Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

I keep my gaze steady. “If either of those were true, the high nobles would have voted for you to become king.”

“They would have if all seventeen provinces had been permitted an opinion.”

“Nine of the thirteen voted for Atroth,” I say, even though I’m not sold on the seventeen province thing. “Do the math. He still would have won.”

“The high nobles would have voted differently,” he says, confident. “There are two sides to every war, McKenzie. The king has told you only one version of our conflict’s origins.”

And you’re only telling me your version, I want to point out, but a deep, repetitive banging distracts me. I scan the clearing, see nothing. It sounds like it might be coming from inside the inn. Sethan doesn’t appear concerned about it, and I wouldn’t care much either except for the fact that my head pounds with each erratic beat. I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to find some relief.

The front door opens and Aren reemerges carrying a leaflined basket of fruit and cheeses topped by a circle of flatbread. He holds the basket out. It takes all my effort not to wrench it from his hands and dig in. The Realm’s fruits are decadent—more luscious and sweet than any Earth-grown apple or melon I’ve ever tasted—but I force myself to fold my hands in my lap.

He frowns. “You haven’t eaten anything in almost a day.”

“I don’t know what you put in it.”

His laugh startles me. “You’re incredibly stubborn, nalkin-shom .”

“My name is McKenzie.” I manage to refrain from rolling my eyes, but this nalkin-shom crap is getting old.

Aren pops a purple slice of fruit into his mouth, holds the basket out again. I stare at it, my stomach rumbling.

“Do I need to try the cheese as well?” he asks.

When I realize it doesn’t make sense to poison me, I heave a sigh and take the basket. He doesn’t have to be devious if he wants to kill me. A knife across the throat would do the trick and none of the rebels would complain. Most likely, they’d celebrate.

My fingers bring a wedge of soft white cheese to my mouth. It touches my tongue, triggers my taste buds. If Aren and Sethan weren’t watching me, I’d sink back against the bench and moan. The cheese is absolutely delicious, but then, in my half-starved state, I’d be content even with the bitter-bark the fae are so fond of.

I chew and swallow and reach for another wedge, ignoring Aren’s satisfied expression as he turns to speak to Sethan in Fae. I tear a strip off the flatbread and fold it around an orangetinted cheese. Before I finish that one, another is on its way to my mouth. I save the fruit for dessert and try to slow my pace. Even so, I devour the whole basket in a few minutes. Now, if I could just get some sleep, I’d feel so much better. Even a fiveminute nap would be heavenly.

The two fae finish their conversation as I set aside the basket. Sethan doesn’t look happy.

“I trust your judgment, Aren, and I hope you’re right. McKenzie.” He gives me a shallow bow before he trots down the porch steps. I watch him walk into the forest. A blink of light indicates he’s fissured out. Unfortunately, his shadows are unreadable behind the foliage.

“I’ve bought you an extension on life,” Aren says, leaning against the porch column. His casualness and the intensity in his silver eyes make an odd combination. I don’t like the way he’s observing me. I like even less the way the moonlight glows behind him, making him seem mysterious, almost debonair. When he doesn’t say anything else or look away, I shift on the wooden bench.

“Okay,” I say slowly, because the silence needs to be broken. “Do you want me to thank you?”

“You’ll help us eventually.” He sounds so certain.

I shake my head. “No. My allegiance is to Ky—King Atroth.”

He smiles a little. “I’ll earn your trust.”

“I’ll doubt everything you say.”

He chuckles, pushes away from the column, and crosses the porch to stand in front of me. He takes my right hand in his. As he pulls me to my feet, I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. This close, I can become lost in them, especially with the heat of his edarratae traveling up my arm. He dips his head, staring down at me with mirth on his lips.

“You will be an interesting challenge.” He draws a finger along the line of my jaw and lightning floods inside me, shooting down my neck and into my core. I’m lost for a moment, unbalanced, and burning with a need I’m afraid to identify.

Finally, Aren steps back. He opens the front door. “Come, nalkin-shom . I’ll tuck you in.”

When at last I regain my composure, I give the bastard my coldest glare. For some reason, he finds my defiance amusing.

IBECAME AN insomniac ten years ago. I was a sophomore in high school, president of my class and enrolled in every advanced course the school offered. My teachers loved me, my friends respected me, and my parents were proud. Meeting the fae changed all that. At first, I wasn’t sleeping because I thought I was going crazy, hallucinating because no one else could see the lightning-covered people searching the corridors and classrooms. And it was clear they were searching for something. For someone. For me.

A false-blood named Thrain realized I had the Sight and dragged me into the Realm. He used me to wage a war against the king. When I refused to read the shadows for him, he starved me. He hit me. He threatened my friends and family. I had no choice except to help him. No choice, that is, until Kyol freed me. He returned me to my world, and I couldn’t sleep because my blood burned in my veins when I lay down at night. Kyol intrigued me. He protected me, and when King Atroth asked me to help him capture Thrain, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. That was when the nightmares began. Some of Thrain’s fae didn’t run or surrender. They fought. They killed. They died, and I couldn’t sleep because I was haunted.

Now I can’t sleep because I might never see Kyol again. I was sixteen when we first met and he was . . . older. The Realm ages people—both fae and humans—slower than Earth. Kyol looked like he was somewhere in his twenties, but he could have been twice that for all I knew. He wasn’t Atroth’s sword-master yet, but he was his friend. He became my friend, and we eventually became something . In the last decade, the only nights on which I’ve had a peaceful, restful sleep were the nights when Kyol watched over me. Despite my resolution to lead a normal fae-free life, that hasn’t changed.

I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, surrounded by my fears. Occasionally, they loosen their stranglehold and my heavy eyelids close, but the creaks and groans of the inn wake me no matter how soft they are.

Footsteps stop outside my room. I feign sleep as the door creaks open. Someone walks inside, clears a throat. I keep my eyes shut and refuse to twitch.

“McKenzie.”

Even though the sheetless slab of springs beneath me could double as a torture device, I still don’t budge.

“McKenzie,” the someone says, louder this time. I don’t recognize the voice. It’s female, but it’s not Lena.

“McKenzie Lewis.”

I crack open my lids to glare. I end up frowning instead. The light coming in from the doorway is just bright enough to see that the fae staring down at me is wearing human clothing: jeans paired with a tight red top, jingling bracelets, and a triple-layered black-beaded necklace. It’s hard to be sure in the dim room, but it looks like a string of garnets and premthyste , a pearllike stone found in the southernmost province of the Realm, is braided through a lock of her dark, silky hair. I think I recognize the pattern the stones make. If I’m right, she’s a daughter of Cyneayen, Tayshken Province’s ruling noble.