Sandy Williams - The Sharpest Blade

The guards let me into her greeting chamber, a large, comfortable room with silver carpets and waves of blue silk on the ceiling. Plush couches are arranged in an inviting setup to my left, and to my right is a long desk made from a dark wood. Lena’s symbol—an abira tree with seventeen branches—is carved into its front, and rising from a chair behind it is Andur, a rebel I remember seeing with Sethan on more than one occasion. He acts as one of Lena’s advisors now.

“Lena’s meeting with Lords Hison and Kaeth,” he says in thickly accented English.

“I know.” I eye the door to his right, the one that leads into a small meeting room. When I start that way, Andur moves out from behind the desk.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being interrupted,” I say before he can emit a protest.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” he says, trying but failing to hide a smile. He doesn’t move out of my way, though. No doubt, he knows Hison will be pissed if I walk in.

While he’s weighing the pros and cons of taking on Hison’s wrath, I pick up part of the muffled conversation behind the door. Or rather, the argument if I’m hearing the rise and fall of the voices correctly. I take a step closer to the door, then another when Andur doesn’t stop me. It’s not until I’m reaching for the handle that he says, “I’m strongly advising you not to enter.”

I freeze, expecting him to knock my hand away from the handle, but when I glance his way, he’s returning to the chair behind the desk. I start to give him a grateful smile, but then I hear a word that sends goose bumps prickling across my arms.

Garistyn. They’re talking about the kingkiller.

Forgetting caution, I turn the handle. I haven’t forgotten the problem of the garistyn , but I have conveniently shoved it to the bottom of my list of crises to take care of, mainly because I didn’t think it would be an issue anymore. The high nobles were using the garistyn as an excuse to delay confirming Lena as queen, but I’d assumed they’d confirmed her anyway while I was gone. She said they would.

The door swings open silently. My gaze finds Lena first. She’s standing rigidly in the center of the room, facing Hison and Kaeth. Her expression is neutral, but I swear her face is a half shade redder than normal. She might sound and appear calm, but she’s not. I know her that well now.

“I want their names,” Hison is saying. “I want their locations.”

“I can’t help you,” Lena tells him. “I wasn’t there.”

“We will learn the truth despite your interference.” Hison’s dark blue cape billows out behind him when he takes a step toward her. “One of the witnesses is a very strong ward maker. The ledgers will lead me to him eventually.”

Witnesses? Who is he talking about? Someone who knows something about the garistyn ? Only Kyol, Aren, and I know who slid the sword into Atroth’s back. The king had guards in his hall, but as far as I know, they’re all dead. Hison would have questioned them long before now if they weren’t.

Maybe that’s it, though. Maybe he and Lord Kaeth just now found out someone else survived.

“The ledgers?” Lena says, ice in her whisper. “You mean the books that Atroth forced every fae to record their magics in? The ones that are completely accurate because everyone was anxious to confess their abilities so that Atroth could conscript them into his service? I wish you the best of luck with that.”

Sarcasm. Rumor has it those ledgers are mostly false. Every fae was required to fissure to Corrist to write down their abilities in Atroth’s books. I knew about the ledgers when I shadow-read for the king, but I didn’t know how much the fae resented being documented or that the trip was forced upon them. Very few told the truth when they signed their names. If Hison has discovered there’s a witness to the king’s murder, it’s unlikely the ledger will lead the high noble to him. I hope.

“King Atroth saw the importance of knowing the magics criminals and false-bloods could throw at us,” Hison says coldly, arrogantly. “Maybe one day, you’ll learn so as well. Confirm the identity of the kingkiller, Lena.”

“You want to execute Jorreb,” Lena says. “That’s the only reason you’re insisting upon this.”

“This is about justice,” Lord Hison says. “If Jorreb didn’t kill King Atroth, you or he would tell me who did. You’re protecting him.” His gaze swivels to me, standing here in the doorway. “Or you’re protecting her. Lord Kaeth.”

Kaeth moves before my mind finishes translating Hison’s words. He’s on me in an instant, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall beside the door.

“Lord Kaeth!” Lena yells. “Release her!”

Kaeth ignores her, he ignores the bolt of white lightning that leaps from my skin to his, then he leans in close, and demands, “Did you murder King Atroth?”

“What are you, Hison’s lackey?” I demand, but my voice quivers. A potent, debilitating fear rushes over me. I feel an echoing terror move through Kyol.

“Tell me who murdered the king.” Kaeth’s voice slithers under my skin.

Kyol’s name is on the tip of my tongue. If I want to live, I have to say it. I have to tell Lord Kaeth what he wants to know.

“It’s magic, McKenzie,” Lena snaps. “Don’t say a word.”

Magic? My whole body trembles, filled with fear. Kyol’s sprinting this way now, and I can barely think with his terror mixing with mine. He doesn’t know why I’m afraid.

Hold on a second.

I don’t know why I’m afraid.

My gaze locks on Lord Kaeth’s sharp silver eyes.

“Answer me, human,” he hisses.

Oh, son of a—

I get my right arm free, then slam the heel of my hand into Kaeth’s nose. Bones crunch, and he staggers back, eyes wide. I don’t know if he’s more hurt or surprised that I, a mere human, struck him.

Kyol was right about fae underestimating me.

I twist the wrist he’s still holding as I jerk it back. As soon as he loses his grip, the artificial fear whooshes out of me. Lena steps between us before he recovers. Her hand is locked around the hilt of the sword sheathed at her hip, and the tension is almost tangible in the air. I’m not focused on it, though. I’m focused on the tension in Kyol and the fact that he’s heading this way.

I shut down my emotions as completely as possible, letting only a sense of calm assurance leak through our bond. I don’t want him anywhere near Hison and Kaeth. If the high nobles pressure him, if they threaten me or Lena and demand to know the identity of the garistyn , I’m afraid he’ll answer them. He’ll tell them the truth because he regrets killing Atroth, his king and his friend.

“Get out,” Lena orders. “Now.”

Unperturbed, Hison eyes her. “Afraid the nalkin-shom will answer Kaeth’s questions? That would be difficult since she isn’t supposed to speak our language.”

Lena’s mouth tightens, and I suppress a curse and another wave of emotions. It’s forbidden for humans to learn Fae. The law has been around for decades, and Atroth enforced it just as religiously as the previous kings, but the rebels didn’t. They taught me their language. We’ve kept my knowledge of it under wraps because it’s just one more transgression the high nobles will hold against Lena.

Lena keeps her eyes locked on Hison’s. “You have ten seconds to leave my apartments. If you don’t, you’ll learn my sword isn’t just an ornament.”