His knife cuts into my skin as he leads me down the length of the blue carpet. I’m cold and shaking, but my clothes are just wet, not frozen like I thought, and the muscle cramps are gone now. Unfortunately, I’m all too aware of my thudding heart and the anxiety pooling in my stomach. If I wasn’t holding out hope to find some way out of this, I’d force Micid to slit my throat. I’d rather be dead than in his whorehouse.
Atroth gazes at me as if I’m a child who’s disappointed a parent. When he walks down the platform’s steps, his four guards part to allow him through.
“Put away the knife, Micid.”
“Of course, my king.” He makes the blade disappear.
I swipe my hand across my neck. It’s only bleeding a little—the shrapnel stuck in the back of my arm is a worse injury—but Atroth scowls, unties a blue sash from around his waist, then dabs at the shallow scratch. I don’t know why he bothers. My clothes are stained with Kelia’s blood.
Kelia. She’s dead. Kyol probably is, too. And Aren?
My gut twists. The fight at the Sidhe Tol wasn’t going well, and Aren didn’t see Micid take me. Naito and I told him about the ther’rothi, but will he realize what happened?
Atroth folds the sash several times before he slides it into a pocket of his embroidered jacket.
“You’ve become a problem, McKenzie.”
“What do you want?” Somehow, I manage to sound angry, not scared and exhausted.
Atroth’s eyebrows go up. “What do I want? McKenzie, you’ve done this to yourself. When we rescued you from the rebellion, I intended to carry on as usual. I’ve always thought you were smart, strong-willed. I never thought you’d allow yourself to be manipulated by a false-blood. What’s worse, you’ve used your chaos lusters to manipulate Taltrayn as well.”
“I didn’t—”
Micid gives me a shake, making me swallow my words.
Atroth heaves out a sigh. “I suppose his actions are partly my fault, though. I knew how he felt about you, but I believed him when he swore he wouldn’t act on those feelings. Still, I shouldn’t have allowed you to work so closely together for so long a time.” He shakes his head as if he’s had this discussion with himself a thousand times before. “But I needed you protected, and Taltrayn was my sword-master. It made sense. You were effective together.”
I scan the length of the throne room, looking for some way to save myself. There are too many archers between me and the door. I study their faces, hoping to see Taber or someone else who might be more loyal to Kyol than to Atroth, but I don’t recognize any of them.
“Sidhe,” Atroth curses, regaining my attention. “You have no idea how difficult this is for me.”
I focus on him and feel my eyes widen.
“For you?” My voice is so soft, so cold, the nearest guards loosen their swords in their scabbards.
The king frowns. “You don’t think I’m enjoying this, do you? I’ve known Taltrayn longer than you’ve been alive. I never wanted to hurt him. When my guards discovered you helping the rebels infiltrate my palace, I should have had you executed. I didn’t because Taltrayn begged me to spare your life.”
“So you planned to give me to him instead?” I jab a finger toward Micid, who smiles in return.
“Of course not,” Atroth says. “It was a threat only, for both you and Taltrayn. You knew more about the rebels than you told us. I needed you to talk.”
“I could take her now, my lord.”
“No, Micid. She won’t become one of your whores.” He says this as if he’s doing me a favor, as if he’s the most reasonable and tolerant king to ever rule a world. He’s not. He’s obviously aware of the ther’rothi’s fetish. Atroth’s a bastard for ignoring it. Besides, Micid’s sick smile doesn’t waver. He still thinks he’ll have me.
I shiver. When I cross my arms over my chest, the shrapnel embedded in the back of my left arm stabs deeper. I focus on that pain instead of the panic threatening to tangle my thoughts. Atroth hasn’t ordered his guards to kill me yet. There must be some way out of this.
“I’m not the only reason Kyol helped the rebellion,” I say, trying to buy time. Aren will end up here eventually. If he’s alive. “He disagrees with the way you’re running this war. If you didn’t let Radath—”
Atroth holds up his hand. “The rebels started this. I’m doing what I must to protect the Realm. Taltrayn understood this until you began whispering in his ear.”
“I didn’t know what was going on until I was abducted.”
“You still don’t know what’s going on. No. Don’t say anything else. I hate to let your talent go to waste, but I can’t trust you anymore.”
“So you’re going to have me killed?” I say the words like they’re an accusation. I don’t know if he notices the way my voice cracks.
“We’ll see,” he says, staring past me. When he drops into his silver throne, I turn.
Lord General Radath enters via the huge gilded doors. A silver-threaded ceremonial cape is hooked to his jaedric cuirass. He may have briefly been at the fight at the Sidhe Tol, but he doesn’t have one smudge of dirt, one bead of sweat, or one speck of silver-dust on him. He couldn’t have engaged any of the fae or humans in Montana. He couldn’t have fought with . . .
Kyol. My heart stutters when I see him. He’s bruised, bloodied, and bound, but he’s alive. He holds his head up and is composed as he strides behind Radath. Composed, until he sees me.
His mask shatters and a look of helpless horror crosses his face. One of his two guards has to shove him forward. He stumbles, then quickly shutters his thoughts and focuses on the king.
He’s alive. I close my eyes and draw in a breath, but his presence doesn’t mean I’ll make it out of this. It doesn’t mean either of us will.
I glance back at the gilded doors, praying Aren and an entourage of rebels will charge through them, but I hate this, standing here waiting for somebody else to save me. I need to find a way to save myself.
Radath ignores me and bows to Atroth. “The son of Taltrayn, my lord.”
The king and his former sword-master lock eyes. The silence in the throne room is deafening, the atmosphere heavy. Even though Kyol’s hands are tied in front of him, Atroth’s guards shift their attention from me to him. I’m just a human. I’m not a threat; Kyol is.
“My lord,” he says after a long moment. “She shouldn’t be here.”
Atroth’s frown deepens. “She shouldn’t be here like this; you’re right. Neither should you. I’ve been lenient with you, Taltrayn. I allowed you to continue seeing her. I believed you when you said you had no hand in her escape. I trusted you, and you repay me with treason?”
Kyol’s jaw clenches. “I lost her because of my loyalty to you.”
“Lost her? To Jorreb?” Atroth’s temper cools. “Taltrayn . . . Kyol, you never should have lost your heart to a human. They’re fickle creatures. They don’t understand loyalty like we do, like you did before she bewitched you. McKenzie was with the rebels for a handful of weeks. She couldn’t possibly have felt the same way for you as you did for her, not if she’s given herself to another fae so soon.”