The Shadow Reader
Page 78

Naito cinches his belt around the stump of Nakano’s arm.
“Help him.” I push Aren toward the humans.
“You’re not hurt?”
“No.” A bullet in the back is what knocked me to the ground, but I don’t think it penetrated my vest. Adrenaline’s numbing the pain now.
“Get her out of here,” Aren orders. He scrambles across the forest floor to Nakano.
As Kyol’s pulling me to my feet, a shadow captures my attention. I would just let it go, but it nags at me like an itch that needs to be scratched. It’s a Court fae. I can’t see his face, but I’m certain I know him. He’s . . . Holy shit, it’s Radath.
I yank my sketchbook out of my satchel as he fissures away. “He’s running.”
“Not now, McKenzie.”
I push Kyol’s hands away and take the pen out of the spiral. “It’s Radath.”
Kyol freezes. I take advantage of his indecision and scratch the first twist of shadows across a blank page. The trail’s fresh enough. I think I can map his location to within a couple hundred feet.
“He’s gone to the Realm.” He’ll double fissure so I have to be accurate. A deeper shade of black narrows into a curving line. The river leaks out into the Jythia Ocean.
I focus. The shadow’s scale changes, grows more precise. I flip to the next page to narrow my map down as well. He’s fissured into a rocky field. It’s nowhere near a town, just a place in the middle of nowhere.
“Criskran.” I shove the sketchbook in front of Kyol’s eyes. “You can catch him.”
His jaw clenches.
“Stay with Jorreb,” he orders. He takes my gun out of its holster, presses it into my hands, and something flickers in his eyes. I don’t realize what it is until he fissures out. He doesn’t expect to see me again. Why? He can take Radath in a fair fight.
In a fair fight.
Fear drives the air out of my lungs. It’s a trap. It’s the only explanation for Radath being here, right here, where Kyol and I both stood.
God, what have I done?
I press my back against a tree and scan the forest for anything, anyone who can help him.
Aren’s stopped Nakano’s stump from bleeding. He fissures away to fight a trio of Court fae, leaving Naito at his father’s side.
“Get away!” Nakano roars at his son.
Naito complies. He picks up the gun from his father’s severed hand and takes aim at one of the fae Aren’s fighting.
I scramble in the direction of the Sidhe Tol, slipping on wet leaves as the battle roars on. I have to find someone willing and able to help Kyol. I have to.
I spot Nalst running past Nakano. Before I call the rebel’s name, Nakano moves. My heart thumps in my chest as he pulls a gun out from behind his back. He aims.
“Watch out!” I scream, swinging my gun up to aim, but Nalst is in my way.
Two shots ring out. I spin in the direction Nakano shot, making sure he hasn’t hit any rebels.
He has.
Kelia cries out, sinking to her knees. She has armor under her camo, though. She’ll be okay. She’ll get up. She’ll . . .
A wet stain grows across her breast.
Oh, God.
I run to her. I drop my gun, placing my hand over her heart to try to stop the bleeding. Her cuirass is in the way. The blood’s leaking out the gap on the side, too. It’s leaking everywhere, staining her clothes. I can’t put enough pressure on it.
She cries out when I yank at her shirt, ripping it so I can get to the strings holding the jaedric together.
“I’m sorry. I have to . . . God. I have to get this off you.”
My hands shake. Blood tightens the knots at her side. I can’t get them undone.
“Naito,” she chokes out.
Shit. She’s going to die. She can’t wait. She needs help now.
“Aren!” I yell.
I scan the forest, spot him slaying a Court fae. He turns toward me the same instant Naito does.
“Kelia!” Naito flies across the forest floor almost as quickly as Aren fissures here. He drops to his knees, takes his hand in hers. “Baby, hang on.”
“Naito,” she whispers, focusing on his face.
Aren takes out a knife, cuts through the bindings on her side. He flings the cuirass aside and places his hands over Kelia’s bullet wounds. His hands glow blue as he flares his magic. The tension floods out of Kelia’s body. An instant later, she vanishes.
I stop breathing. No. She couldn’t have died. Aren was healing her. He was . . .
A spasm wracks through Naito. An anguished scream rips from his throat.
“No!” He reaches for her rising soul-shadow, clutching at the air as if he can keep it in this world. “No!”
The white shadow dissipates.
“No!”
I back away. Kelia’s dead. Kyol’s gone. Fae are still dying around us. I don’t know if any rebels have made it to the Sidhe Tol. Don’t know how much longer until the reinforcements from the other attacks arrive.
Naito screams again. His pain brings tears to my eyes.
God, we shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t have come.
I take another step back. My tears stream down my face, mixing with the rain.
Another step back and I hit something. I put a hand behind me to balance against the tree, only it’s not a tree.
I start to turn, but something wraps around me. Something invisible.
The forest blurs, darkens, then reappears in a shade of blue. A hand covers my mouth. I can’t suck in enough air to scream.
I shiver. Not from the icy grip of the In-Between but from the wet tongue that slowly licks up my neck.
THIRTY
I TWIST AND I thrash and I try to scream, but no one sees Micid drag me to the Sidhe Tol. No one hears his sick chuckle when he bites my ear, and the battle’s too loud, too chaotic, for anyone to notice the spray of water my kicking legs send up when Micid reaches into the stream and opens a gated-fissure. He presses an anchor-stone into my palm, covers my fist with his hand, then pulls me into the slash of white light.
My rain-soaked clothing freezes to my skin. Pain stabs through me, stealing my breath and cramping my muscles—all my muscles: my stomach, my calves, my bruised back. Everything hurts.
Then the In-Between vanishes and I stumble into the Realm. My lungs aren’t working right. The air filling them doesn’t seem to contain any oxygen. Shadows creep into my vision, blurring the gilded doors to the king’s hall. The shadows aren’t all from our fissure, though; most are from my fading consciousness. My knees buckle, but Micid’s hand tangles in my hair and he drags me through the open doorway.
I recover enough to lock my knees, forcing Micid to stop walking. He slides his hand down the side of my neck, agitating my edarratae. When he puts his arm around my shoulders, I slam my elbow into his stomach.
He hisses and grips the back of my neck in one hand, then places a knife against my throat with the other.
“Bring her here, Micid,” Atroth says, rising from his throne. Four guards stand at the foot of the dais, hands ready on their swords, and more than a dozen archers stand with their backs against the room’s long walls. Arrows are already inserted into their crossbows. Everyone is silent and alert, ready in case any rebels make it through the Sidhe Tol.
Micid places his mouth against my ear. “I will tame you when this is over.”