Sandy Williams - The Sharpest Blade

His edarratae heat dual paths down my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I say, closing my eyes briefly, trying to focus. “I’m sorry I was so angry before. I know you didn’t want him to die, but I was just . . .” I draw in a breath. “I shouldn’t have attacked you like I did. I shouldn’t have drugged you. I respect you too much for that.”

Those words hurt him more than they help. He wants more than my respect. He wants me.

“Kyol, I can’t—”

“I understand, McKenzie,” he says quickly, using his words as a shield. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand. I lost any chance I might have had with you when I forced you into the life-bond.”

No, he lost his chance with me when I fell in love with Aren. I don’t correct him, though, because on some level, he’s right. Even with Aren out of the picture, I can’t be with Kyol. The life-bond changes everything. I don’t know how much of what I feel for him is real and how much is based on magic.

“You didn’t force me, Kyol. You saved my life, and”—I meet his eyes, don’t attempt to hide my emotions—“and I never thanked you for it. God, I’m so selfish. Kyol—”

“Shh.” He pulls me into his arms again, silencing me. I rest my head on his shoulder. I keep my eyes open because I’m afraid of what I’ll see if I close them. So I stare at the wall. Then at what’s resting at its base.

My bloodstained cargo pants and shirt are lying there. It seems like it was ages ago when I last slept here. I expected Nick to throw away or burn those clothes, but I’m glad he didn’t. Pushing away from Kyol, I stretch out and grab the pants. Curiosity moves through him as I reach into the pocket.

And pull out his name-cord.

His lips part, releasing a stunned breath. “You still have it.”

I nod, running my thumb across the smooth onyx stone and the rougher audrin . “It’s been through a lot these past few months.” Just like we have.

He meets my eyes. The silver storms in his calm, and he nods as he reaches out to take it.

The string of stones slides from my hand.

“Thank you,” he says softly, leaning back against the couch.

I fold my legs against my chest, rest my chin on my knee. I’ve described Kyol as feeling soul-weary before. That’s how I feel now. Soul-weary and hopeless. Kyol isn’t lending me strength anymore. The Realm—the world that he loves so much—is in the hands of a false-blood. He’s fought for the Realm his whole life, given up everything for it, but the hope he has for its future is gone. He feels as defeated as I do right now.

I close my eyes as I draw in a breath, open them when I slowly let it out. We’re still alive—so is Lena—and I’m not yet ready to give up this fight.

“The false-blood is Cardak,” I say.

Kyol must be lost in his own thoughts. He blinks a few times before he focuses on me.

“He’s Thrain’s brother,” I add.

His expression remains neutral, but a spike of surprise leaks through our life-bond.

“I recognized Thrain in him,” I say, and I tell Kyol everything that happened. I manage to talk about Shane and Trev, about Sosch, Lorn, and Aren, all without crying. And I tell him how I overcame the false-blood’s magic, thanks to our life-bond, and how Lena and I escaped through the tunnel. I’m finishing up my story, handing him the draw-stringed pouch that I drew Nimael’s shadows on, when there’s a light knock on the media room’s door.

Kynlee peeks her head in. “My dad wanted you to know that Lena’s waking up.”

“WE lost the palace?” Lena asks a few minutes later. Her voice is weak and raspy, but I’m glad to hear her say something. She’s pale, her face is still bruised and swollen, her lip still busted. The rest of her injuries are covered by a heavy blanket, but I doubt she’s able to rise yet. It still looks like her hold on life is tenuous.

Kyol’s silver gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes.”

“But you made it out.”

“Yes,” he answers again. When he sits in a chair beside her bed, I lean against the guest room’s dresser.

“Did others make it out?”

“Some did,” he says in his deep monotone. “Most did not.”

She stares up at the ceiling. A chaos luster creeps across her face. Nick’s power is turned off, but she’s so weak, the dead tech still affects her.

“My allies among the high nobles.” She pauses, closing her eyes. “Did they survive?”

“I didn’t see every death,” Kyol says. “I heard rumors and the speculation of the elari .”

She opens her eyes. “Did Lord Raen survive?”

“No,” Kyol answers quietly.

Her lips thin. “Lord Brigo?”

“No.”

She names two of her other strongest allies. Both, according to rumor, are dead.

“Nalst?” she asks.

“Most of your swordsmen were executed, Lena. Dishonorably executed.”

Her face hardens. “Taber?”

Taber was Kyol’s right-hand man, his friend, and one of his most trusted soldiers. He answers, “Dead,” with the same emotionless monotone as he does the others.

“Brayan?” Lena asks.

“Dead,” Kyol says.

“Andur,” she names her advisor.

“Lena.” Kyol’s voice softens a fraction, and I feel his emotions gentling. This isn’t achieving anything; it’s only hurting her.

“Andur!” she demands.

Kyol lets out a sigh. “Dead as well.”

She goes on, naming fae after fae. Some names, I recognize. Most of them, I don’t. And most of them, I never will.

After a few minutes, a familiar sense of failure moves through Kyol. The deaths don’t just weigh heavily on Lena; they weigh heavily on him as well, and I feel his guilt, his remorse keenly. He couldn’t save the palace for Lena. He couldn’t save the lives of her most loyal swordsmen.

“Trev?” Lena asks. For the first time, her gaze goes to me.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, whisper, “Dead.”

She gives no reaction to my proclamation. I doubt she knew the way he felt about her, why he did whatever she said without protest or complaint.

“Lorn?” her eyes are still on me. I didn’t see Lorn die. It’s possible he could have survived.

“The rumors say he’s dead,” Kyol answers.

I want to contradict what he says. I want to give Lena some hope, tell her that I never saw Lorn cut down, but in the end, my focus wasn’t on him. It was on her and Sosch and the false-blood.

Lena blinks. Her eyes become glassy. She looks back up at the ceiling and draws in a slow breath. I’m surprised Lorn’s death affects her so much. More than once since I’ve known her, she’s wanted to kill him herself. But maybe she’s just bracing herself for the next name.

“Aren?” she finally asks. Her chest stops rising and falling, waiting for the answer.

Kyol is silent.

“Aren,” she says again, angry this time. She lost her brother, Sethan, two months ago, her parents years before that. Aren was the closest thing to family she had left. Kyol knows his death will crush her. He knows it will crush me.

“I’m not certain he’s dead,” Kyol finally says. The life-bond tells me those words are just short of a lie. He thinks Aren’s entered the ether.

Lena turns her head to look at him. “I want the truth, Taltrayn.”

Apparently, I’m not the only one who can tell when he’s twisting facts. It’s something he does so rarely, and only to protect the people he cares about. Sometime in the last two months, he’s grown to care for Lena. I’m glad. I think it softens his guilt over killing the king.

“I saw no sign of him,” Kyol says evenly. “And the rumors I heard all came from unreliable sources, not from fae I would ever trust.”