The Sharpest Blade
Page 35

Someone runs into me. I throw my weight back into them then slip through a narrow gap I opened. I’m looking everywhere for Lena, but all I see is a mob that’s becoming increasingly angry.
A hand locks on my shoulder. I grab the fae’s wrist and twist. Or try to. The arm doesn’t budge. I follow the arm to the fae’s shoulder then to his face.
Aren, and beside him, hidden beneath the hood of a dark gray cloak, is Lena.
“Thank, God,” I mutter out loud.
Aren shoves away a fae who slams into me, then he holds up a cloak that’s the same dark gray as Lena’s.
“For you, nalkin-shom,” he says, his silver eyes practically sparkling.
I want to ask him why the hell he’s happy, but I just grab the cloak and slip into it. Aren tries to pull my hood up, but I stop him, turning and waiting for . . .
Kyol. He and two of his men carve a path through the crowd. Most of the fae scramble out of their way when they see the lord general and his men, or rather, when they see their swinging swords, but a few of them don’t back off. Their swords meet Kyol’s in attacks that are halfhearted. They’re just causing trouble and are caught up in the moment. They’re not elari.
Kyol shoves one last fae away, then grabs my arm.
“Where’s Lena?” he demands. I nod toward my right. Lena’s stony silver eyes meet his unflinchingly.
“Go,” Kyol says, fury riding on his order. Pain pulses behind my eyes. It feels like someone’s taking a jackhammer to my brain. I reach for Kyol’s hand, intending to calm him, but he pulls back. His eyes lock on me, and he grates out, “Move.”
What the hell did I do?
No time to verbalize that question. Aren and Kyol and his men create an opening in the crowd. They’re effective, splitting the masses like a sea, and the farther we get away from the southern doors, the thinner that mass becomes. We don’t escape unnoticed by any means, though. A few fae figure out that only someone who’s important would be hidden beneath a cloak and escorted by a lord general and a sword-master. They trail us, some of them shouting profanities, others begging for help. I scan the faces of the followers, searching for the red-and-black name-cords of the elari or anyone else who looks threatening, but Lena’s guards keep everyone away.
We make it to the eastern entrance relatively easily and, quite surprisingly, unscathed. I think I might have one bruise on my back from an errant elbow, but other than that, there’s just a stitch in my side from running to keep up with Lena and the others’ quick pace.
The guards close the doors behind us, sealing us inside the palace. Inside where it’s safe.
Supposedly safe.
My heart rate doesn’t slow down. With the number of elari I saw in the crowd—at least five of them—I can’t escape the feeling that we made it out of there far too easily.
• • •
HALF an hour later, when I’m waiting in the private chamber at the back of the King’s Hall, I’m still uneasy. It looks like I’m the only one, though. Aren’s sitting on the edge of a table against the far wall, grinning and demanding Trev give him details about what Lena said and did, and how the fae on the plaza reacted. He’s positively giddy, high from the energy of the crowd and the scuffles we had to get through to escape it.
Lena’s here, too, but she doesn’t interject any insight. She’s staring at a collage of drawings and writings on the back wall. The drawings are penciled sketches of the high nobles of the Realm’s seventeen provinces, four of which were recently appointed by Lena. They’re split into three groups. I recognize Kelia’s father, Lord Raen, in the smallest group, and I assume he and the other four high nobles there with him are the ones Lena is certain will approve her. The sketches in the second and, by far, the largest group have writing under their names. I can’t read Fae, but my guess is that she’s listed details about the high nobles and possibly ideas for how she might go about persuading them to vote for her.
The last group is a group of one. Lord Ralsech, the high noble who’s declared his support for the false-blood.
I’m not sure if Lena is really looking at the collage, though, or if she’s staring through it to the tunnel on the other side. Her arms are folded across her chest, and her face is hard and smooth. She wants to be visible, on the ramparts of the palace or at least seeing the nobles and merchants and endless number of other fae who want an audience with her, but Kyol insisted we hole up down here. That tunnel, hidden behind a foot-thick slab of rock, is the palace’s only emergency exit. Only a few fae know about it. In fact, aside from Kyol and perhaps Naito, I’m not sure if anyone outside this room knows of its existence.
“Where is he?” Lena demands. I know she’s talking to me even though she doesn’t turn. She’s asked me this question a dozen times now, and finally, I can give her a different answer.
“He’s on his way,” I say.
Not for the first time, Trev gives me an odd look. He knows we’re talking about Kyol. I don’t think he’s figured out we have a life-bond yet, but he will soon if Lena doesn’t watch what she says. I’m not sure she cares if he knows, though. That either shows how much she trusts him—or it shows that she’s not aware of his existence.
When the door to the chamber opens, Lena turns. Kyol descends the narrow staircase that leads up to the King’s Hall. When the blue-white light from the magically lit orbs illuminates his face, his expression is as calm and stoic as ever. But I know how furious he is, and not just because I can feel his rage vibrating across the bond. It’s his eyes. The edges of his irises are so dark, they’re almost black, and they’re a shade of silver that reminds me of a hurricane coming to shore.
My headache—the one that’s been lingering since Kyol learned about Lena’s ledger burning—increases tenfold when he looks at her now.
“What were you thinking?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his words cut through the air, echoing in the small chamber. I have to give Lena props. She doesn’t so much as flinch when his gaze bores into her.
“I was thinking,” she says, emphasizing the last word, “that I needed to gain the people’s support.”
I shift uncomfortably. That’s kind of close to what I told her to do earlier, but I absolutely did not suggest the ledger burning.
“The people’s support will come when the high nobles approve your reign.”
“Which will never happen if I don’t act,” she bites out. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Taltrayn, but they aren’t exactly rallying behind me.”
“They can’t rally behind you if you’re dead.”
“Your concern is touching, but it’s unneeded.”
“Lena,” Kyol grates out. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, and I realize his patience is running thin. That’s impressive considering he’s the most calm and tolerant man I know. “Your actions started a riot.”
She crosses her arms. “My actions started a celebration.”
“They’ve lost their minds out there. People will be hurt. There are fires to put out.”
“And those fires will be put out.”
“It’s not that simple,” he says.