the gate.
That force would deter most fae.

It wouldn’t have deterred Aren, though.

If Aren were leading the remnants, he would have found a way to achieve his goal.
That was his specialty, attacking against the odds. He and Lena are having a tougher
time now that they’re on the defense.

After my fae escort leaves, I glance inside Shane’s room. I don’t see him sprawled
across his bed, so my best guess is he’s in the Realm, making himself useful. The
alarm clock on his nightstand says it’s just after 1
A.M
. Thank God. I can take a nap and still have time to take my driver’s license and
Social Security card to Jenkins. He needs it by five o’clock tomorrow, but I don’t
want to wait until then. I need to mark that off my list today so I can concentrate
on finding Paige.

I fall into bed, too tired to do anything more than take off my shoes and socks and
unbelt the scabbard from around my waist. Twenty minutes later, though, I’m still
lying here
exhausted, but awake. My mind won’t shut off. I’m worried about Paige. The
tor’um
knew who she was. If I had any doubt the remnants had her, I don’t anymore.

Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling. I hope the remnants have let Paige see them.
I hope they’ve tried to explain things to her. But even if they haven’t, even if she
thinks she’s trapped in a bad dream or that she’s snapped, I can fix it. I’ll tell
her everything. King Atroth forbade it when he was alive. He thought he was preserving
the Realm’s magic by keeping the human and fae worlds as separate as possible, but
that’s not the only reason I kept silent about them. The one time I tried to tell
a Sightless human about the fae, I ended up in a mental institution. That’s where
I met Paige. She hated Bedfont House as much as I did. She won’t want to go back.

I roll to my side, pulling my covers over my head.

“I think I’m crazy,” I tell Paige as I stare at the white wall across from my bed.
The counselors at Bedfont House leave it bare and encourage us to decorate it however
we want. I haven’t lifted a finger to do so. When I first arrived, I thought if I
put up a picture or poster, it would be like I’m admitting that I belong here. Now,
I’m thinking maybe I do. I haven’t seen any lightning-covered fae in more than three
weeks. Maybe I made them up. Maybe I made it all up.

“Everyone here is crazy,” Paige says, not looking away from her handheld mirror. Her
eyes are opened wide while she puts on glittery mascara. Her side of the room
is
decorated. She painted it black. How the hell she got a hold of black paint, nobody,
not even the staff, knows. They didn’t make her repaint it, and they’ve said nothing
about the posters of cemeteries and creepy old houses she’s put up. The wall is accented
with red: a scarf hanging near the door, a crimson teddy bear sitting on her dresser,
the bright silk pillow that’s between her and the wall at her back. She has bats in
her blond hair. Six of them. They’re tiny black clips with glitter on the wings.