Sandy Williams - The Sharpest Blade

But my steps faltered before my mind completely registered the violence. Kyol is stirring. He’s not completely awake, but his emotions begin to travel over the bond. It’s only been a few hours since Naito gave him the drugged drink. He’s moving much sooner than he’s supposed to. Because of my adrenaline? I can feel a faint echo of it pumping through him.

Once again, I wish I could communicate with Kyol. I wish I could tell him to get the hell out of Corrist, but the best I can do is let him feel what I feel: fear and foreboding mixed with grim determination. And a little hope. Lena’s standing at the foot of the dais.

She’s not alone. I stride down the blue carpet, ignoring the way my shoes squish into its blood-soaked fibers. I have to assume Lena’s guards are all dead. The only people in here are Lena, the elari , and the false-blood himself. He’s waiting for us at the foot of the silver dais.

Again, I’m hit with the feeling that we’ve met before. That has to be impossible, though. I’d remember those eyes and that cruel . . .

That cruel smile. That’s what’s familiar. I’ve seen it on someone else’s face before. Whose?

I scan the other fae, hoping inspiration will hit me. There are nearly a dozen of them, all unfamiliar and all wearing the red-and-black name-cords that mark them as elari .

Twelve against four. These are the crappiest odds ever. Where the hell is Aren? He wouldn’t have fled, leaving Lena and me behind, and I refuse to believe the false-blood killed him.

Four of the elari move toward us. We can flee back out the doors, or we can continue down the carpet. Outnumbered like we are, we won’t be able to fight our way out of here.

God, we need a plan.

No, we need a freaking miracle.

We stop half a dozen feet away from the silver dais, and still, there’s no sign of Aren.

“Lorn,” the false-blood says.

“Taelith.” I have to give Lorn credit. He greets the false-blood like this whole situation bores him. He knows we’re screwed, just like I do, but he’s putting on a good show, acting like he’s unafraid of the fae who beat the shit out of him just a few days ago.

“I allowed you to live,” the false-blood says. “And you used the life I gave you to warn the shadow-witch that I was coming for her. I am not pleased.”

Lorn sighs. “I admit that it wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made.”

I glance at Lena. She’s standing tall and regal at the foot of the dais despite a blackened eye and a deep gash over her right forearm. Her right side is stained red. I’m not sure if that’s from the arm injury or some other wound I can’t see beneath her clothes.

The false-blood turns his attention to me. “Shadow-witch, I have a present for you.”

Every ounce of blood drains from my face. I stop breathing, terrified his present will be a half-dead Aren.

Kyol latches onto my horror. He’s moving more quickly now, his veins filling with his own adrenaline, but he’ll never reach me. He’s too weak, and there are too many elari between us. If he tries, he’ll die.

We’ll die.

I force myself to breathe, to draw air into my lungs and let it out through my nose. I can’t worry about that right now. I have to worry about the false-blood, the so-called Taelith . He’s . . .

Oh, God.

My hand trembles on the hilt of my sword. I know who he is. Or rather, who he’s related to. I recognize the demonic spark in his silver eyes.

I try to keep my mind grounded in the present, but my vision narrows as if I’m in a tunnel, and all I can see is the image of the false-blood who first pulled me into this world. I’ve had enough nightmares about Thrain to know every feature on his face. There’s no mistaking the resemblance between him and the Taelith . They’re brothers. Or, perhaps, father or son. I have no idea how old Thrain was when we killed him, and I have no idea how old this fae is. All I know is he’s full of shit. He’s not Tar Sidhe . He’s a con man.

My mouth has gone dry. I swallow, trying to loosen my throat, when something moves in my peripheral vision. I turn my head, see two elari dragging a limp and bleeding body between them.

My heart stops beating. The world seems to go still as a fae yanks back the injured person’s head.

A chaos luster flashes across the man’s face. It’s not Aren. It’s . . .

It’s Shane.

I’m not sure when I moved, but Trev and I attack the Taelith simultaneously, Trev swinging high, me swinging low. Neither of us hits our target. The Taelith moves back with the uncanny speed of a fae. I hear his elari move forward, hear Lena yelling and Lorn cursing, but I’m already following up my attack with a lunge forward and another swipe at the false-blood’s legs. It’s a move I perfected when training with Kyol, but it’s a move Kyol always easily blocked. The false-blood blocks it aside as well, his sword suddenly appearing in his hand. And that’s when I slide into the secondary form Kyol taught me, the one I almost broke through his defenses with. I feint right, lift my left shoulder in a blatant tell, only I don’t swing my sword in a wide arc. I let it intercept the false-blood’s blade even as I spin to the left, letting go of the hilt of my sword with one hand so I can strike the false-blood in the jaw.

It’s a powerful hit, one that sends a sharp twinge through my elbow. I ignore it, try to slash my sword across his body, but his armor protects him. He grabs my wrist and twists.

My sword lands on the ground with a loud clatter, and it’s only when the echoes fade that I hear the struggle behind me. I yank my wrist free of the fae’s grip, then turn in time to see an elari carve a strip of flesh from Shane’s left arm.

He’s not unconscious. He screams. The two fae holding him keep him on his feet but immobile. Blood pours down his arm to the floor. The cut is so deep, it might as well be a canyon.

“Shane!” I yell, forgetting my fight with the false-blood to try to help him.

I don’t make it two steps before something slams into the back of my head. Then I’m being held facedown on the floor, black splotches swimming through my vision.

“You can’t help him,” Lorn says quietly. “Stay down. Stay still . . . Oh, damn.”

A shadow falls over me before Lorn’s weight suddenly vanishes. I turn my head in time to see him land hard on his back, then an elari fists a hand in my hair and lifts me to my feet. I try to free myself, try to elbow, kick, and head-butt the elari away, but he doesn’t let go.

I grab the elari ’s wrist, struggling to get loose, when I see Lena pick up my dropped sword. She stalks toward an unworried false-blood, unworried because an elari raises his sword behind her.

I shout out a warning, but Trev’s thrown a fistful of fire. The elari ’s scream pierces the air.

The elari holding me slams a fist into my face. Adrenaline blocks out the pain. I ram my knee into his stomach, then aim for his groin, but the bastard won’t let go of my hair.

Another fae charges Trev. Then another. Trev’s sword meets the first one’s attack, fire meets the second’s. Even to my eye, the flames are weaker this time. Trev’s too exhausted to wield his magic anymore.

But Lena’s not. She sweeps her hand through the air, and a blast of wind hits the false-blood. He staggers backward, and Lena’s on him the next instant, her sword slashing and stabbing and nearly breaking through his defenses.

For the first time, the elari are alarmed. They move to aid their Taelith . I use the opportunity to grab the arm of the fae holding me, putting my weight behind me and pulling him around as hard as I can.