The Sharpest Blade
Page 57

“You’ll need Paige’s blood, too?”
“To make sure she injected the nonlethal serum, yeah. You still haven’t talked to her?”
“No.” I rub at the headache forming between my eyes. I must be a terrible person because Paige’s situation—the possibility that she might be dead or dying—is the furthest thing from my mind.
“Kyol’s heading back,” I say, standing. “I need to talk to him.”
Naito nods. “I’ll help any way I can.”
I give him a troubled smile, then head off to intercept Kyol, praying he has a plan to rescue Aren.
I don’t need the life-bond to know that Kyol isn’t bringing good news. He meets my gaze as he strides toward me. There’s no hesitation in his steps, no flicker of emotion in his silver eyes. He’s only this rigid and controlled when things aren’t going well.
My stomach tightens into knots. I brace myself for the worst, then ask, “How is he?”
“Not here,” he says. He passes by, leaving me no choice but to follow. The corridor we’re in is empty, but apparently not empty enough for him. He leads me to the palace’s residential wing, then to my room. Closing the door behind us, he says, “I talked to Jorreb. He refused to take back his words. He said it wouldn’t matter now if he tried. In the high nobles’ minds, he’s been guilty since they learned of Atroth’s death.”
My eyes sting, and nausea churns in my stomach. I believe the last part, that the high nobles think he killed the king. Even though Aren never intended to take the throne himself, he led the fight against Atroth’s Court fae. His sword killed the king’s soldiers, soldiers who came from each of the Realm’s provinces. The high nobles won’t let that go. But I don’t believe this is just about bringing the kingkiller to justice; this is about revenge. The high nobles thirst for it.
“The high nobles can go to hell,” I say. “I won’t let them kill Aren. How do we free him?”
I keep my eyes locked on Kyol’s, waiting for his answer. The seconds tick by. His expression doesn’t change, but I feel a dozen emotions tumble through him. His walls are fragile right now.
“Kyol?” I press.
He draws in a breath. His shoulders hunch slightly, then he says, “He asked me to let this happen, McKenzie.”
“Let what happen?” I ask, refusing to understand him.
“The execution.”
Those two words knock the air from my lungs.
“He wants us to let Hison kill him?” It doesn’t make sense at all. Aren isn’t suicidal.
“It’s the best thing for Lena and the Realm,” Kyol says. “It’s the best thing for you.”
My mind locks on the words It’s the best thing for you, and the fear and frustration I’m trying so hard to hold to a simmer explode into a full-out boil.
“You want him to die!” I yell.
“No—”
“If he’s dead, you think you’ll have another chance with me.”
He reaches for my arm. “McKenzie—”
“You won’t!” I jab my finger at his chest. “I gave you ten years of chances, and you turned them all down.”
My heart shatters when I feel his break, but I hold the pieces of mine together with sheer willpower.
“This isn’t about me, McKenzie. This is what Jorreb wants.”
“I’m sure you tried to talk him out of it,” I say with a bitter laugh.
“I did,” Kyol says. “I swear to you, I did.”
“Bullshit!”
My words make him flinch, and he retreats a step. I pursue him, my rage increasing, not decreasing. “Everything I feel for you now is manipulated by magic. I won’t give in to it. Even if Aren dies.”
My voice cracks over the last word.
“I know,” Kyol says. “I know!”
“I’ll talk to Hison. I’ll tell him . . .” I can’t tell Hison the truth. As angry as I am at Kyol, I won’t let him die either.
Kyol grabs both my wrists, backs me up against the wall. “I’m sorry, McKenzie. Sidhe, I’m sorry.” He drops his gaze to the floor, shakes his head slowly. “I’d tell the high nobles the truth if it wouldn’t kill you.”
My chaos lusters leap from my skin to his. We’re touching, so they’re hot and potent, but my eyes pool with tears.
“It would kill you,” he says softly. Then he swallows and meets my gaze. “The other human-fae life-bonds . . . They all ended the same. When either person died, so did the other. That’s why he’s doing this, McKenzie. He’s sacrificing himself to save you, not me.”
It takes several heartbeats for his words to sink in, but I shake my head in disbelief. That can’t be true. Lorn survived Kelia’s death. I’ve seen other fae survive the deaths of their bond-mates as well. I’ve never heard of both dying.
But, God, what if it is true? Lena told me life-bonds between human and fae always ended badly, and when Aren learned about our connection, he said the only reason he didn’t kill Kyol on the spot was because it would kill me. I thought he meant that figuratively.
“If I die, McKenzie,” Kyol continues, “you die. And if you die, I will. I’m sorry. I’m deeply sorry for every time I’ve hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me now,” I say. The words are true on so many levels. He’s touching me, so his emotions, his pain and angst, move freely into me. So does his resolve. I can feel it solidifying in him. I can feel Aren slipping further and further away.
“I know.” He closes his eyes and swallows. He wants so much to pull me into his arms and comfort me.
“You’re not going to help me save him,” I whisper because I need to hear him say it out loud.
“No,” he says. “And I’m to tell you that, if you try to free him on your own, he won’t go. He’s doing what he thinks is the right thing for you. You never should have been caught up in this war.”
I don’t know if those last words are his or Aren’s. It doesn’t matter. Fury builds under my skin, threatening to kindle the breath I draw in. Kyol knows how close to exploding I am. I feel his misery, but nothing I say or do will change his mind because he thinks Aren’s doing the right thing, and he thinks it’s his duty to make sure it happens.
I bite my lower lip and taste blood. Screw them both. They’re not making this decision for me. Aren’s an idiot to think I’ll let us end like this. We won’t. I’ll free him myself if I have to.
“I’ll stop you,” Kyol says softly.
I meet his gaze, see the regret in his stormy eyes. I’ve never felt so betrayed.
TWENTY-THREE
I WATCH LEE drop three white tablets into a bottle of cabus. After they disappear into the crimson liquid, Lee stuffs the cork back into the top, then shakes the bottle to dissolve the pills.
“Are you sure it won’t hurt him?” I ask.
“I’m sure,” Lee says. “Dad used them all the time on fae. They were fine.”
I glance at Naito, who’s sitting on a padded bench. He gives me a curt nod.
“It’ll take ten to twenty minutes to work, depending on how much he drinks, but it’ll knock him out for around six hours,” Lee says, handing me the bottle. I nearly drop it.