Sandy Williams - The Sharpest Blade

“Where is he?” Lena demands. I know she’s talking to me even though she doesn’t turn. She’s asked me this question a dozen times now, and finally, I can give her a different answer.

“He’s on his way,” I say.

Not for the first time, Trev gives me an odd look. He knows we’re talking about Kyol. I don’t think he’s figured out we have a life-bond yet, but he will soon if Lena doesn’t watch what she says. I’m not sure she cares if he knows, though. That either shows how much she trusts him—or it shows that she’s not aware of his existence.

When the door to the chamber opens, Lena turns. Kyol descends the narrow staircase that leads up to the King’s Hall. When the blue-white light from the magically lit orbs illuminates his face, his expression is as calm and stoic as ever. But I know how furious he is, and not just because I can feel his rage vibrating across the bond. It’s his eyes. The edges of his irises are so dark, they’re almost black, and they’re a shade of silver that reminds me of a hurricane coming to shore.

My headache—the one that’s been lingering since Kyol learned about Lena’s ledger burning—increases tenfold when he looks at her now.

“What were you thinking?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his words cut through the air, echoing in the small chamber. I have to give Lena props. She doesn’t so much as flinch when his gaze bores into her.

“I was thinking,” she says, emphasizing the last word, “that I needed to gain the people’s support.”

I shift uncomfortably. That’s kind of close to what I told her to do earlier, but I absolutely did not suggest the ledger burning.

“The people’s support will come when the high nobles approve your reign.”

“Which will never happen if I don’t act,” she bites out. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Taltrayn, but they aren’t exactly rallying behind me.”

“They can’t rally behind you if you’re dead.”

“Your concern is touching, but it’s unneeded.”

“Lena,” Kyol grates out. His hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, and I realize his patience is running thin. That’s impressive considering he’s the most calm and tolerant man I know. “Your actions started a riot.”

She crosses her arms. “My actions started a celebration.”

“They’ve lost their minds out there. People will be hurt. There are fires to put out.”

“And those fires will be put out.”

“It’s not that simple,” he says.

Lena turns to Aren, who’s silently watching the exchange the same as Trev and I are.

“You approve,” she says.

A crooked, haphazard smile leaps to his lips. “You know I do.”

“See,” Lena says to Kyol, and a mix of emotions twists through him: anger, annoyance, and a good dose of protectiveness, too. That last one surprises me. It hasn’t passed through our bond in that quantity except when it was focused on me, and I think some part of him might . . . admire Lena for what she’s done. He doesn’t exactly approve, of course, but she took action. She did something for the people, for the Realm.

“You have to consult us before you do something like this,” Kyol says.

“I consulted McKenzie.”

When Kyol slowly levels his gaze on me, my eyes widen.

I shake my head. “I just helped her carry the ledgers.”

“Ease up, Taltrayn,” Aren says, sliding off the table. “The people are happy, and Lena is safe and unscathed.”

When Kyol looks at Aren, the tension in the chamber doubles. I doubt the two men have spoken more than a dozen words to each other since Kyol formed the life-bond with me. They were enemies for years, and I’m fairly certain any respect they feel for each other now is begrudging at best. Neither man would be upset if the other happened to die and enter the ether.

Something tickles in the back of my mind. The two guards who survived Atroth’s death. How did Lord Hison find out about them?

I shut that line of thought down quickly, ashamed it ever entered my head in the first place. Aren wouldn’t let that information slip out just to off his competition. I’ve told him a million times that he doesn’t have to worry about Kyol.

On the other hand, death is the only way to sever a life-bond.

“Not unscathed,” Kyol says quietly, concern moving through him once again.

“Not unscathed?” Aren repeats, tilting his head to study Lena.

Lena’s gaze remains icy as she stares at Kyol.

“You’re not putting your full weight on your left leg,” he says. “And you haven’t removed your cloak. A knife wound, I presume.”

I frown down at Lena’s leg. It’s mostly hidden beneath her cloak. How he can tell she’s not putting weight on it, I don’t know.

“Lena,” Aren scolds as he crosses the room.

“It’s barely a scratch.”

“A scratch deep enough that you feel the need to hide it,” Kyol says.

Aren takes her cloak off. Her left hip is stained red, and when he lifts the bottom of her shirt, the cut he reveals is definitely not just a scratch. It’s a gash that runs from just above her hip bone to her lower back. Her very low back.

Aren shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“She didn’t want you touching her ass,” I mumble under my breath.

Under my breath is, apparently, loud and clear enough for the fae to understand. Their heads whip my way. Lena looks annoyed, Aren lets out a laugh, and even Trev has a small smile on his face.

Not Kyol, though. His expression is still stony, but the tension I feel in him abates some.

“It’s not life-threatening,” Lena says, giving me a glare before she turns her attention back to Aren. “Someone else’s injury might be, and you’re exhausting yourself.”

“My magic is fine,” he says.

“ You’re not fine,” she counters. “When was the last time you slept?”

His expression hardens. “When was the last time you did?”

Her silence makes his point for him. No one’s getting enough rest. Well, except me. I had three weeks to recover from the invasion of the palace and the fight to retain it.

Aren moves closer to press his palm against her hip. She stares over his shoulder as he heals her. Looking at Trev maybe? He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He lifts an eyebrow, but I’m not sure she’s really seeing him.

Aren slides his hand under the waistband of her pants, all but cupping her ass. Am I jealous of her injury when he does that? Yep. Maybe I should have let myself get pushed around more.

“Trev,” Lena says. His other eyebrow goes up. “I want you to speak to the commanders of each of the wall watches. They’re to reassign three swordsmen from each rotation to you. I’m placing you in charge of guarding the provincial gates. They need to be regulated again. Now. You’ll have those swordsmen and half my guard under your command.”

Aren’s gaze locks on her as he slides his hand out of her pants. I look at Kyol, whose fury has suddenly and explosively rekindled. He’s staring at Lena and standing so rigidly still, I’m afraid he might shatter if someone so much as sneezes.

Even Trev looks surprised at her command, but he nods in acknowledgment and starts for the staircase.

“Disregard that order,” Kyol says.

Lena stiffens. She focuses on her lord general, her chin jutting out half a millimeter, and says, “Go now, Trev.”

“No.” The word rumbles out of Kyol.

Trev’s boot is on the first step that leads out of the room. He looks at me as if I can give him guidance. Guidance on whose order to follow or guidance on whether or not he should be worried about Kyol killing her, I don’t know. I can’t help him anyway, so I just shrug.