At first, I think he means that Lena’s going to need my Sight or shadow-reading skills, but the way his gaze locks on me as he brings my hand to his mouth indicates otherwise. His tongue tickles my palm before he releases my hand. Then he picks up a tray of bread and meats off the side table and sets it between us as if that’s the only thing that can keep him apart from me.
My room has suddenly become hot. I have to concentrate on something besides the delicious ache that’s settled low in my stomach, so I pick up a piece of bread, and say, “I’m surprised Lena isn’t beating down my door.”
“She’s meeting with Lorn,” Aren says. “Here.”
He hands me a glass filled with a deep red liquid.
“Cabus?” I ask.
“Yes, nalkin-shom,” he says with a sideways grin.
I make a face as I raise the glass then drink. It really is vile-tasting, but it’ll make me feel better.
“Lena decided to let Lorn back into the palace?” I ask, returning my attention to the plate and trying to decide what will get rid of the taste of cabus the quickest.
Aren places a pillow between my back and the wall. “Only temporarily. He’s still being difficult. He’s helping less and less every day.”
“He’d rather cooperate with a band of merry men than a potential queen.”
“A band of what?”
“Never mind.” I pick up the tongs beside the plate. They’re wooden and similar to the kiddie chopsticks handed out at Chinese restaurants, but they’re a standard fae utensil. I use it to select the stringy, dark meat sitting on the edge of the plate. I think it’s brive. If I’m right, it’s delicious, even though it looks incredibly unappetizing.
“Did Naito talk to Lena?” I ask. Then I nearly choke when I swallow down the stringy stuff. It’s not brive.
“He did,” Aren says, and something in his voice makes me forget about the horrible taste in my mouth. He’s stiff, and his expression is guarded, almost as if he’s waiting for me to lash out at him.
“You know about Caelar,” I say. And Brene, I add silently. Aren’s jaw clenches and unclenches, all but confirming my words.
I give him a tight-lipped smile, then grab a wedge of cheese. After another few seconds, Aren relaxes slightly, realizing I’m not going to make a point about his past.
“He’s made this war personal,” Aren says.
I nod. “That’s why he won’t negotiate with Lena. He wants you dead.” I take another bite out of the soft wedge of cheese, then add, “He thinks you’re the garistyn.”
“Caelar told you about that.” There’s no inflection in his voice.
“He did,” I say, using the same tone Aren did a minute ago. “I won’t let Kyol die.”
He gives me an insipid smile. “I know.”
He retrieves the glass of cabus I set aside, starts to hand it to me, but almost drops it when someone pounds on the door. He’s on his feet, reaching for the sword propped against the wall, when Trev calls out, “Lena wants you.”
Aren lets his hand drop without touching his sword. He looks at me and doesn’t say a word. What? Is he going to pretend he’s not in here?
Trev pounds again. “She instructed me to break down the door if you don’t open it.”
Aren lets out a breath that’s half sigh, half grumble.
“She’ll want to know details about the remnants,” I tell him, setting the tray aside and standing.
Reluctantly, he buckles his weapons belt around his waist. He starts to reach for the door but stops and looks back at me.
“I know I can’t forbid you from helping us, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Promise me you won’t be reckless,” I counter.
“I’m never reckless.” He grins, but only to hide his worry. We both know how easily we could lose each other.
He opens the door. Trev stands at the threshold, his fist raised to knock again.
“You couldn’t have delayed her?” Aren asks.
“I did delay her,” Trev says, sounding almost offended.
I think Aren was just harassing him because he gives Trev a brotherly pat on the shoulder as he passes. “Dealing with Lorn makes her short-tempered, I know.”
“She’s in the Mirrored Hall,” Trev calls after us.
Aren waves his hand in acknowledgment, then places it on the small of my back. “Why don’t you go ahead. Taltrayn will want to hear what you have to say, and I want Naito there, too. I’ll bring them both to the hall.”
I nod, but before he leaves, I ask, “Did Shane ever show up?”
Aren’s expression tells me the answer. My heart sinks. Lena sent rebels to search for him, but London is a huge city. If he isn’t at the gate or near the club, they’re not going to just stumble across him.
“I’ll need to look for him,” I say. “He might have left a message at the hotel or he might be in a London hospital.” Or a London morgue, but I don’t let my thoughts linger on that.
He takes my hand, plants a kiss on my palm. “I’ll take you back to Vegas after we talk to Lena.”
He leaves me then, and I make my way to the Mirrored Hall on my own. I’ve never been in it before, but I’ve walked past it a time or two when the doors were open. Atroth only allowed entry to members of his Inner Court, which consisted of a few high nobles, his lord general and sword-master, and a few other select, privileged fae. It definitely wasn’t open to humans.
It’s on the same floor as my room, but the residential wing of the palace is sealed off from the northern wing, which contains the throne room, the administrative offices, and Lena’s apartments. I have to go down a flight of stairs and through a corridor that parallels the statue garden. After I cross the antechamber outside the throne room, I reach another staircase. This one is elaborate, with silver banisters and polished white marble steps. I’m halfway up it when I see Lorn start to descend.
“Ah, so you do live,” he says, his face lighting up with pleasure. At least, I think it’s pleasure. It’s always difficult to tell when Lorn is being sarcastic. “I always thought humans were breakable things, but you’re proving to be quite resilient.”
“Hello, Lorn,” I say, veering to the right, so I can move around him.
“You might want to delay your meeting with Lena,” he says. “She’s in a foul mood.”
“I’m sure you tried your best to cheer her up,” I mutter.
He puts a hand to his chest as if I’ve wounded him. “Of course I did. It’s not my fault she expects so much of me.”
I pause on the same step he’s standing on. “Do you know who’s leading the remnants?”
He gives me his most charming smile. “I know everything, my dear.”
Or he pretends to, at least. In this case, though, I think he does know. If he didn’t, I suspect he’d try to pry the information out of me. No wonder Lena’s mad at him. He’s not giving us the information we need to end this war. Who knows what else he isn’t telling us.
“Bye, Lorn.”
“Have a wonderful day, nalkin-shom,” he calls after me.
I roll my eyes. I want to like Lorn, but sometimes he makes it difficult to believe there’s a caring person beneath the apathetic façade he puts up.