Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

Hours pass. My muscles stiffen and I grow bored of staring at the ceiling. The cracks zigzagging through it make me frown. I shouldn’t be able to see them, not with the door closed and the window boarded up. Slowly, I turn my head to the right and find the source of the room’s light: an upside-down mason jar sitting on the floor. Bright swirls of white and blue mists battle for dominance within the glass confines. That’s how the fae light their world after dark. Of course, they don’t usually use mason jars. The Realm’s glassmakers make lamps, wall sconces, and hanging orbs that the fae can light with a touch of their magic. That’s all fine and good if you’re fae. If you’re human, not so much.

I experiment with lifting my head a few times. When that’s tolerable, I bend my knees until my feet rest on the mattress. This puts more of my weight on my spine, though, so I finally try to scooch ever so slightly to the side.

I squeeze my eyes shut as pain shoots down my arm. God, running was a bad idea. What made me think I could escape? The fae outnumber me. They’re faster and more familiar with the terrain. Even if they didn’t have magic, I’d have little hope of slipping away.

The throbbing in my arm slowly fades. I think I’ll feel better if I sit up, so this time, I go all in. I hold my breath, spin my feet toward the side of the bed, and use my good arm to push up.

Nausea grips me as the room spins. I focus on breathing. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as a chill creeps into my bones. Panic’s edging in on me, making my chest ache, my throat burn. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be involved in this war. I was going to get out of it. If the rebels had waited just three days, I would have graduated and retired from the Court. Aren’s shadow-witch would have faded to a myth and I’d be safe. Safe and unhurt.

I swallow back my emotions and force myself to deal with the pain radiating up my forearm. After a few minutes of deep breathing, the room settles.

Okay. So the escape attempt didn’t work. I can’t give up. I’ll just have to plan my next move better. I’ll have to—

The door clicks. It opens inward and Kelia enters. She’s carrying a waterskin and a second magically lit mason jar. When she sees I’m awake, she crosses the room to stand in front of me.

“That was a stupid thing you did.”

“Yep,” I manage, though my voice sounds strained.

“You’re lucky Aren was adamant about you being kept alive.”

Lucky? Lucky would have been me escaping. Or me not being captured in the first place.

Kelia pauses, cocks her head to the side. “How’s your arm?” “Feels great.”

She mutters some Fae word I haven’t learned yet and then reaches into her pocket. “Hold out your hand.”

Lifting my good arm takes a hell of a lot of effort. The tendons in my shoulder are tight and I feel weak, like I’ve swum for hours in a pool and now have to bear my full weight again. Kelia drops two pills onto my open palm. Even they feel heavy.

“I don’t think ibuprofen’s going to help,” I tell her.

“These are a bit stronger than that.”

My gaze returns to her and I lift an eyebrow. “Robbing pharmacies now, are you?”

“A few pills won’t be missed,” she says dismissively.

I pop them into my mouth and Kelia hands me her waterskin. When I nearly drop it, she helps me tip it back. I swallow the pills, not really caring what they are so long as they ease the pain in my arm.

“Thank you,” I say when she takes the skin away.

“If you’re thankful, don’t try to escape again.”

I snort. “Sure. No problem.”

Her eyes narrow as she leans forward to set her mason jar down, but her glare lacks real scorn. I think we’re both trying to hate each other. And we’re both failing.

The creak of the door opening draws both our attentions. I hear Kelia suck in a breath and then she’s suddenly across the room and in the newcomer’s arms.

“Naito!” she cries out.

I blink a few times. I try not to let my mouth hang open, but she’s kissing the guy and despite the sound of his name, he’s not fae .

Kelia takes a tiny step back, but keeps her hands on the man’s chest, touching him like he might not be real. Now that they’re not lip-locked, I note his disheveled black hair and the sharp planes of his face. He’s at least half Asian, but 100 percent human.

Kelia kisses him again, longer, more deeply this time, and a chaos luster flickers from her face to his, shimmying down his neck to disappear under the bloodstained collar of his shirt.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” Naito says. “The blood’s not mine.”

She falls into his arms again. He holds her tight, but his eyes are locked on me. I’m too stunned to look away. He’s human, she’s fae, and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if Kyol joined the rebellion. Could we be together then? I want him more than anything, but I’ve never asked him to abandon the Court. Would he if I asked?

Guilt spikes through my chest. I’ve no right to ask that. No right at all.

Naito eases Kelia back a half step, then runs his hands down her arms. When he reaches her wrists, he stops, scowls, and drops his gaze to the watch I let her borrow.

“What the hell is this?” he demands.

She hops back like she’s been stung. Her right hand darts to cover her left wrist. “It’s nothing.”

“We’ve been over this,” he says. At least, I think that’s what he says. Apparently, I’m not the only human the rebels have taught to speak Fae. He continues scolding her, but his words come too quickly now for me to follow. Kelia’s lip twists into a pout, but she lets him unlatch the watch from her wrist.

He crosses the room and holds it out to me. “Yours, I presume.”

I nod, still a bit dumbfounded.

He tosses the watch onto my bed. “Don’t give that to her again. That or any other tech.”

I don’t know whether to be annoyed for Kelia’s sake at his overprotectiveness or to find it endearing. Honestly, she shouldn’t have touched my watch, let alone wear it. A pale circlet of blue shades her wrist as if her skin’s been bruised, though the coloring is too phosphorescent for that. Most likely, such a simple piece of tech won’t do lasting damage to her magic.

Naito’s still watching me. I think he’s waiting for a response until he says, “So. You’re Aren’s shadow-witch.”

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. “I’m not Aren’s anything.”

“Sure.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I heard you’re better than the rumors.”

“I’m better than you.” When the words slip out, I suppress a grimace. I shouldn’t have said that, even if it’s undoubtedly true.

“What makes you think I read the shadows?”

“Why else would you be here?” I can’t help but look at Kelia when she steps to his side.

“Maybe I just have the Sight,” he says, intertwining his fingers with hers.

“Maybe.” I’m not jealous of the two of them. I’m not.

Kelia’s hand tightens around his as she peers up at him. “What happened?”

His smile fades and he looks suddenly weary. “The Court’s arresting fae who sympathize with us, hoping they’ll have information on her.” He nods toward me. “The people they took didn’t know anything, but Aren stepped in anyway. We freed most of them. Almost captured another one of Atroth’s shadow-readers, but the sword-master showed up.” His gaze settles on me. “The son of Taltrayn isn’t happy he lost you. He’s personally leading the attacks against our people.”

“ Your people?”

“I’m as much a part of the rebellion as you’re a part of the Court,” he says, pausing to study me. “But I think my people might respect and include me more than yours respect and include you.”