Sandy Williams - The Sharpest Blade

“If that was possible,” Lena says, her voice flat, “all the Tar Sidhe would be here.”

“Would they? Or would they turn their backs on a world that’s become polluted with violence and human technology?”

“He’s not Tar Sidhe , Lorn,” Lena says.

He holds up his hands in a gesture of mock self-defense. “I agree. I’m only playing demon’s advocate.”

“Devil’s,” I murmur.

“I’m only telling you what the Taelith is telling his followers,” Lorn continues. “The elari believe he is Tar Sidhe . He’s not telling anyone his ancestry because, supposedly, he doesn’t have one.”

“He has to be related to someone,” Lena says. “He didn’t raise himself.”

“What if he grew up imithi ?” I ask.

Lena looks at Aren.

“I would know about him,” he tells her. “We may not have family, but we band together for survival.”

“Maybe he was a loner,” I say.

Aren shakes his head. “If he didn’t have someone he trusted watching his back, he would have been killed. He has ties to someone. The problem is finding out who those ties are to when he may have murdered anyone who had knowledge of his past.”

“So, basically, you’re saying it’s going to be impossible to prove he’s not Tar Sidhe .”

“It’s going to be difficult,” Aren says. “Not impossible.”

It might as well be. It’s not like the Taelith —or any fae for that matter—is going to submit to a DNA test.

“We need to find him so we can question him,” Lena says. “So far, Nimael is the only fae we know who might be in direct contact with the Taelith .”

“Are you so sure about that?” Lorn asks.

She gives him a cold glare. “And you, but for some reason I doubt you’d be willing to reconnect with him.”

“He’s always found me. I’ve never found him,” Lorn says. He sounds a little bitter about that fact. I’m sure it doesn’t make him happy that his network of spies can’t gather the information he needs. “I was referring to someone else who’s spoken directly to the false-blood.”

Lena’s brow wrinkles slightly. She doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but I do.

I let out a sigh, then say, “Paige left me a message. She wanted to talk about Caelar and the false-blood.”

Lena closes her eyes in a long blink. When she reopens them, she stares at Kyol. “We have to assume the rumors are true. They’re allies.”

The life-bond passes along his disbelief—no, his refusal to believe—that Caelar would join forces with the false-blood.

“I didn’t say they are working together,” Lorn chimes in. “I merely suggested that they’ve been in contact. You should talk to him.”

“I’ve made numerous offers to speak with Caelar,” Lena says. “He hasn’t responded. We’ve tried tracking him down with no luck.”

Lorn empties his glass of cabus , then sets it aside. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to meet with you because you’re still sending swordsmen out to kill him and the few supporters he has left.”

“If I don’t send fae after him, he’ll come after me again.”

“Will he?” Lorn asks. “Perhaps he’s just trying to survive now? Or, perhaps all he wants is Aren’s head?”

Lena’s gaze moves to Aren. Mine doesn’t. A decade ago, just after King Atroth took power, Aren exposed the fae Caelar was in love with to tech. Brene was in a position to become Atroth’s sword-master, but she succumbed to the tech, losing her mind when her magic broke. Caelar won’t forgive Aren for that. He’s a conservative fae, but if not for Aren’s involvement in the rebellion, I think he would at least be more open to a discussion with Lena. He’s angry King Atroth was killed, but he wants a lawful Descendant to be placed on the throne.

“Making Aren your sword-master might not have been your wisest decision,” Lorn says. “Your fragile position as would-be queen would be going better if he were out of the equation.” He looks at Aren. “No offense intended, of course.”

“None taken,” Aren says, deadpan. His gaze is on me. I can’t decipher his expression. It almost feels as if he’s trying to figure me out. But I already know about his past, and I’ve forgiven him.

“I need you to call Paige, McKenzie,” Lena says.

“She’s already tried to get him to talk to you,” I tell her.

“Make her try again,” she says. “I need to meet face-to-face with Caelar. Paige is the only human who’s allied with him. He needs her Sight to see illusioned fae, and that gives her some influence. She needs to convince him to meet with me. It can be in public. It can be here in this world.”

“Lena—”

“Make it happen, McKenzie.”

Her tone of command makes me swallow down my protest. If Caelar’s working with the false-blood, any meeting with him could be a trap, but Lena isn’t going to take no for an answer. A day ago, she asked if I was committed to her cause. I told her yes, and I meant it, so I just give her a curt nod as I stand.

And stifle a litany of curses. Holy hell, I hurt . In the short time I sat on the couch, my muscles locked up. They’re bruised and sore from sparring with Kyol. For no reason other than pride, I do my best not to let it show as I walk across the living room. I didn’t grab my cell phone when I fled my apartment with Lorn, so I have to use Nick’s landline.

I check my voice mail first. There’s one new message. From Lee. Just a “call me” and a click. Since the conversation with Paige is likely to be longer than the one with Lee, I dial him first. He answers on the first ring.

“It’s McKenzie,” I say.

“He committed suicide.”

“What?” My last conversation with Lee feels like it was ages ago. He left Glazunov with me because he wanted to talk to—I assume he really meant kidnap—the vigilante who was primarily responsible for developing the serum.

“He gave the serum to his son six months ago.”

Oh. Six months ago. That’s long before the serum was supposedly fixed. I don’t have to guess what happened to the son. He died, and apparently, his father couldn’t forgive himself for not being able to save him.

“I talked to Glazunov,” I say, then I give Lee a quick rundown of what the vigilante said, telling him the serum might not be fatal anymore and ending with the information that the vigilantes are now selling it.

“Christ, they’re selling it? It damn well better be fixed. How long ago did Glaz say they changed the formula?”

“Three months,” I tell him. “You injected Paige two months ago, right? When did you inject it?”

A pause. There’s road noise in the background, maybe the clicking of a blinker.

“Three months ago,” he says finally. “If I can get a vial of the old serum and one of the new, I can do some tests to see what changes it makes to our blood.”

“I might be able to help you with that. I sent an e-mail to the Web site. I’ll let you know if I get a response.”

“I’ll be at your apartment in an hour,” Lee says.

“Okay— No, wait. Not my apartment. It’s not safe there.”

“Where then?”

“Um.” It can’t be here. Not only is Nick likely to kick us out the second he gets home, but I don’t want Lee to know about Kynlee. Once we’re out of here, she and her father should get back to their normal lives.

There’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn, see Naito holding out his hand for the phone. I give it to him.

“Hey,” Naito says. “No . . . No . . . Hotel. No.”

He hangs up the phone. I watch him return to the living room, and that’s when I notice the others are staring at me.