The Shattered Dark (17 page)

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. Then he disappears into a slash of white light.

I
’M ANNOYED.
so annoyed, I don’t get drawn in by Aren’s shadows. I get that he needed to go, but
it was obvious I was trying to tell him something. Trev had already left. Would it
have killed Aren to wait five seconds? I’m sure it’s just a coincidence—Eksan is a
huge city—but it’s possible there
could
be a connection between the remnants and Aylen. Between the remnants and Lorn. He
called Aylen an “associate of an associate.” That could mean anything.

“What do we do with this?”
Hison’s guard asks. She’s staring at me.

I’m so close to saying something because, really, what are the consequences if they
learn I speak Fae? Hison will be pissed at Lena for letting me learn the language,
but he’s already not happy I’m here in his world.

I look at the spot where Aren disappeared. How long until he gets back? He said “soon,”
but if the fae didn’t fissure directly to the remnants, Trev and Aren will have to
follow him. And then, there’s always the chance the fae will double fissure—that’s
how Aren evaded us for so long. Toward the end, we had a second shadow-reader standing
by at a gate. After I mapped the fae, one of Kyol’s men would fissure to that human,
then take him or her through the gate to the
location I sketched out. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but we did come closer to capturing
Aren that way.

That’s probably why he started fissuring more than two times. It’s an impressive talent.
After traveling a substantial distance, most fae have to wait two or three minutes
before they’re able to enter the In-Between again.

“Jorreb will come back for her,”
Hison says.
“If she didn’t lead him into a trap.”

“You think she’s feeding information to the remnants?”

Okay, so maybe this is why I don’t want them to know I can speak Fae. People are loose
with their tongues when they don’t think I can understand them. Also: what the hell?
I’ve been working my ass off for the rebels.

“It would explain why she tolerates being near the protégé of a false-blood.”

I stare down at the sketchbook still propped on my knee. I retrace one of my marks,
clenching my teeth together so I don’t say anything. Sethan wasn’t a false-blood.
Lena isn’t either. They’re Descendants of the
Tar Sidhe
just like Atroth was. I confirmed that with more than one former Court fae after
we took the palace.

“Humans don’t care about false-bloods,”
the bodyguard says.

“This one does.”

I can feel Hison’s gaze. He’s waiting for me to look up. If I don’t, I think it will
be suspicious, so I raise my eyes from the sketchbook and meet his. I’m through with
letting fae intimidate me.

“What?” I stand, so my demand has more of an impact.

Hison doesn’t look away.
“Did you understand Jorreb’s conversation with her?”

“Some of it. He told her why she is here,”
the bodyguard tells him.

“No mention of Thrain?”

The name makes my blood turn cold. No, no, no. Kyol killed him—I saw his soul-shadow—and
banek’tan
do not exist. Thrain is dead. Aren would tell me if he wasn’t.

But Aren did say Lena shouldn’t have sent me here. Is this why?

“You speak Fae.”

Hison’s statement pulls me out of my near panic. I shake my head, clearing my mind,
and focus on the high noble. My thoughts obviously showed on my face, but Thrain in
Fae is the same as Thrain in English. His conclusion that I speak his language is
a guess.

“What about Thrain?” I ask.

The bodyguard translates what I said. Hison’s eyes narrow. He looks directly at me
when he says,
“Jorreb is his protégé.”

Aren? It takes everything in me to look confusedly back and forth between the two
fae. Inside, though, I feel sick. Is it true? Hison could just be trying to get a
reaction from me, but this could explain why Aren asked if I was okay in Rhigh. If
he’s connected to Thrain, he could know Thrain kept me here.

Hison takes a step closer.
“You do understand me, don’t you?
”

I furrow my brow further. Then my skin tingles. A second later, Aren steps into the
living room. I let myself give in to the urge to stare at his shadows because it’s
an excuse not to meet his eyes.

“That didn’t take long,”
Hison says, sounding disappointed.
“Were you successful?”

In my peripheral vision, I see Aren nod.
“He led us to a home where three others were meeting. They’ll be taken to Corrist.”
He turns to me. “We can go now, McKenzie.”

I should win an Oscar. I meet Aren’s eyes, and I smile. “Back to the suite or to Corrist?”

Maybe the smile is too much. His gaze drops to my lips, and his brow wrinkles slightly
as he frowns. “Corrist, if that’s okay.”

“It’s great,” I tell him cheerily.

“Your shadow-witch isn’t as terrifying as the stories make her out to be,”
Hison says.

Aren glances at the high noble.
“That’s because she’s not your enemy. Lena will contact you if we learn anything from
the fae.”
He takes my arm, and I’m thankful for the protection the cloak offers against his
touch. I can’t deal with any chaos lusters right now.

“I heard Thrain discovered her ten years ago,”
Hison calls after us.
“Is that true?”

Aren tenses. He turns his head to the side but doesn’t quite look over his shoulder.
“I’ve heard that as well.”
He reaches for the doorknob.

“It’s a shame Atroth stole her from you,”
Hison adds.

Aren looks down at me. My face is expressionless when I meet his eyes, and that’s
all he needs to know that I know.

“I didn’t know her then,”
he says, then he opens the door.

“CAN
we talk about this?” Aren asks, keeping pace by my side. That pisses me off even
more than I already was because I’m walking as quickly as I can. If he were human,
he wouldn’t be anywhere near me. I don’t want him near me right now.

“I didn’t know you then,” he says, when I don’t respond. “I swear I never saw you.
I broke ties with Thrain about the same time he took you.”

“So you claim.” I stuff Naito’s sketchbook into one of the big pockets on the inside
of my cloak. The snow is beginning to fall faster, but I’m too angry to feel the bite
of the air.

“I’ve never lied to you, McKenzie,” Aren says. “Never.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word on that?” I stop at the end of our narrow, curvy
passageway and peer both ways down the main street. Two cloaked fae look our way.
They’re breaking curfew. Technically, so are we. I bury my hands in the pockets of
my cloak, trying to preserve what little warmth they have left.

“The gate is to the left,” Aren says.

The two fae watch as I turn that way. I return their stares and, surprisingly, they
drop their gazes. Even with the occasional
edarratae
flashing across my face, I don’t think I’m very intimidating. Most likely, Aren’s
glaring at them over my shoulder. He’s just behind and slightly to the right of me,
walking through the night fully armored in
jaedric
. His sword, sheathed at his left hip, is easily accessible. He could kill both men
before they throw aside their cloaks to get access to their weapons.

“That’s the shadow-witch?”
the shorter of the two fae asks. The other doesn’t respond; he just backs away. Which
is ridiculous, considering I’m on the opposite side of the street from them.

I just shake my head and keep walking. I try not to think, because when I do, I either
flash back to ten years ago or think about the fae—the fae I barely know—who’s trailing
me. Aren was Thrain’s protégé. It’s so hard to believe, and not just because my heart
breaks a little when I think about the connection. Anyone who was associated with
Thrain should be mentally unstable. They should go from calm to irate in two seconds
flat. They should issue threats, dole out punishments with their fists, and be abusive
both mentally and physically and…

The scar on the side of my neck throbs, and I freeze. It’s the remains of a horrible
moment, when Aren and I were still on opposite sides of the war, when he threatened
me…Maybe Aren
is
like Thrain. Maybe I’ve just been too blind to see it.

“I’m not a mistake, McKenzie,” he says softly, stopping beside me. His voice is soothing,
reassuring. My chest tightens, and a warm, tingling sensation rushes through me. That
scares me. I’ve told myself to take this relationship slowly, but my heart refuses
to listen. I’m growing too attached to him too quickly. I shouldn’t be on the brink
of falling in love with someone I know so little about. I shouldn’t want to believe
every word he says. That’s what happened with Kyol. I loved him so blindly and so
completely, I put my life on hold. I never questioned anything he told me, and I regret
that so much.

I swallow down a lump in my throat. “You should have told me about him.”

“When?” Aren asks, and for the first time, impatience creeps into his voice. “Including
today, I’ve seen you four times since we took the palace, McKenzie. Four.”

“That’s not my fault.” I start walking again, but he grabs my arm.

“You’re not being fair,” he says.

“Of course I’m not,” I yell, turning toward him. “You’re as bad as Kyol was about
not telling me the complete truth.”

His nostrils flare. The comparison hurts. I’m almost sorry
I made it—almost—but I’m sick of people withholding information.

I meet his gaze. “Anything else you want to confess?”

That gets under his skin. The silver in his eyes seems to sharpen, and he takes a
step forward, pressing his body against mine so that I have to move back.

“The complete truth, McKenzie, is I’d do anything for you, but you ask for nothing.
You won’t confide in me. You won’t rely on me. You’re so preoccupied trying to decide
if you can trust your feelings that you won’t consider giving in to them.”

I back against a stucco wall. He’s breathing hard. So am I, and I have to admit it’s
not only because I’m hurt and angry. There’s some truth to his words. I don’t trust
my feelings for him, but there’s good reason for that. Learning about his connection
to Thrain proves it.

I put my hands on his chest to push him away. He doesn’t budge. Instead, his grip
on my arm tightens.

“Let go, Aren.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are narrowed.

“Seriously, let go.” I twist this time, trying to slip free, but his arms go around
me, pulling me more tightly against him.

“Aren—”

“Shh,” he says. Then, when I keep struggling, he looks down at me. “You can be angry,
McKenzie, but don’t be careless. Listen.”

I don’t allow myself to relax in his arms, but his hearing is better than mine, so
I turn my head to the side and listen. At first, all I hear is his heartbeat. It’s
a steady, almost hypnotic
thumpthump
.
Thumpthump.
But then I hear something else. A raised voice. A shout. A crash. It’s all coming
from the direction we’re heading.

“I thought there was a curfew,” I say.

“There is,” he answers. “Stay close.”

I don’t protest when he places a hand on my back, just next to the dagger he gave
me, and urges me forward. Rightly or wrongly, I trust Aren with my life. Even when
we were enemies, he took care of me; my gut tells me he’ll take care of me now. I
might be disturbed by his origins, his past, but
that’s something I have to deal with later. Right now, I need to deal with what’s
going on here.

The shouts and noises grow louder as the snow under our feet turns from a soft, white
blanket to a wet, dark mush. People have been through here recently. Lots of people.
At the end of our alley, an orb-topped lamppost turns the stucco walls a brighter
shade of blue. We stop at the corner and peer out at the scene.

Standing between us and the river, some two hundred feet away, is what I can only
describe as an angry horde of fae. They’re massed around the location where I remember
the gate being. By the number of sleepy
cirikith
standing scattered throughout the marketplace, my guess is that half of the fae are
merchants. I don’t know who the other half are. Not innocent bystanders. They’re pushing
and shoving to get at the crates laden onto the carts the
cirikith
pulled here. Others are pushing and shoving just for the hell of it, I think. Aren
said the people of Rhigh were almost rioting. I don’t think there’s any
almost
about this. They’re out here breaking curfew and looting just because they can.

I jerk back into Aren’s chest when there’s a crash to our right. It’s followed by
an excited shout, and by the time I find the source of the noise, fae are pouring
through the broken window of a store no more than ten feet away from us. The fae look
like they’re the age of human teenagers, but they could be as old as thirty.