My gaze is pulled toward the door. Kyol told me years ago that this isn’t my war. I should have listened; I can listen now. I can leave this all behind and start living a normal, human life, a life where I won’t be put into a situation where I might have to kill to survive.
I close my eyes, draw in a breath. No. Retiring isn’t an option anymore. Maybe the Court fae were the good guys when I first entered the Realm, but they aren’t now. I have to undo all the harm I’ve done these last few years.
I’m about to force my feet to move, to walk into the living room and join the rebels, when twin flashes of light strike outside the back windows. Shadows twist through the backyard. Naito and Evan move away from them along with two fae I’ve never seen before. Evan stumbles.
“Aren!” I call.
He grabs his sword.
“Naito and Evan,” I say, gesturing toward the door as the humans stagger inside.
“He’s hurt,” Naito says, a needless statement since there’s an arrow protruding from Evan’s chest.
Aren drops his sword and helps Evan into a chair. He’s pasty white beneath his beard, and his lips are dry and cracked.
Lena rises from the couch. “Hold him,” she says. “I’ll heal him.”
Aren grabs one of Evan’s shoulders. Naito grabs the other. Then Lena wraps her hand around the shaft of the arrow and yanks.
My stomach lurches, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him, away from the blood that gushes from his chest, from between Lena’s fingers as she presses her palms over the wound.
Evan’s sweating. He stops fighting Naito and Aren and goes still. When his eyes close, I half expect to see his soul-shadow rise up. He’s not fae, though. He’s human and . . .
I exhale when he nods and mutters a thank-you. He’s not dead. Not yet, at least.
Naito straightens. He steps back to scan the living room, glancing at the black-haired noble and his guards, then looking into the kitchen. He walks past me to peer down the hallway before turning back. “Where’s Kelia?”
“She’s looking for you,” Lena says, accepting a towel from Trev and cleaning her hands. “She’s fine. Or she was when she left.”
“Lorn went after her,” I add.
“Lorn?” Naito mumbles something under his breath, then, “She won’t listen to him.”
“I’ll send someone to bring them back,” Aren says. He exchanges words with Trev, who opens a fissure and disappears. “What happened to you two?”
“Archers,” Naito says, walking to the kitchen. He picks up the bottle of wine Lorn didn’t have time to open. “We had to make a run for the gate. He was hit just before we fissured here.”
“Could you have been tracked?” Aren asks.
Naito glances into the backyard, then back to Aren. “No. We looked for humans before we made our move.”
Aren relaxes. The fae noble says something to him, but the shrrips of opening fissures drown out his words. He and his guards disappear a moment later.
Naito steps to my side and hands me a glass of wine. “You look like you need a drink.”
Not as much as he does. Trev’s been gone less than two minutes, but Naito keeps glancing into the backyard as if they should have returned hours ago. Seriously, if he and Kelia aren’t reunited soon, their story might become a little too Romeo and Juliet.
I sip my wine while he downs half his glass. A heavy silence settles into the living room. Aren sinks onto the couch beside Lena as if he’s giving in to the weight of the atmosphere. Nalst and the other fae take seats as well.
“The fae who left,” Naito says, his voice just above a whisper. “He was Shyer, son of Asray. His father’s the high noble of Criskran. They support the rebellion. Or they did. He just ended his association with us. What happened at Lynn Valley?”
“The fight spilled over to the tor’um’s neighbors. Some humans died.” After a pause, I add, “Sethan died.”
Naito closes his eyes. When he opens them, he drains the rest of his glass and pours a new one. I hold mine out for a refill as well. I need something to dull the realization that I’ve just joined the losing side of the fae’s war.
TWENTY-SIX
“NAITO!” Kelia’s cry jars me awake. My head thumps back, hitting the wall.
“Kelia!” Naito leaps to his feet beside me.
Kelia launches herself into his arms. He stumbles back, nearly falls over the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He balances on its back and wraps his arms around her. They kiss and jagged blue lightning strikes across her cheek. It leaps into Naito’s lips and then skates down his neck to disappear beneath his shirt collar.
Watching the edarratae play across their skin makes me aware of the chill in the room. My gaze shifts to the couch, but Aren’s not there. Only Lena. She doesn’t so much as twitch despite the makeout session going on behind her. She stares at the tiled top of the coffee table. For once, I don’t hate her. She’s just lost her brother, and I feel like shit for having worked for the people who killed him.
The blinds on the back door rattle. Lorn swings it shut, then heaves a dramatic sigh. “Could you two please restrain yourselves in my presence? I can only tolerate so much.”
Naito and Kelia separate. About an inch.
I swallow the sip of wine at the bottom of my glass, then stand to set it on the counter. Aren comes out of the hallway with Sosch perched across his shoulders. I haven’t seen the kimki since Aren took me through the gate in Germany, so I’m glad he’s here and safe, but he seems just as weary and defeated as the fae.
Aren’s gaze slides from Naito and Kelia to me. God, he looks tired. He hasn’t showered or rested. He hasn’t had time. He’s been trapped in conversations all afternoon. Shyer isn’t the only fae who’s come by to confirm Sethan’s death. The Court’s announcing their victory across the Realm, and each time the news is passed on, the rebellion’s supporters fall away. The whole thing’s teetering on a pedestal that won’t hold it anymore.
Aren sets Sosch on the floor, then gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I can’t stand seeing him like this.
“Kyol said he’d talk to the king,” I tell him. “Atroth might be willing to negotiate a truce.”
Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say. Aren’s face hardens. He walks past me to go sit beside Lena on the couch.
What? I can’t even mention Kyol’s name? Whatever. Aren needs to consider all his options. Even with Sethan dead, Radath won’t stop hunting the rebels.
Lorn’s staring at me. So are Naito and Kelia, but less obviously.
“Have a seat, Lorn,” Aren orders, picking up a sheathed dagger from the coffee table. He grips its hilt, point down, between his palms.
I frown as Lorn walks into the sitting area and drops down on a sofa-chair. When Naito and Kelia take the matching chair, I sink to the floor in front of the fireplace and loosely wrap my arms around my knees.
“We have to find someone else to take the throne,” Aren says quietly. “A Descendant whose lineage can’t be questioned.”
For some reason, everyone looks at Lorn.
Lorn takes in all the stares, laughs. “Oh, no. Not me. I’m perfectly happy ruling the Realm from the shadows. I have no desire to be king.”