The Sharpest Blade
Page 6

“You should have stayed where you were,” I tell him.
“You should have as well,” he replies evenly.
I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath he drags in. I was so afraid I’d get here too late, that I’d see him take his last breath and feel his heart beat for the last time.
“I couldn’t,” I say simply.
His mouth bends into a grim smile. “I know.”
Beside us, Lena snorts, then mutters in Fae, “Life-bonds turn Tar Sidhe into tor’um.”
That has the ring of a proverb to it. My translation: life-bonds make people do stupid shit. That’s the only reason Kyol would attempt the stairs half-dead, and it’s the only reason I’d let a—
Oh, crap.
I sit back on my haunches, my eyes wide.
Lena wipes the back of her hand across her brow, then meets my gaze. Somehow, she knows exactly what’s leaped to my mind. “Do you want to tell him how foolish you were or should I?”
“She’s okay?” I ask.
“She’s fine,” Lena says.
Kyol’s brow furrows. “Who?”
“Kynlee,” Lena answers. “The tor’um who fissured McKenzie from her world to ours.”
“Tor’um?” Alarm jolts through Kyol.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I say in my defense. “I couldn’t think.”
“It should have killed you,” Lena says, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. She’s not just throwing those words around; she really thinks I shouldn’t have survived the In-Between.
“Maybe she’s barely a tor’um?” I suggest. Regular fae have different levels of avesti, of magical reserves. It’s possible tor’um could as well. After all, most of them can’t fissure at all.
Kyol pulls his hand free from Lena’s. It’s healed now—he’s healed—but he’s weak from her magic and from blood loss. I can feel his muscles tremble as he releases my hand, too, then carefully rises to his feet. All thoughts of being killed by the In-Between vanish from my mind when he sways.
“Maybe you should rest a little longer.”
He shakes his head. “I want you away from here.”
The way he says that makes me frown. He doesn’t want me here in this building, and for the first time, my mind is clear enough to process what I’ve seen. I remember the room downstairs, the lush, lobbylike feel of it, and I can visualize the room I was in. It didn’t have any windows, just walls covered in silklike cloth and a large bed. The sheets were rumpled beneath the woman, but I’m certain she wasn’t killed in her sleep. She was . . .
Shit.
“This is a tjandel,” I whisper. I first heard that word just under two months ago. King Atroth’s lord general threatened to send me to one if I didn’t give him information on the rebels. It’s a brothel where human women are imprisoned. Fae pay to have sex with them. They get off on the chaos lusters that leap to their skin when they touch, and some of them like tormenting the women, most of whom don’t have the Sight. They don’t see the thing that’s raping them.
“This is the third one we’ve discovered,” Lena says.
“The third?” I echo, disbelief leaking into my voice. “How many are there?” I thought there might be one, maybe two, because, really, how many fae can be demented enough to come to a place like this?
“I don’t know,” she says, wrapping her hand around my right wrist and inspecting my injured arm. I try to pull away. She’s just expended a ton of energy healing Kyol, and the dark circles under her eyes indicate she wasn’t well rested in the first place.
“Lena—”
She gives me a murderous look that almost makes me stifle my protest. “You look like hell. Your hands are shaking.”
“My hands are shaking because I’m trying not to wrap them around your neck,” she bites back. “Now stop being a fool and let me help you.”
Fine. If she wants to further exhaust herself by healing me, she can go for it. I let her place her palm against the slash on my arm.
“We found the other two tjandel days after the humans were slaughtered,” she says smoothly, as if she didn’t just threaten to strangle me. “We were provided with a tip to this location.”
“We thought they would be alive,” Kyol says.
“Was this a trap then?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. Lena’s magic burns as it heals. “Who gave you the tip?”
A few seconds pass before Lena answers, “Aren.”
Aren. The pain in my arm suddenly subsides. Now, the hurt is lodged in the center of my chest.
“Where is he?” I should get an Emmy. My voice sounds completely normal, and I’m certain my expression doesn’t change at all. Only Kyol feels the way my heart twists.
“Not in Corrist,” she says, “or he’d have come the instant we heard you were here.”
Would he? He hasn’t fissured to Earth once in the last three weeks, and the last time I saw him, he was . . . crushed. I don’t remember forming the life-bond with Kyol, but that didn’t matter to Aren. He thinks I’m still in love with Lena’s lord general, and that the bond will destroy any feelings I have for him. It won’t, but I don’t know how long it will take Aren to see the truth.
I don’t know if he’ll see the truth.
When Kyol draws in a breath, I realize my emotions are completely open to him. His aren’t open to me, though. They’re still very much there, but they’re not overwhelming me like they were when I first entered this world. He’s healed, and even though he’s weak, he’s strong enough to put his walls back into place.
I need to find myself some freaking walls.
Lena releases my arm. Her hands are still shaking. I don’t think that’s entirely due to the energy she just expended. It’s getting to her, ruling the Realm and playing politics with the high nobles. She needs a three-week break from this world.
Kyol peels off the remaining shreds of his shirt. I lock my gaze on Lena. I know what Kyol’s body looks like—muscular shoulders, chiseled chest, and strong, washboard abs. He’s built like a warrior. I might have ended our relationship, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.
“The swordsmen who came with me,” Kyol says. “Have they reported in?”
“No,” Lena answers, her tone way too neutral. That catches my attention. I might not have been around for a while, but I doubt the number of swordsmen who’ve pledged loyalty to Lena has suddenly increased. She can’t afford to lose any fae.
“Some still may, though.” She accepts a clean cloth from one of her guards and methodically begins cleaning her hands. “Your attackers were concealed by illusions?”
Kyol’s responses to questions like that one usually come quickly, and with military precision. This one doesn’t. He hesitates just long enough to be noticeable—noticeable to me, at least—before he answers. “Yes. They were. This place felt wrong. I turned to order everyone to fissure out, and when I did, I must have bumped the fae who attacked me. His illusion broke, and I was able to redirect his attack.”
He wasn’t able to redirect it enough. His injuries prove that.