“I ignored the rumor at first,” Lorn says. “After all, Taltrayn was entering a life-bond with the daughter of Srillan.”
I close my eyes, gripping the pencil tight. It’s true. Oh, God, it’s true.
“Then I learned he refused the bond.”
My heart stops midbeat. “What?”
Aren curses.
“Taltrayn never agreed to the life-bond,” Lorn says. “Apparently, the sword-master loves you.”
I’m cold, numb, confused. My pencil trembles in my hand.
“He’s lying,” Aren says, still kneeling beside me. Lightning sparks along my jaw when his fingers touch me there. Gently, he turns my face toward his. “Ten years, McKenzie. You’ve waited for him for ten years. Do you honestly think he’s changed his mind? That he suddenly wants you now?”
There’s tension in his jaw and the glimmer of something else in his eyes, but I’m too angry to figure out what it is. The bastard. The son of a bitch. He knew Kyol refused the life-bond.
I spring from my chair. Before I even think about turning my pencil into a weapon, Aren wrenches it from my hand. He yells at Lorn in Fae.
“I was curious,” Lorn responds with a shrug. “She doesn’t have any more choice now than she did before. Sit her down. Make her finish the map.”
I pin him with my darkest go-to-hell look. “Screw you.”
Aren’s hand tightens around my arm. “It will hurt if Lorn has to pull it from your mind.”
“I don’t c—”
The door slams open. Versh bursts inside. “The Court! Taltrayn’s men, they’re—”
An arrow thuds through the fae’s back.
FOURTEEN
AN UNNATURAL GUST of wind slams the door shut. Lena’s most likely responsible for it, but everyone’s moving at once. I flatten myself against the wall as Lorn’s two guards rush to his side. Naito swings Kelia around behind him, and Aren sprints to the door, shouldering it shut when it cracks open. He locks it before they’re able to get inside.
Lena throws a barbed glare at Lorn. “Tell me you have a hidden exit.”
“Of course,” he says, hurrying behind his desk. He touches a spot high up on the wall. A blue glow fans out beneath his palm, then a vibration fills the room as the slab of painted stone slides aside.
Something rams the door.
“Kelia!” Lorn shouts from the hole in the wall. He motions her to join him.
“Go!” Naito pushes her forward. She doesn’t let go of his arm.
Kelia eyes Lorn. “Does it go to the gate?”
Exasperation takes over his expression. “You can’t stay with him, Kelia. The Court fae will—”
“Does it go to the gate!” she demands.
He winces as the door creaks. “Nom Sidhe. Yes! Yes! Come on!”
Naito shoves her toward Lorn. “Take care of her.”
“Naito, no!”
“Both of you go,” I find myself saying. “I’ll slow them down.” I mean it. I don’t want Naito or Kelia to get hurt. Somebody’s fairy tale has to have a happy ending.
“We all go,” Aren says. “Now. Run!”
After Lena disappears into the black hole, Lorn grabs Kelia, then Naito, propelling them both out of the room before following. I back away from the exit, but Aren catches my arm. An instant later, I’m half falling down a staircase.
Aren keeps me on my feet. He’s moving too fast and I can’t see a damn thing. I slip, landing hard on my left knee. No time to feel the pain. Aren wrenches me back to my feet. I catch sight of a flash of white lightning as edarratae brighten Naito’s cheek. He’s no more than a few feet ahead. Behind us, wood splinters as the king’s soldiers finally burst through the door. They’ll be inside this tunnel in seconds.
I try to tug my arm free. “They’re here for me, Aren. I’ll stall them.”
His grip tightens. “No.”
“You’ll have time to get away.”
“No!”
Damn it, why won’t he leave me behind? Dragging me with him only slows him down, and I have no clue how he expects to get past the inspectors at the gate. If they don’t turn me over to the Lyechaban citizens, they’ll call the guards. They’ll hold me until Kyol gets there and they’ll arrest or kill Aren.
“I’m trying to help you!” I yell.
“You can help by running faster.”
Okay. Fine. I don’t know why I’m worried about him anyway. He lied to me. If his insistence to keep me destroys him and his rebellion, so be it.
I stop fighting him and run. It’s not an easy thing to do blind. I trail my fingers along the damp stone wall and hold tight to Aren’s hand. We’re still not fast enough. The soldiers are gaining ground.
“Hurry!” Lorn’s voice breaks through the blackness. A second later something intangible breaks. It feels like the snapping of a cord. The tension in the air shatters and the temperature plummets. A deep rumble vibrates through the tunnel.
Aren stops running. He shoves me against the wall, pressing his body against mine and tucking my head under his chin.
It’s going to cave in on us. Whatever magical trip wire Lorn activated, he did it too soon. The ground lurches beneath my feet. My knees buckle. I cling to Aren, praying he has some kind of magic that can save us as the thunder grows louder and louder.
He swings me away from the wall. Something slams down on my shoulder. I stumble and lose Aren as I fall. When the ceiling hails down, I cover my head and pray.
An eternity passes before the quake subsides. I’m skinned up and bruised, but still alive. Nothing’s broken.
Rocks skitter across the ground. I have no idea which way I’m facing, but it has to be Aren making his way to me. I consider playing dead until I choke on a breath. My lungs are so filled with dust and micro-debris it feels like I’m coughing up an avalanche.
Aren kneels beside me. “You hurt?”
“Yes,” I force out between coughs.
Maybe his ears are ringing as badly as mine because he says, “You’re fine,” and lifts me to my feet. He starts to lead me down the tunnel, but my cloak drags me backward.
“I’m caught.”
“Take it off.” He unhooks the clasp holding the cloak together and shoves it off my shoulders. I look down when it falls and see an edarratae flash over my forearm. Short sleeves in Lyechaban. Not the greatest idea.
“I can’t go out like this.”
He tucks my hand against his side. “Just stay close.”
I have no choice but to follow. My lungs itch, my shoulder aches, and I feel so beat-up the heat of the edarratae spiraling from me to Aren doesn’t bother me.
“Watch your step here,” he says, and I’m hit with déjà vu. I’ve done this before, stumbled along blind and hurt, depending on someone else to get me to safety. Kyol’s always taken care of me, but little by little, Aren whittled away my faith in him. That shouldn’t be possible. I know Kyol—I’ve always trusted him—and he . . .
He refused a life-bond because of me.
Guilt cuts through my gut, sharp as a dagger. It’s this Stockholm syndrome. It’s totally screwing with my common sense, making me doubt things I’ve always known to be true. Everything will be better as soon as I get away from Aren.