The Shattered Dark
Page 27

His smile widens. “I really have missed you, nalkin-shom.”
That smile disappears when he takes my hands in his. “Sidhe, your fingers are ice.”
“Yeah.” I look back the way we came. We’re still in line of sight of where Trev and I fissured in. I’m assuming that’s where he’ll reappear, but there’s still no sign of him. How long does it take to get a freaking cloak?
I turn back to Aren. Past his shoulder, I see Hison staring at us.
“We need to keep walking,” I say.
Aren scowls, but we turn and follow the high noble. Aren doesn’t stop touching me. He runs his hands up and down my arms, then alternates cupping first my right, then my left hand between his. The contact helps. The lightning distracts me—he distracts me—and somehow, I’m as hot as I am cold. My body isn’t numb anymore. I’m all too aware of just how much I want him.
“You didn’t say what we’re doing here.”
Aren’s thumb massages my palm. “Hison captured a fae who’s been encouraging the disorder. He’s outspoken against Lena, the corruption of the palace, the war. We think he’s close to the remnants’ leadership. We’re going to let him escape. We need to know where he goes.”
Hison leaves the street, taking a narrow path between two tall stucco buildings. The shadow-reading should be simple. This is the type of assignment I was given almost all the time when I worked for the Court. It’s safe. The target never even knows I’m there unless something goes wrong.
Like something went wrong back in Spier.
“You trust Hison?” I ask.
“Not at all,” he replies. Then, “Here’s Trev.”
Trev must have either known where we’re going or seen us turn down this path. He jogs toward us, carrying a white cloak. Maybe that’s what took him so long. Most of the fae’s cloaks are dark colors—deep blues and various shades of gray and black. This one will help me blend in with the snow.
Aren takes it from him. He runs his hands over it twice before he opens its folds and places it around my shoulders.
I very nearly moan. It’s like being tucked inside a blanket taken directly from the dryer.
“God, I love you…you’re magic.” Shit. That was a bad stumble. Humans throw those words around so casually, but I don’t know if he knows that, and I’m not ready to tell him I love him, not while we’re fighting a war and not while our relationship is so new and unstable.
He pulls my hood over my head. Keeping a grip on the front edges, he pulls me close.
“Careful, nalkin-shom,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I might think you’re starting to like me.”
I’m grateful he’s making light of my slip. My shoulders are defrosted enough that I manage a shrug. “I might not hate you quite as much as I used to.”
He smiles, then lets go of my hood to run his hands over the cloak again. A new wave of warmth envelops me. Seriously, fae magic is pretty awesome sometimes. I could melt inside this cloak. It’s heavy enough to block the wind and it has huge, wide pockets on the inside that I can slip my arms into.
Aren’s palm glides down my back…and stops just above my waistband. That’s where the dagger he gave me should be. It seems like forever has passed since I left the Vegas suite, but that’s where the dagger is, uselessly parked on my dresser. Unless the maid called the authorities.
“It’s Sosch’s fault,” I mutter.
Aren lifts an eyebrow as if to say, “Really?” There’s an entertained glint in his silver eyes that makes my stomach flip again.
He unhooks a short scabbard from his belt. “Lena’s not going to be happy when she learns you’re depleting the armory.”
He lifts the back of my shirt to slide it—
“Cold!” I squeak as soon as the scabbard touches my skin.
“Oops,” he says, sliding it into my waistband, but he’s grinning. He sobers a second later, though. Softly, he asks, “You’re okay?”
I pull the cloak more tightly around me. “Yeah, this is warm enough. Thanks.”
“No. Are you okay with being here? In Rhigh?”
I’m not sure what he’s asking. He knows Thrain was the false-blood who pulled me into the Realm. Does he know Thrain held me here? I don’t see how he could. This was only one of Thrain’s bases, and I don’t think Atroth or any of his fae went around telling others this is where they stumbled across me.
Trev—I almost forgot he was here—clears his throat, then mutters the warning, “Hison.”
“Is there a problem?” Hison has doubled back and is standing only a few paces away.
Aren focuses on the high noble and says, “Lena expects her humans to be taken care of. McKenzie’s well-being is my priority. I want her out of the elements.”
“It’s not much farther,” Hison practically spits. It was so much easier to work for the fae when I didn’t realize just how much some of them hated me.
It takes less than a minute to reach our destination, a small, detached home near the city’s marketplace. I can’t see it from here, but that marketplace is on the river. That’s where the gate is, too. Kyol fissured me through it when he stole me away from Thrain.
I’m uncomfortable being back here, but I don’t let it show. I follow Hison and Aren through the door and into the living area. The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight coming in from a window, but I can still make out the blue silk shimmering overhead. It’s a common fae custom to pin thin drapes to the ceiling. They’re soft and light, moving like waves when we walk beneath them. They’re supposed to be relaxing, but I still feel tense, which is stupid. Thrain is dead. Dead, dead, dead.
Unless Naito is right and banek’tan do exist.
I don’t know why I let that thought creep into my mind. I’m 99.9 percent certain no one can bring fae back from the dead.
“Is this close enough?” Hison asks. He’s standing in front of a window.
“It’s close enough,” Aren answers. He motions me forward. “The fae will come out of that door.”
That door is barely ten feet away. It’s just across the narrow street and nearly hidden behind the snow-covered branches of a leafless bush, but it won’t be a problem to draw the fae’s shadows; the problem will be to do it without the fae seeing me.
“This is fine,” I say, taking the pen out of the spine of the sketchbook tucked under my robe. Now that we’re out of the weather, I’m much warmer. I don’t take my hood off, though. If a chaos luster flashes across my face when the fae steps onto the street, he might figure out this is a setup.
Hison orders his assistant, the one with the name-cord, to go. From what I understand, he’s to check on the fae prisoner, then “accidentally” leave a door unlocked.
I sink down to one knee beside the window and wait.
Aren squats beside me. “Trev and I will fissure after him.”
That will leave me alone with Hison and his guard. Lovely. “How am I getting back to Corrist?”
“I shouldn’t be gone more than a few minutes,” he says. He looks directly at me. “McKenzie—”
The door across the street swings open. I don’t have time to see the fae’s face; he disappears into his fissure the instant he steps outside.