The Shattered Dark (18 page)

One of those fae slips in the slosh of melted snow and dirt. The whole marketplace
is one giant mud pit. It’s been ten years, but I remember Rhigh’s riverfront looking
like one of my world’s touristy boardwalks. Even in my delirious, half-starved state,
it hit me as ironic because Rhigh shouldn’t have looked like a vacation spot. From
my experience in it, it should have looked like a ghetto outside a prison.

It looks like a ghetto outside a prison now.

A strange-sounding wail cuts through the air to the left. A
cirikith
lies on its side, straining to get back to its feet, but its haunches are stuck beneath
a broken cart. It’s bleeding from its neck. Even from this distance, I can see that
its huge, opalescent scales have turned crimson.
Cirikiths
aren’t pretty
beasts, with their oversized heads and thick, hooved legs, but I can’t help but feel
sorry for it.
Cirikiths
are strong. The only reason this one hasn’t regained its feet is because it’s hurt,
and it’s fighting off its nightly hibernation.

Aren rests a hand on my shoulder. “We should wait until things calm down to use the
gate.”

“Wait where?” I ask, backing away from the chaos.

He takes my hand, turns me back down the alley. “Hison should have a place…”

Two fae are walking toward us. They’re wearing
jaedric
over thick woolen shirts and pants. Their gloves and heavy animal-skin boot coverings
look warm but tattered. Well before they reach us, I move aside. Aren doesn’t. His
posture relaxes, and he stands his ground. That’s when I notice the two newcomers
don’t exactly seem surprised to see us.

“We heard you were here with an asset,”
the fae on the left says. Interwoven feathers are braided through his hair, almost
as if they’re taking the place of a name-cord.

“Did you?”
Aren replies lazily. He slips an arm inside the folds of my cloak, and I feel him
slide the dagger out of my waistband.

“You know them,” I say.

It’s not quite a question, but he responds with, “You know that past you’re holding
against me?”

Great. This can’t go well. I throw him a glare but take the hint and wrap my hand
around the hilt of the dagger, making sure I keep it hidden beneath my cloak.

“Also heard you’re with the daughter of Zarrak,”
the second fae says.
“You know how to get inside the palace. Useful information, that is. Valuable.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard many things, Vent,”
Aren says. He squeezes my arm gently beneath the cloak. Telling me to be ready?

Feather-braid takes a step forward.
“We control the gate, now.”

Aren throws an exaggerated look of surprise over his shoulder where the marketplace
is.
“I can tell.”

Feather-braid scowls.
“You can either pay for the human or turn her over to—”

Aren appears beside the fae. I’m just as startled as they are because I didn’t sense
or see the slash of light until he was already gone. But there he is, swinging his
sword through the shadows from his exit fissure and cleaving into Feather-braid’s
shoulder. Feather-braid is nothing but a soul-shadow a second later.

Vent reacts quickly, fissuring out of Aren’s way. Aren pivots, his sword arcing around,
and kills the fae as he exits his slash of light. His soul-shadow joins his companion’s.

An instant later, Aren’s at my side, taking my arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Good friends of yours?” I ask. The fight started and ended so quickly. A spike of
adrenaline is just now pumping through my veins.

“The best,” he answers, leading me back the way we came. “We have to get to the gate.”

I slant a wide-eyed glance his way. “The gate? Now?”

“Yes,” he says. “Unless you have another idea.”

“I can probably come up with something that doesn’t include a horde of pissed-off
fae.” Seriously, he’s crazy to think that we can make it to the gate, the same gate
everyone else is trying to fissure through, with the crowd standing in our way.

“You can’t stay in Rhigh,” he says. He’s walking so quickly I have to run to keep
pace. “If Vent and Tyfin know you’re here, then the others do as well. They’ll be
looking for you.”

“Who were they?”

“A local…gang?” He looks at me to confirm he used the correct word. “Thrain paid them
to do minor jobs. They’re idiots, but they can be dangerous.”

We reach the end of the alley again and stop. Aren curses under his breath. I don’t
have to ask why. The marketplace is crammed with twice as many fae as before.

“And exactly how are you planning to get to the gate?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His face is pinched, and I can practically see the
thoughts churning in his head. His brow lowers. Then, he must lock on an idea because
the tension running through him evaporates. He looks at me, and he grins.

“
WE’RE GOING TO
use what?” I ask. I had to have heard him wrong.

“We’re using your reputation,” he says. “Take off your cloak.”

“It’s minus a million degrees out here. I’m not taking it off.”

“They need to see the
edarratae
.” He pulls the cloak off my shoulders. I’m just able to catch the hood before the
whole thing falls into the mud.

“Can’t you fissure to Corrist for help?”

“I wouldn’t be able to bring back more than three or four fae, and it would leave
a section of the wall more vulnerable to attack. This plan is better.” He tugs on
the cloak.

“That’s the only thing keeping me from freezing to death,” I snap, refusing to let
go.

“This won’t take long, I promise.”

“This is crazy.”

He laughs. “I know, but it will work. The fae in Rhigh are superstitious. They’ll
see you and make room.”

“Like Vent and his friend made room?”

His smile finally fades. He looks directly into my eyes, then says, “Trust me, McKenzie.”

He has a lot of nerve asking me to trust him after not
being forthcoming about his connection to Thrain. I should be stubborn about this,
tell him to come up with another solution because this is the most ridiculous idea
ever, but Aren has a reputation for crazy plans that work. Plus, I really don’t like
being back in Rhigh. I want out of here.

I let go of the cloak. “This doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you.”

The grin returns to his face. “You will,
nalkin-shom
.”

He moves aside so I can see the crowded marketplace. “Count to thirty, then walk directly
toward the gate.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he says, and before I can question his sanity again, he’s gone.

I swear to God if this plan of his gets me killed, I’m haunting him for the rest of
his life. I hug myself, trying to trap in what little warmth I have left, and count.

It’s hard as hell to force myself to step out of the alley once I reach thirty. There’s
still a mass of fae around the gate, and nearly every window in the marketplace has
been broken. The fae are preoccupied looting and yelling and fighting each other,
but it doesn’t take long for them to notice me. I tighten my grip on my dagger and
keep my eyes focused on the gate as I stride through the melted snow.

I usually don’t notice the
edarratae
unless I’m touching a fae, but I’m aware of each strike of lightning across my skin.
So is everyone else. This never happens. A human doesn’t just walk through the Realm
unescorted. It’s strange and unusual, and it’s obvious the nearest fae don’t know
what to make of me. They back away. I hear
nalkin-shom
whispered more than once. I don’t know if that’s a guess—maybe they’d think any human
female is the shadow-witch—or if Aren’s described me in those rumors he’s spread.

When I near the thickest portion of the mob, I think my luck has run out. These fae
aren’t moving. They’re not even looking at me. They’re too involved in cursing out
the people around them or stealing the food and clothing and everything else the merchants
were transporting.

Just when I think I’m going to have to stop or turn back, something happens. The shouts
lessen, and more than one
fae’s gaze goes toward the night sky. I look up, too, but I don’t see anything except
faint stars.

“Quickly.” Aren’s voice comes from my left. “Follow me.”

He shoulders his way into the crowd, carving a path. The fae glare at him when they’re
shoved aside, but then their gazes lock on me. Their eyes go wide. They look back
up into the sky, then move out of my way.

“What are they looking at?” I ask, striding behind Aren.

“A lightning storm.”

An
illusion
of a lightning storm. No wonder the fae are backing away. Lightning is extremely
rare in the Realm. Some people think it’s a sign that the
Tar Sidhe
are angry at the presence of humans and human culture. Others think it’s just a random,
natural occurrence. Either way, I can see how the fae would be nervous, seeing a lightning-clad
human beneath a lightning-struck sky. But Aren can’t be doing this. He’s a healer.
It’s a powerful, endangered magic, and while illusionists are more common, creating
a lightning show impressive enough to catch this mob’s attention would require a huge
amount of skill. I don’t think Aren has the ability to create tiny, short-lived illusions,
let alone something on this scale.

The crowd splits. I see the gate on the riverbank. Or rather, I see the flashes of
near-constant light that are being opened where I think the gate is. Technically,
Aren doesn’t have to create a fissure of his own to get me out of here. We can travel
through another fae’s. The slashes of light are rips in the atmosphere that lead to
the In-Between; I just need an anchor-stone and a fae escort to live through it.

Aren discreetly hands me an anchor-stone. My hands are so cold and numb, it feels
like it scalds my palm, but I clench my fist around it. Just a few more steps to the
riverbank. Aren’s plan is actually going to work.

“Tchatalun.”

I’ve blocked out the whispers of
nalkin-shom
, but that one word whispered from somewhere to my right rings in my ears. It means
“defiled one” but it’s basically synonymous with “human.” The last time I heard it,
I was in Lyechaban, and it was uttered by fae who wanted me dead.

I can’t identify who said the word now, but there’s a
change in the mob. It’s as if they’ve suddenly realized my destination. Their surprised
and almost fearful expressions vanish. Aren must sense the change, too, because he
hooks his arm around me, pulling me against his side.

Only a few more feet to the gate.

Aren takes my hand. He shoves someone aside.

Someone shoves back. I stumble, but manage to stay on my feet. Two more steps, and
we’ll be at an opened fissure.

The crowd surges around us. I tighten my grip on Aren and throw my weight forward.
The fae in front of me move when I do so. My momentum carries me to the riverbank.
Aren’s hand slips from mine. I try to turn back to find him, but my sneaker hits the
edge of the frozen river. I lose traction. Slip.

I put out my hands to catch myself, but I’m falling all wrong, and the river isn’t
completely frozen over. The fae have hammered through the ice surrounding the gate.

My shoulder hits first, and I can’t stop my head from slamming down, too. Pain explodes
through my temple. Aren calls my name. I push up to all fours, trying to focus on
the ice beneath me.

The ice that’s cracking beneath me.

I lunge toward the bank, but I’m too late. The slab beneath me breaks off, plunging
me into the dark, cold depths of the river.

I
arch my back, trying to free myself from the restraints around my wrists, but the
nurse is at my side, tightening them further. A tingling sensation runs up my arm,
then it starts itching. It’s the saline solution still, but the drugs the nurse added
to the IV bag will enter my bloodstream soon.

We tried sneaking out of Bedfont House. One of Paige’s friends was parked just outside
the center’s gate. He took off when the security guards caught us. We were in enough
trouble for that alone, but the staff also figured out that Paige and I weren’t taking
our meds. Instead of being reprimanded and sent to our room, we were reprimanded and
sent to separate observation cells. The isolation doesn’t bother me, but I don’t
want my mind to fog over again. The drugs make me feel like I really am crazy.

After I stop struggling, the nurse leaves the room. There’s no way to take the IV
out of my arm. My eyelids grow heavy, my vision blurs. I fight against the haze, but
I lose the battle.

“McKenzie.” Kyol’s voice near my ear. A hallucination? That’s what I’ve been told
I experience. I started agreeing with the counselors weeks ago. It seemed like the
quickest, easiest way to get back to my life.

“McKenzie.” I’m afraid to open my eyes, afraid I’ll see nothing but the darkness if
I do.