The Shattered Dark
Page 61

I glance at the edge of the cliff again, notice that there’s a thin ledge nine or ten feet down.
It’ll hurt like hell, but I think I can survive it.
“Okay,” I gasp when my wrist is at the breaking point. “Okay.”
In the split second he releases my wrist to confiscate the dagger, I roll, throwing us over the edge.
I manage to land on my back. The impact drives the air out of my lungs. I nearly lose consciousness when my head slams into the ground, but I’m lucid enough to shove up at the remnant. He’s flailing already. I think that’s the only reason my plan works. He tilts off me, hitting the ground to my right and rolling. His arms splay out, his hands reaching for something to grab onto, but this ledge is bare and sandy. He screams as he goes over the edge.
I don’t move for a minute. I concentrate on drawing air back into my lungs. My head hurts. So does my back and the arm I landed on, but I can move all my limbs. I force myself to my side, then to my hands and knees.
Black spots smear my vision when I get to my feet. I wait for them to pass. When they do, I see my sketchbook lying on the ground just in front of me. I slip it over my shoulder, then look up the ten-foot drop I just took. Sometimes, I really am an idiot. How am I supposed to get back up there?
Fortunately, the answer is easy. The ledge rises steeply to my left, but it’s not a sheer drop like where I’m standing, and I think it just might join the trail I was heading for. I shuffle that way, keeping a hand braced against the cliff face so I don’t lose my balance. I’m still feeling dizzy.
When I reach the trail again, I look back toward the compound. The main building’s on fire. Thick black smoke rises from its burning walls and roof. The fae are still outside it, still fighting. I think I spot Aren, but I’m not sure, and as much as I want to see him, to have evidence that he’s okay, I can’t stand here and wait. I need to press on before a remnant spots me.
The ground to my right becomes a cliff face, towering several feet above my head, and the drop-off to the left is at least a hundred feet straight down. I’m not afraid of heights, but the dirt under my feet is unstable, and this trail is fucking narrow. I keep my eyes forward, hug the cliff wall, and inch along. I can practically feel gravity pulling me down, making my legs feel like jelly and throwing off my equilibrium.
The trail widens in about ten more feet. I’m almost there, so I keep moving, shuffling my feet along at a slow but steady pace. When I’m just two feet away from being on sturdier ground, Aren screams my name.
He sounds so angry, so agonized, I almost slip off the ledge. I grab hold of a crack in the cliff face and whip my head around, looking back toward the compound, terrified I’ll see a blade spearing his heart.
“McKenzie!” he screams again. He doesn’t look injured. He’s fighting his way toward the edge of the cliff beside the main building. He kills the remnants attacking him with proficient swings of his sword. White soul-shadows rise on either side of him, marking his path.
A remnant lands a kick to his side. God, it looks hard enough to break ribs. I don’t understand until he drops to his knees at the edge of the cliff, peers over the side, and screams my name one more time.
This has to be the work of an illusionist, a powerful illusionist. Aren thinks I fell. I open my mouth to call him—
And am wrenched off my feet before I have the chance.
I land on my back, my head hitting the ground hard. A fae is above me. A remnant. Tylan.
“Aren!”
His hand goes to my throat, choking off my scream. I cough, swing a fist at his face, then scramble back toward the narrow trail. Aren’s pain is raw, desperate, like he’s losing a part of himself. He’s still peering over the edge of the cliff. I don’t think he realizes he’s surrounded.
“Aren!” My scream is a hoarse whisper.
Tylan flips me onto my back again. His knee presses down on my chest with the full weight of his body, then he raises his hand. I glimpse the rock clenched in it just before he slams it down.
TWENTY-THREE
IT’S COLD, DARK except for the edarratae flashing across my skin. I’m in a small room, sitting on a dirt floor. My wrists have been bound with silver. The metal shackles bite into my flesh, and I have other scrapes and bruises. Some of them are from rolling off the ledge with the remnant I killed, the others, I think, are from Tylan dragging me away from Nakano’s compound.
I’ve been unconscious for a while. I don’t know how long, but it’s an hour’s drive between Boulder and Wiggins, where the nearest gate to the compound was. Tylan wouldn’t have driven me there, though—a remnant wouldn’t risk being trapped in a car for so long. So could Lee have taken me to the gate, then? He might have helped Naito out of the compound, but I doubt the remnants would have just let him walk away. They might have forced him to drive me to Wiggins.
Maybe one of the rebels saw me being dragged away. Maybe Aren did…
My eyes sting, filling with tears. Aren was surrounded. If he hadn’t gone inside the compound to find me, he would have been able to fissure, but the tech or whatever the hell it was Nakano had inside that building crippled him. His jaedric armor might have stopped one or two swords from slicing into him, but I don’t think he could have fought off that many remnants.
I’m not sure he wanted to.
God, I hope I’m wrong about that. I hope he fought back. If he had time to think, I’m sure he would have—Lena needs him too much for him to give in to his grief—but the remnants weren’t giving him time.
I close my eyes to hold back the tears, refusing to let them fall.
A tiny squeak makes me reopen them. It sounded like a door opening. I look left, notice a tiny gap between the wooden wall and the dirt floor. I don’t know what’s on the other side of the wall. I have no idea where we are, just that it’s cold here.
And quiet. That squeak is the only thing besides the wind that I’ve heard since waking up. The remnants aren’t holding me in the middle of a city, that much is clear.
I lean my head back against the wooden beam holding up the center of the shack. My hands are bound in front of me, but a silver cord links the shackles to a metal loop in the beam. I can’t move more than two or three feet away from it.
I’m pretty much screwed here. The rebels think I’m dead; they’re not going to be looking for me.
Lena will still be searching for the remnants, though. Maybe someone will tip her off to where we are.
Or where they are. The remnants might not have brought me to their camp. They might have stuffed me in some remote corner of the Realm, far away from other fae and far away from a gate.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, trying to fight off the panic and frustration threatening to take over me. This isn’t the first time I’ve been held captive. My history with escape attempts isn’t great, but that won’t keep me from trying. I’m going to find my way back to Corrist, even if I’m stranded in the middle of the Barren.
I draw in a breath, let it out, then the door in front of me cracks open.
“McKenzie?” It’s Paige’s voice. My stomach knots into a mess of emotion. I wouldn’t be the remnants’ prisoner if she hadn’t escaped. I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to convince myself that Aren’s alive.